Weekly Mishmash: March 7-14
Avenue Q. A mishmash first — theat-ah! I’ve been longing to see Avenue Q ever since hearing an interview with the show’s two songwriters professing their love for Sesame Street and The Electric Company (one even sung the latter’s T-I-O-N tune, neat). The soundtrack has been a popular play in our house for years, but we haven’t seen the whole show in performance until last week. Although the cast in this touring production was a shade less polished than the Broadway cast, we totally enjoyed it. People claim the show is pretty racy, but in actuality the humor is on the same level as your average PG-13 rated comedy. The book and music are very hip and knowing, as exemplified by “Everyone’s A Little Bit Racist” below. And I loved the graphic shout-outs to Sesame and Electric shown via onstage monitors. It would have been cool to have seen this in a smaller theater when it was just starting out, since the cavernous Grady Gammage Auditorium in Tempe was a bit outsized for the show’s purpose, but nonetheless this was a great thing to experience with an enthusiastic cast and audience.
Citizen Ruth (1996). Laura Dern as a paint-huffing loser who finds herself pregnant for a fourth time while imprisoned. She is bailed out by a Christian family and becomes the center of a heated tug of war between pro-life and pro-choice forces who want to use her for their own means. Being a big fan of Alexander Payne’s Election and Sideways, I looked forward to his first feature and for the most part I wasn’t disappointed. The film is filled to the brim with colorful characters who are only grounded enough to not look like human cartoons. Payne doesn’t firmly side with either group, and seems to take the position that having a myopic view on any issue regardless of one’s viewpoint is unhealthy. Generally I liked the casting, except that Laura Dern’s dim bulb character grated as the film progressed (for too long). Having the film revolve around someone so obviously stupid was an interesting change from the norm, however.
The Format — Dog Problems. Possessing an album’s worth of eMusic credits and a yen for something power poppy, I decided to give this acclaimed 2006 album from the now defunct Phoenix area duo The Format a try. Excellent album, tuneful throughout, with just enough quasi-psychedelic circuslike touches to not be annoying. The band sounds like a classic power pop outfit most reminiscent of ’90s faves Jellyfish. Unsurprisingly, the group did cover Jellyfish’s “Gluttony of Symphony” for the import version of this album. Best tracks: “Time Bomb,” “The Compromise.”
Ikiru (1952). Our first viewing from TCM’s month long Akira Kurosawa tribute coincides with a bunch of Kurosawa Criterion DVDs arriving via Netflix. I fear we may be Kurosawaed out soon, but so far the viewing has been fascinating. Ikiru is one of his most acclaimed, a film at turns both touching and mind-meltingly dull. In it, a meek government worker (unblinking Kanji Watanabe) undergoes a crisis when informed that he only has a year to live. At first he decides to splurge on booze and women in his final months, but then he experiences an epiphany and works to build a playground on land that was previously held up in a mess of bureaucratic red tape. A great concept that many can identify with — what if I never leave my mark on the world? — explored sensitively by Kurosawa with several beautifully filmed slice-of-life vignettes. Unfortunately the film is too long by at least an hour, bogged down by lots of talky, pointless scenes that only point out Watanabe’s annoying passivity. Undoubtably there’s a lot to this film that resonates to Japanese postwar culture and social mores of the time. With much of it, however, we were bored silly. Next, please.
Oliver! (1968). A TCM 31 Days of Oscar remnant that I watched in bits and pieces over a weeklong period. Perhaps not the best viewing setup, but I took it better this way. This splashy Dickens adaptation is a huge, impressive production with several enjoyable musical sequences (”Consider Yourself” is a highlight) and a nail-biting climax. The film on the whole just seemed too big and impersonal. Though pleasing, I don’t understand why it won Best Picture for 1968. Never-nominated 2001: A Space Odyssey wound up being the true celluloid achievement for that year, but Oliver!’s competitors Funny Girl and The Lion In Winter are more absorbing and better made.
