Vacation

Now, just hold on. National Lampoon's Vacation has not made my list. Certainly not at 36. Instead, I'm using this space to let you, my loyal readers, know that The Production Dude will be on vacation until I finish moving to Minneapolis this week. Expect regular posting to resume within two weeks.

That said, I do like National Lampoon's Vacation. It's pretty funny. Also, it has Beverly D'Angelo in it. I have a thing for Beverly D'Angelo. Also, that pool scene with Christie Brinkley skinny dipping..................................

I'm sorry, where was I? Oh right, so I'll be gone for a few days, but I'll be back. In the meantime, I cannot encourage you enough to go check out Bob Loblaw's Law Blog. You won't regret it.

37. Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid

George Roy Hill, 1969

“Think ya used enough dynamite there, Butch?”

I’ve mentioned the idea of Westerns about the end of the West a couple of times in these pages, but this is the first time I am actually going to talk about one of those pictures. Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid is a film about several things, but the end of the world and the very way of life that was the West is among the most evident. For those of you who have been living in a cave, Butch and Sundance were two of the greatest outlaws of the Old West. They were train robbers, bank robbers, and leaders of The Hole in the Wall Gang. Their names live on in the legends of the West, side by side with Wyatt Earp, Jesse James, and Billy the Kid. By the time this movie takes place, however, their legends were beginning to fade. As the film opens, Butch and Sundance find one of their men trying to lead a sort of revolt among The Hole in the Wall Gang. Not long after, they thoroughly botch a train robbery by using too much dynamite. After that, the film moves into one of its best sequences as Butch and Sundance ride for miles, attempting to lose a band of lawmen and their Indian tracker. In short, things are not going well for Butch and Sundance. Their way of life, which was clearly the stuff of Western legend, is simply no longer tenable. Director George Roy Hill emphasizes this decline of the Western way of life through the use of inventive and amusing set pieces, including one displaying the bicycle’s ability to replace the horse, through a shooting and narrative style which is alien to the traditional Western, including an inventive sequence involving a series of still photographs of Butch, Sundance, and Etta Place. He also employs a terrific score, which is wholly unorthodox for the genre and was written by Burt Bacharach and featured the single “Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head,” sung by B. J. Thomas.

Still, as great as all this stuff is, and it is great, it isn’t what makes the movie what is. The heart and soul of the film are Butch and Sundance themselves, played in career defining turns by Paul Newman and Robert Redford respectively. Their friendship is what makes the movie the classic it is. In a way, it’s a bit like a buddy cop picture, with the talkative Butch and the solemn Sundance running around America and, later, Bolivia together, cracking wise and robbing banks. The fact that these two are having a great time, permeates the film. Rarely, do you see two men having so much fun and crafting such a believable friendship. The two simply play perfectly off each other. Of course, audiences agreed and the two reteamed, along with George Roy Hill, to make The Sting four years later. Frankly, I don’t like The Sting near as much. Partly, I think that is because of how fresh and vibrant the camaraderie seems on the screen in the early picture. Also, I just think that Butch and Sundance are better characters. Anyway, you do tend to get pretty invested in Butch and Sundance themselves over the course of the film. Unfortunately, this being an end of the West film, things can’t end well for Butch and Sundance. You see, like Wyatt Earp or Wild Bill or Billy the Kid, Butch and Sundance are the West. They embody it. With the West gone, and Bolivia clearly a poor replacement, Butch and Sundance cannot survive. There is some reassurance in that the two go out in a blaze of glory, fighting side by side, the way they should, but that makes the ending gunfight against the Bolivian army no less tragic and no less memorable. The film ends and the West is over and so are Butch and Sundance, but at least it was one hell of a last ride.

38. Chinatown

Roman Polanski, 1974

“Forget it, Jake. It’s Chinatown.”

In the sixties and seventies, there were a number of movies, like The Wild Bunch, Once Upon a Time in the West, and Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, which turned the Western genre on it’s ear by being movies not about the West but about the end of the West. In many ways, I think of Chinatown as doing the same sort of thing with the noir genre. The typical noir detective film is about a courageous, gutsy detective who hits the streets, gets in over his head, but, through asking all the right questions, solves the mystery and wins out in the end. Ultimately, what many of these detective movies are saying is that it’s good to ask questions. Asking questions saves the day.

Then there’s Chinatown, a movie where every question detective Jake Gittes asks reveals another black scar. It is also a movie which builds to a tragic conclusion that makes both Jake and ourselves wonder if it was at all worth it. The film seems to be saying that maybe it’s better to just leave well enough alone, not for the sake of justice, but for the sake of sanity and for the preservation of the lives of those involved as well as the fragile lies on which those lives are based.

If you haven’t seen Chinatown, you may want to stop reading. From here on out, I’m going to be discussing the film’s conclusion. You see, Chinatown does a number of things the typical sort of film noir detective story avoids (by the way, I want to make an exception for revolutionary noir films like The Maltese Falcon right now). Perhaps most noticeable is the lack of a voice over narration on the part of Gittes. Instead of his flashing back and telling us what’s going on, making sure we’re caught up with what’s going on at every moment, a la Sunset Boulevard, the film simply follows Gittes in his investigation, letting us discover clues as he does so that we can come to the same shocking conclusions he does at the same time he does. Indeed, the film builds to a terrific close that only would have been diluted by the inclusion of omniscient narration, which may well have tipped the hat too early. You see, the film follows Gittes, played by the incomparable Jack Nicholson, as he investigates the murder of the head of the Water Department in Los Angeles. He knows that the man, Hollis was seeing a girl. This girl is of peculiar interest to both Hollis’ widow Evelyn, Faye Dunaway in probably her best film role, and Evelyn’s father, Noah Cross, played by the always terrific John Huston, no relation. Well, Jake eventually starts to have an affair with Evelyn, this is a film noir after all, as he discovers Noah’s plan to buy up huge amounts of unwatered land which he will then run water to and make millions. Meanwhile, this girl is floating around. Soon enough, he figures out that the girl is in a house with Evelyn. Now, here comes the end of the film. Normally, I wouldn’t go into it, but this is a big part of why I love this movie. It’s such a smart, tragic development and it is one of those film scenes, this coming scene when Jake figures it out, that lives in my mind. So, Jake goes to this house and confronts Evelyn. He starts smacking her around, pretty brutally, wanting to know who the girl is. “She’s my sister,” says Evelyn. Smack. “She’s my daughter.” Smack. “She’s my sister.” Smack. “She’s my daughter.” Evelyn is in hysterics, but what she’s saying is the truth. The girl is Evelyn’s sister and her daughter: the product of an affair between herself and her father. In the end, Evelyn tries to take her daughter/sister away in a car. Noah doesn’t want her to go and despite Jake’s accusations and evidence there in the streets of Chinatown, the police won’t arrest Noah. Evelyn speeds of with her and Noah’s daughter. The police aim and fire, killing Evelyn and ensuring that Noah will get a hold of his daughter. There is no justice. No one wins. That’s Chinatown.

39. The Wizard of Oz

Victor Flemming, Mervyn LeRoy, and King Vidor, 1939

“Ain't it the truth? Ain’t it the truth?”

I hardly think I need to make an argument for this one. Oz is simply one of those classics that you can’t argue. Everyone loves The Wizard of Oz. Everyone. And why not? It’s a hell of a movie. From the black and white, or brown and tan, plains of Kansas to the sparkling, technicolor world of Oz, the movie takes us to a world over the rainbow and far beyond our imaginations. By the way, I expect that line to appear on the back of the next Oz DVD release.

At any rate, it seems pointless to me to pontificate on the merits of The Wizard of Oz. After all, I don’t think there’s anyone left in the world who needs convincing on this score. I thought about talking about how, despite the film’s apparent message, Oz really is a much cooler place to be than Kansas, but that would be a pretty hollow argument. Despite Oz’s technicolor beauty, we all have to admit that, at the end of the day, we would want to go home to the ones we love. I thought about talking about the film’s immortal appeal to children worldwide and how I loved it as a child, but, damn my eyes, I love it still, and so do most adults. So, no news there. I also considered talking about how Oz is one of the few classic films to defy the auteur theory at every step and create an indelible picture without an overriding guiding hand. After all, the picture has three directors and no less than sixteen writers.

No, sir, I wanna talk about my favorite character. When I was little, that was the Tin Woodsman, hands down. I think that has a lot to do with that I just really like robots and Tin Woodsman is, essentially, a robot. Today, though, there’s only one character for me: Cowardly Lion. It’s not that I really have a connection to him or that I’ve developed a deep and abiding love for lions. No, heaven knows it isn’t that. In fact, it’s hard to explain. Certainly, Bert Lahr’s performance is perfect. It’s just that, well, he’s so lovable, so sympathetic. God help me, I just wanna give the big guy a hug. Of course, it doesn’t hurt that Cowardly Lion has all the best lines. His comments, in fact his whole “aw shucks” meets easily crumbling bluster personality, are etched on my mind. Let’s take a look, shall we? “I do believe in spooks. I do believe in spooks. I do! I do! I do! I do believe in spooks. I do believe in spooks. I do! I do! I do! I do!” “Put ‘em up, put ‘em up!” “Not nobody. Not nohow.” “I’d thrash him from top to bottomous.” “Shucks, folks, I’m speechless. Ha Ha!” Cowardly Lion also has, in my honest opinion, the best song in the whole feature: “If I Were King of the Forest.” That song, among other bits of brilliance, including Cowardly Lion’s rug cape and flower pot crown, includes this great little speech: “Courage! What makes a king out of a slave? Courage! What makes the flag on the mast to wave? Courage! What makes the elephant charge his tusk in the misty mist, or the dusky dusk? What makes the muskrat guard his musk? Courage! What makes the sphinx the seventh wonder? Courage! What makes the dawn come up like thunder? Courage! What makes the Hottentot so hot? What puts the “ape” in apricot? What have they got that I ain’t got?” “Courage!”

You can say that again.

V for Vendetta

James McTeigue, 2005

“Remember, remember the fifth of November, the gunpowder treason and plot. I see no reason why the gunpowder treason should ever be forgot.”

I’ve decided to break with tradition today and discuss a recent movie. So, anyway, spoilers ahead. Yesterday, I went down to the local cinematheque to see V for Vendetta. I was reasonably excited about this one, especially since I’m a fan of the comic book series it’s based on. V for Vendetta is one of the seminal works of comic book genius Alan Moore and, while previous adaptations of Moore’s work, including From Hell and The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, have been, shall we say, less than good, this one certainly looked promising. The plot of V for Vendetta revolves around an enigmatic terrorist, Codename V. V lives in a fascist, future London, ruled over by an oppressive government which slaughters sexual and religious deviants. V knows the inner workings of this establishment and has vowed to bring it down, murdering many of its central figures and blowing up the Old Bailey. Along for the ride is a young woman named Evey, meant to be our window into V’s world. She comes to live with V in his Shadow Gallery, an impressive subterranean home filled with beautiful but banned works of art, old films, and a Wurlitzer. Evey stays with V until she is captured and tortured.

Admittedly, Moore’s original work starts off a bit uneven, if only because it isn’t until a few issues in that Moore, his illustrator David Lloyd, and their editors decided to make this a finite series. Still, once Alan Moore’s V for Vendetta gets going, it really gets going. Sadly, this isn’t the case for the film. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed the film. It is certainly very watchable and entertaining throughout. It is, however, terribly uneven. There are snatches of brilliance and points of general mediocrity. While there is more than enough brilliance to rise the film above the standards of the average studio blockbuster, it simply never comes together as it should. That said, this is a very intriguing film, especially for those who have not yet read the comic. There are a lot of ideas here and a lot of questions. The film will certainly inspire numerous conversations between academics, critics, and moviegoers, if only about the central character, who is, essentially, a super-hero terrorist. The film is violent and darkly funny (an homage to Benny Hill had me in hysterics) and, above all, thought provoking. It would be easy to say that this is the time for this film. That now is a time when governments need to be questioned and that is why the film has been made. I don’t think that’s the case, though. For one thing, the comic was written in the eighties and the Wachowski’s began planning a film version even before the first Matrix. No, I would argue that the themes here are enduring and universal. Questions are asked that seem pertinent in any time.

As I said, though, this is a very uneven film. The highs are very high, though. Particularly good is Evey’s abduction and torture, crosscut with the life story of fellow inmate Valerie. This sequence is just as powerful on the screen as it is on the page. The visuals are excellent, particularly the somewhat ritualistic, and possibly analogous to Christ, shaving of Evey’s head and the shot of Valerie kissing her lover for the first time, with the sunlight pouring between their faces. Natalie Portman is just terrific throughout this sequence, perfectly portraying a transition from utter fear and hopelessness to acceptance and utter calm. Otherwise, her performance is just as uneven as the film itself.

The other actors are excellent though. Hugo Weaving is terrific as V, brilliantly acting through a full face mask which, without a view of eyes or mouth, could be a huge impediment. Stephen Fry also shows up for a nice turn as a late night talk host, but it’s a bit weird to see him in this movie, especially for us Black Adder fans.