Rose of Washington Square (1939). Another musical in what wound up being an all-singing, all-dancing week. This is a typically nostalgic Fox production, a frothy and fake vehicle for Alice Faye as a fictionalized Fanny Brice type singer rising to fame in 1910s New York and being wooed by smooth cad Tyrone Power. This was a lighthearted and fun movie, one made momentarily uncomfortable by Al Jolson playing himself in blackface makeup. Mostly we got this due to the fact that Joyce Compton has a relatively meaty role as Faye’s sidekick. Joycie is her own perky self throughout; she even gets to share a dramatic scene with Jolson. Most of the film’s musical sequences are straightforward stage performances, nicely gimmick free. Alice Faye and a chorusful of dancers doing amazing things with cigarettes in the title number is one of those wonderful non-p.c. moments that one can only find in the world of black and white movies.
Weekly Mishmash: February 28-March 6
My Kid Could Paint That (2007). Good yet haphazard documentary on child prodigy painter Marla Olmstead, who became a mid-2000s media sensation with a series of abstract canvases far too sophisticated to be the work of a six-year-old. Director Amir Bar-Lev intended for this to be a straightforward look at Olmstead and her doting parents, until a 60 Minutes profile captured during filming revealed that Marla may have gotten help from her dad, Mark Olmstead. Personally, I smelled b.s. on the smarmy dad from the start. Despite the scandal, Bar-Lev doesn’t take a firm position either way — which actually hurts more than helps the film. There are many uncomfortable yet compelling scenes of the family members behaving weirdly. Marla is often shown painting, or more accurately smearing paint around into a mass of brown goo the way an average kid would. She seems more interested in the tactile experience of moving goop around on a surface, rather than the art itself. Meanwhile, the dad and art dealer play their p.r. games and a tacky, rich couple are seen dropping $20K on a painting before speeding away in a Hummer. The ’00s, wasn’t it a time?
No Country For Old Men (2007). Stuck this on my Netflix queue when it was new and forgot about it until the DVD arrived here last week. This is an excellent, potent film, although I could sense two conflicting p.o.v.s at work here. For the first two thirds, it’s a gripping tale of Josh Brolin coming across stolen drug money and creepy Javier Bardem’s attempts to get it back. Joel and Ethan Coen do a great job of evoking dusty, morally bankrupt doings in rural Texas of 1980. The film’s tone then shifts in its final third to weathered sheriff Tommy Lee Jones and his puzzlement over the changing times he lives in. Very Cormac McCarthy, in other words, right up to the vague ending. Many viewers apparently didn’t favor this turn, but I found it effective and thought provoking. Bardem’s chilling, dead-eyed character is not so easy to forget.
2012 (2009). Stupid disaster flick, even by Roland Emmerich standards. Special effects of a disintegrating Los Angeles are impressive if on a scale too large to be truly believable.
Unholy Love (1932). This interesting Pre-Code telling of Gustave Flaubert’s Madame Bovary was among the handful of cheapie DVDs from Alpha Video that Christopher recently purchased. Unholy Love was a special request from me since, as you can see from the box art, Joyce Compton takes center stage in it. Although she is third billed behind silent-era actors H. B. Warner and Lila Lee, Compton actually has the most screen time as a flirty gardener’s daughter who slinks her way into high society. It’s a fun role and Joyce has a field day with it, even if at this early point in her career she doesn’t quite have the acting chops to effectively pull it off. Generally this film is a leaden-paced, typical melodrama. Probably its biggest value is of historical interest, since this independent production counts as one of the few earlier appearances of Compton’s currently available on DVD. It was a pleasure watching her in a dramatic turn (and a lead!) very atypical of the comic relief she was eventually best known for; your mileage may vary.
Various — Journey to Paradise: The Larry Levan Story. A 2006 two disc compilation from Rhino Records saluting legendary disco deejay Larry Levan, heavy on the Warner Bros.-owned dance music. I never noticed this one before, but when it popped up on eMusic as a download for the same price that single albums usually go for, I grabbed it. It’s an uplifting and laid-back set, emphasizing earthy, R&B-based dance music from roughly 1979-82 over the cheesy polyester disco we all know and loathe. When it comes to dance, I’m a bit of a non-purist who prefers radio-friendly edited songs over endless 12″ mixes. This set is heavy on the latter, but luckily many of the mixes are enjoyable and the songs themselves are far from overexposed. The inclusion of white groups Yazoo and Talking Heads serve as a nifty reminder of when the R&B world briefly flirted with New Wave. If you could download only one tune, pick Change’s “Paradise” — a tune that sums up Levan’s life-affirming m.o. better than anything else.