BIG TIME SPOILERS, AHOY! At any rate, much of the rest of the movie feels a bit rushed, with the sequences not given the same opportunity to breathe that they have in the comic. True, the movie is going to be a good deal shorter, but I have the feeling that a more simple, fluid editing style could have fixed this. Further, many of the scenes feel like their pulling punches, which is particularly weird for a film about a super-hero terrorist and a government which has secretly killed scores of its citizens. For example, the comic’s powerful conclusion, in which Evey becomes V, is glossed over, as is most of Finch’s angst and complexity of character as he uncovers a terrifying conspiracy. This is particularly bizarre omission given how well this transformation is foreshadowed in the film’s opening moments. Also disappointing is the loss of High Councilor Adam Sutler (called Adam Susan in the comic) as a character. In the film, Sutler largely only appears on a big screen, shouting at his subordinates. Gone are the sequences of a hollow man, alone in his castle, bizarrely confessing his love to the super computer Fate, also missing from the picture, which helps to run his government. Tragically, the Vicious Cabaret is missing, which I was really looking forward to. We are missing V’s beautiful soliloquy to Lady Justice, which I think is a damn shame and, again, odd.

True, many of these additions would have lengthened the film to the three hour mark, but in a world of Lord of the Rings movies and King Kong, I don’t think that that is the problem it used to be. Most troubling of all is V’s words to Evey near the end of the film. He tells her that he has fallen in love with her. I’m sorry. What? V exists in the comic as asexual. He loves Evey, but not like that and adding that note to the film version just seems wrong. Indeed, if V is anything in the comic, he is gay. How else did he end up in Room 5? Instead of keeping with this, the filmmakers transpose that aspect of the V/Evey relationship with that of the Deitrich/Evey relationship. In the comic, Evey goes to stay with Deitrich, whose name is, I think, Gordon, there, and they have a brief but meaningful relationship. In the film, Deitrich becomes a bit of a heavy handed way to move Evey toward V’s line of thought and is homosexual.

All that said, I do still think this is a pretty good movie and a valiant effort. It is much smarter and infinitely more intriguing than the usual blockbuster fare, such as the trailer for 3 Fast 3 Furious which ran before the film. I am glad it was released. It will no doubt lead to many involved discussions, both about the film as a film and about its ideas. Hopefully, it will get more people to check out Alan Moore’s comic, which is really the finest dystopian novel of any sort since George Orwell. Finally, I predict that V will be the big costume this Halloween and it will be damn cool to see the streets filled with Vs. I probably won’t dress up as the Man from Room 5 myself, but I’ll certainly by a mask. It’d be a hell of a thing to hang on the wall.

40. It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World

Stanley Kramer, 1963

Talk about your who’s who of great comedic actors. It would almost be easier to name who isn’t in this film, but, as they used to say, a great cast deserves another look. Spencer Tracy’s there, sans Hepburn, as the beleaguered police captain who’s been trying to track down a stolen fortune for eons. Milton Berle shows up, sans dress, is one of the guys who finds the dying gangster by the side of the rode and finds out about the loot buried beneath a giant W. Ethel Merman, sans broadway, plays Berle’s brow beating mother in-law, channeling Fred Flintstone’s mother in-law in many ways. Dick Shawn, sans LSD ... well, pretty much the same as LSD, is Ethel Merman’s nutty, hippie dancing son. Terry-Thomas, camp persona firmly intact, is the British military officer who teams up with Uncle Milty. Buddy Hackett, sans off color jokes, is yet another of the dudes. Mickey Rooney shows up, sans Andy Hardy, as Buddy Hacket’s partner in crime. Phil Silvers, Bilko-ness intact, is, well, pretty much a Bilko type who tries to con Jonathan Winters out of his share of the treasure. Jonathan Winters, slightly more mentally advanced than Merth, is a furniture mover who is out for the gangster’s loot and who hilariously tears up a gas station, run by two of the guys who did voices of the sidekick cats from Top Cat. Sid Caesar, sans the Show of Shows, is another man who meets the gangster and competes with his fellows for the fortune on a mad cross country dash (Caesar employs a beat up plane and his car). Edie Adams, sans Columbo, is Mrs. Sid Caesar and gets locked in a hardware store with him. Peter Falk, sans Edie Adams, oddly enough, is another cabbie. Eddie “Rochester” Anderson, sans Jack Benny, is a cab driver. Norman Fell, sans Jack Tripper, is a cop. Don Knotts, also sans Jack Tripper, is a nervous motorist. Jack Benny, sans Rochester, is a calm, if insulted driver. Jerry Lewis, sans Dean Martin, is a crazy motorist. Jim Bakus, sans Lovey, is a drunk, rich pilot whom Buddy and Mickey employ. Buster Keaton, stone face intact, is a crook. Carl Reiner, sans Mel Cooley, is a tower controller, trying to guide Bakus in. The Three Stooges: Moe, Larry, and Curly Joe, sans real Curly, Hell, even sans Shemp, are fire fighters. Finally, Jimmy Durante, nose blissfully intact, literally kicks the bucket just after telling a group of motorists where his giant pile of money is, sparking said mad cap cross country chase.

That is, admittedly, a lot of sanses, but, I think you’ll have to agree, It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World is a film that has it all. Plus, it’s totally mad! It’s at least four times as mad as Mad Max. It also happens to be hilarious. The gas station sequence is a comedy classic bar none. You’ve never seen Jonathan Winters until he tears apart a brand new service station in a Hulk like rage. It’s also just spectacular to see all these brilliant comedians and great comedic actors interacting. The only person missing is Groucho Marx, but I’m willing to let that slide since everyone else is here. I don’t expect everyone reading this to know all the actors involved, but, let me tell you, knowing certainly adds to the enjoyment, which is huge. It’s kind of like reading a comic book team-up of your favorite heroes. It’s not Superman meets Green Lantern. It’s not Batman meets Wonder Woman. This is bigger. In fact, It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World is like the Justice League of comedy and you can’t beat that.

41. 12 Angry Men

Sidney Lumet, 1957

Twelve. That’s a lot of angry men. It also happens to be the number of men who sit on a jury, which happens to be what this movie is about. The film begins with a jury returning to their room to deliberate a murder case. It all seems cut and dry and, so, an initial vote is taken. Eleven vote guilty. One votes not guilty. This is Juror #8, played by the great Henry Fonda. Every one is ready to send this young convicted murderer to his death, except for old Henry. This isn’t to say that Henry doesn’t think the man is guilty; he just wants to take a good, hard look at the case before sending a man to his death. So it goes. The jurors, many of the reluctant and/or eager to get home or to the baseball game, take a long look at the case and slowly begin to see it’s many holes, like in the dynamic bit where Fonda stabs a switchblade knife into the conference table, a knife identical to the supposedly rare knife found at the murder scene.

12 Angry Men is an extraordinarily compelling film about standing up for what you believe in in the face of great pressure. That pressure, by the way, is brilliantly realized by setting the film only in the deliberation room. We do not see the trial. There is only a brief scene of the judge instructing the jury at the beginning and a brief epilogue on the courthouse steps. Otherwise, the film is shot entirely within a room just big enough for twelve. Tempers quickly run high and subtle, but undeniable feeling of claustrophobia permeates the film. Director Sidney Lumet even changed the focal length over the course of the film to make it seem as though the walls were closing in on the actors.

Another tactic Lumet used here was to rehearse his actors constantly in linear run throughs, as if rehearsing for a play instead of a film. I believe the film was also largely shot in order, letting emotions and tempers rise more naturally. Of course, this would be impossible without a great cast and 12 Angry Men certainly has one of the finest casts ever assembled. All twelve are great actors and, while some are men I’ve never really heard of, we’ve got a real who’s who of greats here, which won’t be topped, well, until we look at tomorrow’s film. Still, along with Fonda, you have Martin Balsam, Lee J. Cobb, E. G. Marshall, a young Jack Klugman, and the original Ed Begley. Each man is perfect in his role and the way each adds to the interpersonal dynamics which drive the film is brilliant.

Honestly, I don’t have much more to say here. It really is a brilliant and thoroughly compelling film. I think, if you put it in, you’ll find yourself immediately drawn into the personal drama and the ongoing courtroom goings ons. The hour and a half absolutely flies by. Great stuff.

42. The Magnificent Ambersons

Orson Welles, 1942

“Something had happened. A thing which, years ago, had been the eagerest hope of many, many good citizens of the town, and now it had come at last; George Amberson Mainafer had got his comeuppance.”

The magnificence of the Ambersons began in 1873, or so Orson Welles’ opening narration tells us. The film then proceeds to chronicle not the family’s rise, but their inevitable decline as their old monied arrogance falls, and falls hard, in the face of neuvo riche industrialism. Standing in the face of this decline is Major Amberson, Richard Bennett in his final performance, the aging head of the household, his daughter Isabel, somewhat broken by the death of her husband and the incredible selfishness of her son George Amberson Mainafer, played excellently by Tim Holt. The film revolves mostly around Eugene, Joseph Cotten as Isabel’s true love from before her first marriage, returning to town to open an automobile plant. He brings his daughter, Lucy, with him. The film then follows Eugene’s rise and the Ambersons’ decline from once great family to near destitution. Along with this is the story of Eugene’s attempts to reconnect with a clearly willing Isabel. In fact, Eugene and Isabel would almost certainly get married, if not for the emotional bullying of George, who wants to keep his mother all to himself and away from an ordinary man like Eugene. The performances here are all terrific, but the stand out work is done by Agnes Moorehead. You might remember Ms Moorehead from her roles as Charles Foster Kane’s mother in Citizen Kane and, who am I kidding, as Endora on Bewitched. Agnes plays Fanny Amberson here, Isabel’s spinster sister and a woman filled with just as much unreasonable hatred as George, although it is an often more subtle, and complicated hatred. Fanny is a woman broken by years of disappointment and Moorehead captures her perfectly. For her work, Agnes was nominated for an Academy Award for best supporting actress and won best actress from the New York Film Critics.

As great as the story, characters, and performances are in this film, it is, in many ways, only the dream of a great film. Don’t get me wrong, everything behind the camera is just as perfect. The cinematography is fantastic, including some great deep focus staging, as in the kitchen scene with George and Fanny, and the direction is exceptional. Watching this movie, it is clear that Welles really was at the top of his craft in this period and Ambersons certainly had all the potential to be the perfect follow up to Citizen Kane. That was not to be, however. After the fiasco in which William Randolf Hearst tried to bury Citizen Kane, RKO was less interested in granting Welles carte blanche with this film. He would not have the final cut say he had with his previous film. Still, Welles entrusted the final editing of Ambersons to Robert Wise. With that, Welles took off for South America to shoot the documentary It’s All True. While he was away, the studio began to look at Welles’ cut of the picture and set up test screenings. The screenings went horribly. Audiences of specifically average movie goers were brought in, who either didn’t understand or resented the film’s artistic qualities. RKO panicked, as did Robert Wise, Joseph Cotton, and Agnes Moorehead. Welles tried to console them and fight for his cut by telegram, but simply wasn’t able to return to Hollywood to fight for it in person. Without Welles around, the studio began to aggressively recut the film and decided to shoot extra scenes. In an attempt to save something of his film, Welles wired suggested cuts and a few new scenes to Hollywood. These were ignored. The result was that the film, which initially ran 148 minutes, was cut to 88 minutes and new ending, featuring an uncharacteristically cherry Fanny, was added. Watching the film today, the first half or so is pretty much as Welles intended and that half is terrific. In the second half, some brilliant, crucial scenes remain, such as the depiction of George’s comeuppance and the final mournful thoughts of Major Amberson, sitting alone in the dark. Otherwise, the entire second half moves at a breakneck speed, as huge chunks of action are clearly missing. The new ending is clearly tacked on, lacking the subtle acting of the rest of the film and even the visual style. Don’t get me wrong, this is still a very watchable film and one I like a lot, but the flaws are very evident. Still, there is more than enough here to see what Welles intended and that would have been an utterly brilliant film. For the record, no known copy of the original cut of The Magnificent Ambersons exists. Because of that, we will likely only have the dream of this film.

43. Superman: The Movie

Richard, Donner, 1978

“You’ve got me? Who’s got you?”

I believe a man can fly and I always have. Superman has always been my favorite super-hero. I remember my Superman action figure from when I was a kid and the special mail order only Clark Kent I still have. I remember the little spaceship toy I had for him. It didn’t matter that Superman doesn’t need a spaceship; it was his anyway. I remember going to the mall with my parents and watching an odd little one man stage show featuring the man of steel himself, right there, in person. Lex Luthor had rigged an elaborate plan using Kryptonite dust to steal his memory and us kids had to remind Superman who he was. I remember the big book of black and white Superman reprints I had constantly checked out from the New Carlisle library and I remember getting in trouble for reading it when I should have paid attention to class. To this day, I know of no greater mythology than Superman: the planet Krypton, which was his home, his Kryptonian parents, Jor-El and Lara, his earth parents, Jon and Martha, his adventures as Superboy in Smallville, his first tragic meeting with Lex Luthor, his childhood love Lana Lang, the creation of Bizarro, the arrival of Krypto, adventures in the 30th Century with the Legion of Super-Heroes, moving to Metropolis to work at the Daily Planet, where he met Perry White and Jimmy Olsen and fell in love with Lois Lane, the arrival of Brainiac, Mr. Mxyzptlk, the Bottle City of Kandor, Metallo, his cousin, Kara Zor-El, Supergirl, and so much more.