It Blowed Up Real Good
I want to have something different to share today, video-wise. How about Disney animator Ward Kimball’s very un-Disney 1968 short, Escalation?
Weekly Mishmash: February 21-27
Patti Austin – Gettin’ Away With Murder. A delightful mid-’80s R&B album downloaded off eMusic, this set showcases the impressive pipes of Patti Austin and the nascent style of producers Jimmy Jam and Terry Lewis in total elegance. I was surprised at how good this album was, and it holds up better today than similar R&B albums from the same year (1985) put out by the much famouser likes of Aretha Franklin and Stevie Wonder. I think the key to its success is Austin herself, who approaches this album like a super polished jazz singer trying out a different style on a lark. Her warm singing complements the sparkling Jam/Lewis production style well, highlighted on the semi-hit “The Heat of Heat.” From what I gather, a few other producers worked on this LP but it has a nice, consistent tone despite covering both balladry (”Summer Is The Coldest Time Of Year”) and the dancefloor (”Honey For The Bees,” previously recorded by Alison Moyet). Excellent. Throw in Austin’s perky 1981 single “Every Home Should Have One” and you have a bona fide party.
The Bridge on the River Kwai (1957). Thanks to TCM, here’s another film to cross off the “Best Picture winners I haven’t seen” list. This was a very good, compelling widescreen actioner firmly in the tradition of David Lean’s other wide screen o-rama epics (Lawrence of Arabia, and the as yet unseen by yours truly Doctor Zhivago). William Holden, Alec Guinness and Sessue Hayakawa make for a formidable leading trio, the bridge itself is impressive as all get out, and there are many beautiful shots of the Sri Lankan jungles that seem tailor made for the big screen (those bats!). On a sour note I was spoiled ahead of time by the ending — heck, it’s even pictured on the friggin’ DVD box design — but nonetheless I had a good time getting there. In the next few weeks I will be watching another big Best Picture, 1968’s Oliver!, but I have a feeling it won’t be as splendid as this one.
Compulsion (1958). Good, not great, courtroom drama based on the infamous Leopold and Loeb trial of the ’20s. The names are changed and several incidents are made-up, but the film follows the same basic story of two arrogant college students (Dean Stockwell and Bradford Dillman) who become media sensations as they are tried for the cold blooded murder of a child. Orson Welles plays their Clarence Darrow substitute defense lawyer. This is a standard ’50s melodrama made more interesting if one has some background on the real Leopold and Loeb case. The film adds an unnecessary romantic subplot involving classmates of the two men (played by Diane Varsi and Martin Milner) and suffers from Hayes Code restrictions, but otherwise it is a competently made drama. The filmmakers had to make many adjustments so the film wouldn’t be pure docudrama, but the few accurate bits that made it through (recreating a famous courtroom photo of the duo, for example) make it a diverting enough watch for true crime buffs.
Drunken Angel (1948). An early Akira Kurasawa/Toshiro Mifune collaboration (their first, actually), quite satisfying if not in the same league as Stray Dog. In a showy supporting role, Mifune plays a hot-headed Yazuka gangster who unwillingly has to consult with doctor Takashi Shimura when his failing health chips away on the stranglehold he has over the depressing little hamlet he controls. Kurosawa keeps things nicely controlled and effectively gives a sense of the desperation of the varied city dwellers in this film, including several heavy-handed shots of the bubbling, trash-strewn bog that the men pass by on a daily basis. Shimura does a great job as the frustrated doctor, and Mifune is simply amazing to watch as he slowly transforms into a gaunt, crazed mental case. Great ending, too. I was happy to find my fave scene from this film on YouTube, a wacky musical moment starring (apparently) the Japanese equivalent of Betty Hutton:
The Eye (2002). After an operation to restore her sight, a girl (Angelica Lee) can now see the dead. That simple premise forms the backbone for this scary Asian movie, which among scary Asian movies ranks below Ju-On (The Grudge) or Ringu but far above any of the crass American remakes of the same (including this one, which got a re-do in 2008 with Jessica Alba). This one has its share of shudder-inducing moments, and its scares come from nicely low-tech methods — only the climactic scene set on a busy street uses modern CGI. The film gets a bit poky and dialogue-heavy at times, but both of us enjoyed it. I appreciated the fact that the female lead wasn’t as passive as other Asian horror leads which tend toward the hyper-wimpy. An effectively creepy and subdued film, unlike our next selection…
Paranormal Activity (2004). This mico-budgeted scare flick became the surprise hit of 2009 in true Blair Witch fashion, but overall I found it kind of “meh”. This film follows a young woman (Katie Featherson) who is fearful that the mysterious spirit that haunted her in childhood has come back to roost in the San Diego home of her boyfriend (Micah Sloat). The skeptical guy decides to videotape them as they sleep in an effort to catch the punking ghostie on camera. This really amounts to being a glorified home movie with so-so acting and few scares. Most annoying is the fact that the film never leaves the house, an ugly cookie-cutter manse filled with terrible furniture (perhaps the ghost is Sam Walton, thanking the couple for their many Wal-Mart purchases). This is also another one of those movies in which the characters are always doing stupid things for no apparent reason. For example, the girl begs the guy not to get a ouija board, and in the next scene he’s holding a ouija board. Stay away!