It is no surprise, then, that I would love Superman: The Movie. It pretty much has a pass. Even if it were a really mediocre effort, it would still be amazing to see the last son of Krypton live and breathe and move on the screen. Luckily for all of us, it’s a superb movie, an incredible adaptation to the screen. From those first moments on the barren planet Krypton, with Marlon Brando as Jor-El, you enter a fantastic world where anything is possible. Brando is terrific and Gene Hackman is excellent as the scheming Lex Luthor, but the core of this movie is Christopher Reeve. He is so incredibly sincere in his performance as a man who only wants two things: to help mankind and to be one of them. He works perfectly both as Superman, exuding an offhanded confidence in himself and his powers, and as Clark Kent, the bumbling facade which protects his friends from retribution. The effects are great, too, and I think still hold up today. When Superman flies, you can almost believe it’s true. It would be so easy to fill this movie full of corny, campy performances, but no one does. Everyone on screen believes and commits to the super powered man in blue tights and red underwear.

The film also has just so many great set pieces, which perfectly display how Superman should be. The whole sequence when he saves Lois from the helicopter crash is great, as is the part where he secretly uses his powers, while disguised as Clark, to save her from a mugging. I love the whole early montage where Superman stops a robber walking up the side of the building, stops a drug shipment on a boat, and then takes the place of one of Air Force One’s jet engines during an electrical storm. And, even though it gets a lot of crap, I dig the part where Superman turns back time itself to save Lois’ life. This movie gets Superman in ways that so many other efforts miss the mark. It honors him and respects him and gives us a living, breathing hero to cheer on, if only for two hours.

44. Evil Dead 2: Dead by Dawn

Sam Raimi, 1987

“Groovy.”

What a great movie. Honestly, there are few movies that are more shameless and fun than this. The film opens in a recap of the first movie, the aptly titled The Evil Dead. Ash and his girl friend go up to a cabin in Michigan. Unfortunately, the basement of the cabin holds the Necronomicon ex Mortis, the Book of the Dead. Ash foolishly reads aloud from the book, releasing all manner of evil into the woods. The evil quickly kills and then possesses his girl friend. Ash has to lop her head off with a shovel. Yeah. It’s pretty awesome already, isn’t it? And this is only like the first four or five minutes. From there on out, the evil sets its sights squarely on old Ash. Ash, by the way, is played by Bruce Campbell. You may remember Bruce as the lead from Bubba Ho-Tep. He is, without a doubt, the finest B movie actor working today. Instantly and effortlessly charming and possessed of both a sharp wit and enough stupidity to get himself in trouble, Ash is the perfect horror film protagonist.

Soon enough, the evil has repossessed and resurrected Ash’s dead, and headless, girl friend, resulting in a very eerie dance performed by an already suspiciously decomposed corpse. When she pirouettes, her head stays in one place, unturning. So cool. Well, Ash defeats her, but not before she bites his head. Now Ash has to fight his hand, possessed by the evil. What follows is some of the finest slapstick comedy of the last twenty years. Ash wrestles with his own hand, tackling it to the ground until the hand gets the, well, the upper hand and knocks Ash silly by breaking plates over his head in the sink. Keep in mind, this is Ash’s own hand, attached to him. It’s hilarious. This is the film’s great strength. It is by far the film that most effortlessly blends grueling horror with uproarious comedy that I have ever seen. It’s perfect. At one moment, the screen is covered with blood and the next a man fights his own hand. Before long, Ash is forced to lop off his hand with a hatchet. This just means that he has to fight a rather whiley disembodied hand in a sort of Tom and Jerry manner. Horror returns to the picture soon after as Ash continues to go nutty, tormented by the cackling animal heads, stuffed and mounted on the cabin wall. Before long there are also more than enough zombies, full ones and not just hands, for Ash to contend with. This leads to the greatest weapon ever in the history of film. Ash goes out to the tool shed and fastens a chainsaw to his still bloody stump.

At any rate, I don’t get to this often, so let’s take a look at those drive-in totals. We’ve got two zombie breasts. Six dead bodies. Blood-spewing. Zombie detached-hand attack. Hand spearing. Hand sawing. Flying-eyeball swallowing. Fruit-cellar demon attacks. Zombie axing. Heads roll. Hands roll. Everything rolls. Glopola City. Double-barrel sawed-off shotgun blast through the eyes of a demon Fu. With Dan Hicks as the redneck guide searching for his dead girlfriend, Kassie Weslye as the girl who gets raped, pillaged and murdered by the woods (not IN the woods, BY the woods). Campbell has the classic line: “Am I fine? We just cut up our girlfriends with a chainsaw. Does that sound fine? Four stars. Joe Bob and I say check it out.

A quick final note: Gordon Parks, the director of Shaft, died Tuesday at the age of 93. This is decidedly ungroovy. I urge all cats to not cop out, especially when there’s danger all about, in his memory.

45. Orpheus

Jean Cocteau, 1950

“I am letting you into the secret of all secrets, mirrors are gates through which death comes and goes.”

The French title of this film is Orphee, with a little dealie bobber over the last e, which I don’t know how to make on my keyboard. Anyway, as that implies, this is a French movie and probably my favorite foreign language film of all time. It is not my favorite foreign film, however, but more on that down the list. Plot wise, this is pretty much a modern update of the Greek myth of Orpheus. Jean Marais, the director’s long-time lover, plays Orphee, a tragically hip poet in postwar France. Before long, Orphee learns that he has caught the attention of The Princess, Death. Why, I am never sure, although I guess he’s kind of hunky. Anyway, The Princess wants Orphee to come live with her in the underworld, a place made up of bombed out ruins and accessible by walking through mirrors in what is a damn neat effect.

The mirror effect isn’t alone, either; this is a damn good looking movie. Jean Cocteau, the director, was a sort of renaissance man, known as a painter, poet, and film maker. It is not surprising then that his films, which include a version of Beauty and the Beast which is supposed to be just spectacular, and Testament of Orpheus, a sort of sequel in which Cocteau himself interacts with his characters, are utterly poetic. Everything flows in these movies and everything is beautiful. What is more: they don’t make a great deal of sense. The plots are often fairly loose, giving way to the more important visual aspect of the film and its philosophical ideas.

Anyway, The Princess eventually gets honked off enough to have her henchmen, a couple of fascist looking, jackbooted motorcyclists, kill and carry off Orphee’s wife, Eurydice. Orphee enters the underworld with the help of Heurtebise, The Princess’s guy Friday or something who secretly loves her. There, Orphee convinces The Princess to let him take Euridyce back to Earth on the condition that Orphee never look at her again. The two spend a while palling around the house before Orphee blows it and looks at her.

So, yeah, it’s kind of a weird plot and a little thin. There’s also this bit where Orphee finds he can tune into these weird coded messages on his car radio that give him the lines to brilliant poems, ostensibly written by a dead rival. Also, it might not be his car, it might be The Princesses. I don’t remember. At any rate, what I’m trying to say is that it’s a really surreal film, but also an easily accessible one. I also really like what it says, symbolically, about the nature of art and creativity and how the artist, be he poet or filmmaker, is always beholden to his art. You see, I tend to look at the Princess as both death and art. She is always there, the ultimate seductress who you can never fully escape and, often, don’t want to. I will say this, though, the film does certainly seem to suggest that death/art is the ultimate lover for the artist, Orphee, and that no mortal woman, Eurydice, can ever be good enough. While that may be, and certainly does seem to be, Cocteau’s belief, I don’t particularly care for it. I’m not one for forsaking the mortal world for art. Rather, I’m much more about the union of the two, using one to enrich the other and always sharing your art with those around you and those you love in particular. Anything else may give you brilliance, I suppose, but it’ll also leave you damn lonely and, I think, seperate you from a rich source of potential inspiration. We all need our muses, after all. Still, it’s one hell of a movie, a beautifully, poetic, modern myth that is well worth the watching.

The 78th Annual Academy Awards

Well kids, the Oscars hit our screens, and possibly our hearts, this past Sunday and what sort of Production Dude would I be if I didn't take a little time out to tell you all about 'em.  Let's start with the obvious: this year's host, Jon Stewart.  Jon was, well, he was okay.  The overall feeling of his opening monologue was less than that of an average episode of The Daily Show, but it was still all right and his jokes certainly picked up as the night wore on.  The problem, I think, wasn't really Jon himself, but the venue.  I just don't think that Jon Stewart at the Academy Awards is a good idea.  Jon brought his usual wit and his standard, purposefully awkward delivery style with him and they just didn't seem to fit the event.  As Stewart made scathing comments about the Hollywood elite, including attacks on Nicole Kidman, the Baldwins, and Scientology, and followed many of them with his usual uncomfortable, pregnant pauses, the audience just wasn't responding.  They wanted safe, conventional jokes and Stewart wasn't really delivering those.  He wasn't really pulling off a Lenny Bruce or any thing either, but jokes like calling Walk the Line "Ray with white people," just didn't go over.  Don't get me wrong, I thought that one was damn funny, but Joaquin Phoenix looked pretty pissed.  Still, Stewart was enjoyable and the pre-taped bits he prepared were often hilarious, including mock up political attack ads for the best actress contenders.

As for the other pre-taped segments, that is the montages, they were pretty good, but most of them begged the question: why?  I dig a salute to film noir, even if its introduced by a shockingly uncomfortable Lauren Bacall, or a salute to Cinerama, but I'm not sure what precipitated them.  They seemed to be there without reason.  The one thing I loved unequivocally this year was something I don't usually care for: the look of the ceremony.  The camera work and everything was standard for the event, but I absolutely adored the set, a shimmering, glamorous imagining of the old picture palaces, done up in the subtle beauty of subdued whites and blues.  There were also scrolling picture frames and great interstitials featuring the names of the award and disembodied hands visualizing the category against a black background.  The whole thing had the dignified class of a Freed Unit musical and I expected Gene Kelly to waltz across the stage at any moment.  Additionally, I'm not usually a who was wearing who kind of guy, but I just wanna say that Nicole Kidman was absolutely gorgeous.  I think she's pretty super anyway, but she was in this simple, strapless white gown that just made her look so elegant.  Sigh.  Nicole?  I don't know if you read this, but, if you do, marry me.

Well, now we may as well settle in for the long haul and take a look at the individual awards.  I'll pair 'em up for your benefit with my predictions from a month or so ago.

Best Supporting Actor
Predicted: George Clooney
Actual: George Clooney

So, George Clooney wins Oscar's bronze medal.  Good for him.  The supporting actor Oscar is, historically, an apology.  It's the, we're sorry we couldn't give you a different award, like best director for Goodnight and Good Luck, but we have some lovely parting gifts for you.  Here's Carol Merrill to show you what you've won instead …

Visual Effects
Predicted: King Kong
Actual: King Kong

If I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times.  That is one convincing monkey.

Best Animated Feature
Predicted: Wallace and Gromit in The Curse of the Were-Rabbit
Actual: Wallace and Gromit in The Curse of the Were-Rabbit

That's right, I got three in a row.  That, my friends, is what we call a hat trick.  No surprises here.  With the exception of most of Pixar's output, this was the best animated picture in years.  Funny, charming, the whole ball of wax.  On a side note, I don't know if anyone else saw Tim Burton on the red carpet (he was there for Corpse Bride), it was awkward.  It was kind of like Carrie, in a way.  You know, the ugly geeky person invited to the gathering of cool people.  Where do you get off Burton?  Thinkin' your cool.  He's just asking for pig's blood.

Live Action Short
Predicted: ???????
Actual: Six Shooter

It seems like I could make a Dick Cheney joke here.  I won't, though.

Best Animated Short
Predicted: ??????
Actual: The Moon and the Son: An Imagined Convesation

Whatever happened to the days when stuff you'd seen, like "What's Opera, Doc?" won this award.  The Moon and the Son?  Look, unless one of your characters gets hit by a mallet or, say, forty cream pies, I don't wanna hear it.  Still, I would like to repeat my plea to theater chains nation wide.  Hey, jackass, why don't you show some of these shorts before the movie?  If I see one more Bod Man commercial on the big screen … well, I might go out and buy some Bod Man and no one wants that.

Costume Design
Predicted: Charlie and the Chocolate Factory
Actual: Memoirs of a Geisha

So, somebody won an Oscar for dressing up the Asian chick from Tomorrow Never Dies like a hooker.  A classy hooker maybe, but a hooker none the less.  Honestly, what's next?  Pretty Woman II: Pretty Woman Goes to Japan (possibly with the Bad News Bears)?  Actually, that would be pretty awesome.