Splendor in the Grass (1961). Another TCM “31 Days of Oscar” netting, Elia Kazan’s soapy yet engrossing tale of young lust was another one of those films on my to-see list. Natalie Wood and Warren Beatty play teenagers in 1920s Kansas grappling with their feelings for each other amidst leering classmates and judgmental family members. This was a nicely played, interesting film despite feeling like an inferior knockoff of Kazan’s East of Eden. The leads are very attractive and talented, which really helps when the film gets bogged down in soapy theatrics in its second half. Despite all that, it is a very evocative and well-played film right up to the bittersweet finale.
Weekly Mishmash: February 14-20
Julee Cruise — Floating into the Night. An album I’ve been wanting to hear ever since it came out 21 (!) years ago. The 1989 fusion of the scintillating Ms. Cruise, arranger Angelo Badalamenti, and director David Lynch is a spellbinding exercise in dream pop. Much of the album floats by in a dreamlike, eerie atmosphere with the occasional ’50s pop flourish (e.g. the abstract sax solo on “Rockin’ Back Inside My Heart”). “Falling,” a vocal rendition of the Twin Peaks theme, is the best-known tune here, but I like how the album’s second half delves into the darker, sleepier mood of a sustained lullaby. Listening to it from this distance makes me realize how truly one-of-a-kind this collaboration was, although it inspires cravings for cherry pie and damn fine coffee.
49 Up (2006). The most recent chapter in Michael Apted’s astonishing documentary series that profiles several “average” British citizens at seven year intervals from childhood through middle age. At this stage, the subjects are feeling very ambivalent about revisiting Apted and the strange celebrity that comes as a result of these films. It makes for voyeuristic but compelling viewing. Mostly it feels like catching up with old friends that you haven’t seen in a while. I’m always amazed at the editing, which has curious, gawky children gradually morphing into self-aware, pudgy adults. It must be somewhat painful for these people having to re-evaluate their lives every seven years, but I hope they’re aware of the great contributions they’re making to film history.
Hunger (2008). Great film about the brutal treatment of IRA members in the early ’80s British prison system, culminating in the two month hunger strike of resistance leader Bobby Sands (brilliantly played by actor Michael Fassbender). Director Steve McQueen crafted this film into an impressionistic mood piece that gradually draws the viewer in. The approach works infinitely better than it would have been with strict, straightforward storytelling. The film is filled with static shots of things like the prisoners’ feces-smeared cell walls, ugly things that look strangely beautiful in this setting. The gradual deterioration of Fassbender’s body fits into that milieu, as well. I was puzzled as to why McQueen focused on a prison guard, then an average prisoner, then Sands in the course of the film. It may have made more sense to have it centered around a few characters throughout — nonetheless, this film is an uneasy, unforgettable experience.
Orphan (2009). Well-made but far from subtle horror flick about a well-heeled couple (Peter Sarsgaard and Vera Farmiga) who adopt a creepy Russian girl with precocious talents for folksy paintings and quasi-Victorian fashions. After settling in with the couple’s other two children, things start to go very, very wrong and the concerned ma starts to suspect that little Esther (Isabelle Fuhrman) isn’t who she appears to be. This is a pretty stupid, predictable little potboiler, but it’s fun. I was entertained by the way this film so liberally takes cues from other “bad child” movies such as The Bad Seed and The Good Son (the giant treehouse built prohibitively high above ground level in the latter). The cast seems committed — I was particularly impressed with Aryana Engineer as the youngest kid — but this is pure hokum from start to finish. It might even have the makings for the next camp classic.