Makeup
Predicted: The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe
Actual: The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe

I once saw a thing on Dateline where they rescued these poor uber-Mormon girls from the semi-captivity of their parents.  One of the first things they did was take them to a movie.  The movie they chose?  Never Been Kissed with Drew Barrymore.  Come on.  That's just gonna scare them back home.  Drew Barrymore?  Yeesh.  She looks like the Man in the Moon from A Trip to the Moon.  Now, if it were me, you'd have to take them to something like this.  Not only are they dazzled by convincing looking goat dudes (he said trying to tie the rant into the best makeup thing), but you whip a little Christianity on 'em too.  Everybody wins.

Supporting Actress
Predicted: Rachel Weisz
Actual: Rachel Weisz

I haven't seen The Constant Gardener, which is the film she won for, but I hear she's good.  Best performance of her career.  Mind you, the rest of her career includes The Mummy and The Mummy Returns, so that isn't saying a lot.

Documentary Short
Predicted: ????????
Actual: A Note of Triumph: The Golden Age of Norman Corwin

How on God's green earth, did Layer 18,653 not win?  Ball of paint, dude.

Documentary Short
Predicted: Street Fighter
Actual: March of the Penguins

You know, this category used to be a total crap shoot, but, between this award and Bowling for Columbine a couple of years back, the category is growing more and more populist. Still, my guess was based on Street Fighter being a doc about Capcom's classic fighting game. It wasn't. Had it been, it would have won. Unless the penguins were playing as E. Honda. They're awesome as E. Honda.

Art Direction
Predicted: Memoirs of a Geisha
Actual: Memoirs of a Geisha

Hey, I'm doing pretty good with these predictions.  This one seemed to be begging for the art direction Oscar though.  I haven't seen this film, but I was hoping it would win best score to.  The way I see it, it either has one of those really cheesy Toho Film scores, with lots of drums and things announcing the coming of Mothra, or just an endless loop of Live at Budokan.

Original Score
Predicted: Munich
Actual: Brokeback Mountain

I don't really have anything to say here.  Although, I do wonder, in film composing circles, when a guy comes up with something really good, how often do you suppose some jackass says, "He shoots; he scores!"

Sound Mixing
Predicted: Walk the Line
Actual: King Kong

Sound mixing, for the uninitiated, involves placing sound, and lime, in a coconut and shaking it all up.

Original Song
Predicted: "The Glory of Love" from Karate Kid II
Actual: "It's Hard out Here for a Pimp" from Hustle and Flow

Damn.  I thought for sure this was Peter Cetera's year.  Still, Bill Conti, who wrote "You're the Best Around," the single from Karate Kid, was the conductor for the house orchestra at the Oscars.  So, in a weird way, I was sort of close.  Meanwhile, the win for "It's Hard out Here for a Pimp" was the only real surprise of the night.  Rap music had better look out; it's dangerously close to becoming respectable.  On a side note, when this won, did we really have to cut to shots of every black actor in the audience?

Sound Editing
Predicted: King Kong
Actual: King Kong

That's one convincing sounding monkey.

Foreign Film
Predicted: Tsotsi
Actual: Tsotsi

I haven't seen it, but I hear it's pretty good.  So, yay, I guess.

Film Editing
Predicted: Crash
Actual: Crash

Um … let's see there has to be a joke here somewhere.  Oh boy.  Oh!  You suppose they used crash editing?!  That was pretty lame. No one even knows what that is.

Actor
Predicted: Philip Seymour Hoffman
Actual: Philip Seymour Hoffman

What can I say?  He was freaking great!  If Capote were alive today, he'd, well, he'd probably say something kind of clever and really smarmy right now.

Cinematography
Predicted: Brokeback Mountain
Actual: Memoirs of a Geisha

Again, I haven't seen Geisha, but the cinematography in Brokeback was spectacular.  From what I've seen of Geisha, that movie just looks so pedestrian.  Feh.

Actress
Predicted: Reese Witherspoon
Actual: Reese Witherspoon

Come on.  We all knew she'd win, but she's such a hack.  Really.  She's so sickeningly sweet and, well, white.  Honestly, she's the whitest actress around.  When she won and started going on about her dream of being a country singer, well, I became instantly diabetic.  Kind of like my grandma.  Still, I can't wait till she's down on her luck and sh has to team with the candy people to make Reese's Witherspoons.

Adapted Screenplay
Predicted: Capote
Actual: Brokeback Mountain

To really judge this accurately, I would have had to read the books and, while I do read, what I'm reading right now is Joe Bob Goes Back to the Drive In.  That said, it's pretty unlikely I'm going to get off my ass and read either of these, especially when there's a whole pile of Superman comics waiting at home.

Original Screenplay
Predicted: Crash
Actual: Crash

Looks like someone took a crash course in screenwriting!

Directing
Predicted: Ang Lee
Actual: Ang Lee

Good for him.  Ang's a really good director and this is probably his finest work.  It's more subtle than Crouching Tiger and much more subtle than Hulk and it has a butt load (no pun intended, really) of emotional resonance.  Hell of a job, Ang.

Picture
Predicted: Brokeback Mountain
Actual: Crash

Huh.  Crash won.  Can't say I'm really surprised.  As much as people are talking about it being the big surprise of Oscar night, it wasn't.  As Oscar neared, Crash got more and more word of mouth.  Crash's problem was always that it had been released too early for the Academy to remember and, by the end, it was clear this had been remedied.  I still think Brokeback is the better movie, but Crash was excellent too.  At the end of the day, I just don't care about either so strongly to care either way.  So long as one won, I'm fine with it.

By the way, I got 13 out of 23 right and I didn't even guess, or guess seriously, on several. Pretty damn good.

46. From Russia with Love

Terence Young, 1963

This is the second of MGM’s hugely successful James Bond films and it stars the best Bond of them all, Sean Connery. It may also be the best Bond film of them all. It is certainly my favorite. You see, this movie comes prepackaged with all the great things about the Connery Bond films. Exotic locations? Check. Most of this one is set in Turkey, which really looks lovely here. I’m also a big fan of the gypsy camp Bond hangs out in. Beautiful women? In abundance. You get the innocent Russian dupe Tatiana Romanova, Sylvia Trench following up her small role in Dr. No, Kerim Bey’s gorgeous wife, and, of course, the gypsy girls. I really like gypsies. Then there’s the class. Like The Pink Panther, these films are imbued with that sixties idea of class that is just impeccable. Everything is very plush and beautiful. The men wear suits and the women wear gorgeous dresses. Everything is expensive and wine flows like water. Bond himself is cultured beyond belief and the world of the super rich seems ordinary for two hours. Of course, this isn’t the super rich of today, filled with 24 hour raves and Paris Hilton wanna bes, but you grandfather’s idea of classy, which tends to involve a lot of quiet evenings and hats. It’s an aesthetic I adore. Really, and I recognize that this won’t mean anything to some of you, it’s a lot like Playboy After Dark and I think that’s great. Further, this particular idea of Bond and his world is distinct from the Roger Moore films and other, later entries. These films are very adult. They are often very smart and concerned with complicated plots of move and counter move that as often involve sitting down and thinking things through as they do going out and blowing stuff up. They are violent and sexy. Of course, they’re nothing compared to today's levels of violence and sex, but, for the sixties, these were meant for a very sophisticated and very adult audience. This is Bond for mom and dad. It wouldn’t be until Roger Moore’s films that Bond would become a family character.

Another big reason I like this one best is the villainy here. This is one of the SPECTRE films and I always like the idea of pitting Bond and MI-6 against a rival organization. Blowfeld is here, but he’s pretty much a background character, which is how I prefer him. Rosa Klebb, the Russian with the knives in her shoes, is also terrific. Best of all, though, is Robert Shaw as Red Grant, Bond’s opposite number. Grant serves as Bond’s nemesis in a way that has never really been equaled. Sure, other films have tried the idea, notably Scaramanga in The Man with the Golden Gun and 006 in GoldenEye, but neither really work as well as Grant. The same should be said of Blowfeld. Blowfeld is a welcome master mind, but he’s really more M’s opposite number than Bond’s. Like Bond, Grant is an agent, a man with a mission. He is trained to the peak of his profession, which, of course, is killing. He isn’t terribly cultured, in fact his lack of knowledge of fine wine is what ends up giving him away, but I’m not sure Bond’s nemesis should be cultured. He is a cold blooded killer, a version of Bond himself without humanity or a real sense of self. Where Bond is the consummate gentleman, Grant is the ultimate animalistic killer. He is concerned with himself and his mission. He could hardly care which of his SPECTRE cohorts die and one gets the sense that he’d gladly work for MI-6 if they’d let him kill at his discretion.

On a final note, there are a number of people out there who will tell you that On Her Majesty’s Secret Service is the best of the Bond films. They will tell you that this is because its the only one to really offer character development (in the form of Bond marrying Emma Peel from The Avengers) and the only one to have Bond show emotion (he cries at the end when Mrs. Peel buys it. Did I ruin it for you? So sorry.). Their one concession is that George Lazenby, replacing Connery for one film, sucks ass as Bond. Well, my friends, there’s your problem. I suppose On Her Majesty’s Secret Service may be a fine film in its own right, but it isn’t a good Bond film. A good Bond film requires one thing above all others: Bond. Lazenby isn’t Bond. Bond doesn’t marry and Bond doesn’t cry, particularly the Bond of the sixties. I know what you’re saying, “But doesn’t that curb depth and isn’t depth a good thing?” Hey, depth is a great thing, but with the Bond movies depth has always resided in the plot and the bigger picture. Bond himself is, within each actor’s particular portrayal, the constant. True, that may limit things occasionally, but that has never been the point of Bond. Bond was developed by Ian Flemming to be candy for the adult mind and there’s nothing wrong with that. Sure, pop corn movies like Armageddon can suck, but some pop corn is really good and I’m not sure it needs to be anything more, at least not in the case of 007.

47. Sunset Blvd

Billy Wilder, 1950

“I am big. It’s the pictures that got small.”

In the great role call of memorable film characters, Norma Desmond must rank near the top. Sunset Blvd is the story of Miss Desmond’s career having long set. It is the story of a once great actress who cannot face the reality that the world has passed her by. Gloria Swanson plays Norma Desmond, a faded idol of silent pictures. Miss Desmond lives in a forgotten mansion, surrounded by the faded glories of her past. Her massive car no longer runs. Her pool is empty. The facade of her home is chipping away, covered in overgrowth. Inside are ornate fixtures and hundred of framed publicity stills of no one but her. She lives her life alone with her butler, Max. Once in a while, she is joined by other faded and forgotten stars, including the great Buster Keaton, for a game of cards. Her only other companion is a monkey and, when the movie begins, the monkey is dead.

Enter Joe Gillis, a down on his luck screenwriter. Desmond brings him into her home, forcing him to work on her bizarre script of Salome and treating him as her own live in boy toy, a role which, for most of the film, he is happy to play. This film is probably the greatest tragedy of classic Hollywood. Desmond’s star has fallen and she can’t see it. Gillis’ star is falling and he’s all to aware of it. Max’s star fell with Desmond’s, he was once both her lover and director, and now, he sits around, watching his love continue to deteriorate even as he is pushed aside for a younger man.

As easy as it is to look at Desmond and shake our heads at her inability to see reality, it is, in many ways, not her fault. She is vain. She is egotistical, but her undoing is not entirely her own. After all, it was the idolization of a million fans who made her that way and the fickle nature which left her how she ended up. It was a Hollywood with no sense of the past that destroyed Desmond. Perhaps she deserved her fall, but it’s all so tragic that you can’t help but pity her and that is the real core of Sunset Blvd. Sunset Blvd, in many ways, reflects the very real Hollywood that uses people and then throws them away, whether this is with big stars like Desmond or with screenwriters like Gillis. The film also contains a young woman named Betty Schaefer, a budding screenwriter herself who helps Gillis realize his remaining potential, but for whom we worry the same fate may someday come. The card playing scene is particularly heartbreaking as we see authentic stars of the silent era, particularly Buster Keaton, and remember how quickly they were forgotten and how few people even today remember their contributions. The toughest scene of all, though, is the end. Desmond has come completely unhinged. For the first time in years, she is the subject of media attention, thanks to the death of Joe Gillis (don’t worry, you find out he’s dead in the film’s first few lines). Her home is crawling with reporters. In her dementia, she comes from her room, believing herself on a movie set. She begins to regally decent the stairs, this poor, faded relic. Max immediately takes control of the floor, returning to his old role and ordering the camera men to follow Desmond. Desmond reaches the bottom of the stairs and says, “And I promise you I’ll never desert you again because after Salome we’ll make another picture and another picture. You see, this is my life! It always will be! Nothing else! Just us, the cameras, and those wonderful people out there in the dark! ... All right, Mr. DeMille, I’m ready for my close-up.” The close-up will never come, neither will Salome or the other pictures. This isn’t Miss Desmond’s life. It hasn’t bee for years. After all, it wasn’t she who abandoned us. We abandoned her and she went insane. This is the dark side of Hollywood and of fame, my friends. Both can build you up and make you feel like the greatest person in the world. That is the dream, isn’t it? And Norma Desmond got to live it. Yet, in the end, both tossed her aside and the price for their patronage was that they left nothing behind.