Weekly Mishmash: February 7-13
Julia (1977). I’ve been wanting to see this one for years — Jane Fonda as Lillian Hellman and Vanessa Redgrave as the title character, Hellman’s childhood friend, who takes a different path that leads both to intrigue in wartime Europe. The film certainly has the polish of an Oscar-winning drama, but all in all I was somewhat disappointed. Redgrave did a great job, but Fonda is too mannered and fussy, and I really don’t know why Jason Robards Jr. netted an Oscar for his few scenes as Hellman’s lover Dashiell Hammett. I also wish the film concentrated more on Hellman’s writing career (we see her busily working on something, but frustratingly don’t know what), and less on the standard WWII spying angle. In her first film, Meryl Streep has an amusing, brief scene here as Fonda’s fair weather friend.
Moonrise (1948). Generally I find much of what TCM offers in its yearly 31 Days of Oscar boring as all get out, but I made an exception for a rare showing Frank Borzage’s moody noir Moonrise (which only got one nomination the year it came out — for sound mixing). This one stars underrated Dane Clark as a young man who is ostracized in his small Southern town for his dad going to the gallows. Convinced he has bad blood, he accidentally kills one of his tormentors (Lloyd Bridges) and takes refuge with a sweet schoolteacher (Gail Russell) who counts among the few who see the good in him. This was a pretty nice film, hokey at times but beautifully acted and photographed. I always liked Dane Clark and his “average joe” appeal, and he’s well matched with the ethereal Russell (contrary to the poster art, the two do not resemble Lawrence Olivier and Vivien Leigh!). At times I felt like Borzage was laying the romantic atmosphere on a bit thick, perhaps to make up for the script’s shortcomings. There are, however, a lot of effective cloaked with Southern gothic atmosphere. Much of the film takes place outdoors, on artfully lit sets that highlight the characters’ unspoken yearnings. Highlight: ferris wheel scene.
9 (2009). A post apocalyptic animated opus that disappeared from theaters faster than Heidi Montag’s barely perceptible crows feet. I found it a moderate success with stunning visuals making up for its myriad shortcomings. With a cast of doll-like creatures trying to save themselves in a battle-scarred landscape full of the machines that destroyed humanity, this premise is bleaker than bleak. Even the hopeful ending isn’t all that hopeful, and the fact that this feels like a short film (over) expanded to feature-length doesn’t help things. Still, I loved the fully realized steampunk/industrial ’40s setting, and the variations between the creatures was fascinating. Although this does bear the imprimatur of co-producer Tim Burton, even Burton himself rarely goes to the bleak places that creator Shane Acker journeys to here — which is somewhat admirable for a kiddie film.
Soul Train: The Hippest Trip in America (VH1). Excellent documentary which almost — almost — makes up for the rest of the crap being played on VH1. Seek it out if you can and get down with yo’ bad self. Or at the very least, check out this clip of the famed Soul Train line dancers in action:
Viva Villa! (1934). Another TCM 31 Days of Oscar viewing, this historical biopic traces the life of Pancho Villa and his conquest of Mexico with an utterly caucasian cast headed by burly Wallace Beery. Yes, Beery seems about as Mexican as a Taco Bell Chalupa, but I’d enjoy him in just about anything and this rip roaring actioner is no exception to the rule. Despite some well-reported behind the scenes turmoil, this is a smooth and nicely paced film that defies its nearly two hour length. I can’t vouch for the historical accuracy on display, but as far as mid-’30s MGM extravaganzas go it holds up pretty well. It kind of makes me wonder what Mexicans think of the film (is it stereotypical or true to life?).
The Wedding Banquet (1993). Uh huh… yet another movie that I’d waited years to see. This one proves that writer-director Ang Lee had the terrific domestic drama thing going on almost right off the bat (I haven’t seen his debut feature, 1992’s Pushing Hands — and from what Lee says apparently he doesn’t want anyone else seeing it, either). About an assimilated Chinese-American who hastily marries to hide his gayness from his traditional parents, this boasts a lot of funny true-to-life scenes and even more warmth and soul. I’d hasten to truly call it a gay film, since the clash of cultures between the traditional and modern Chinese is a bigger theme here than the gay thing. The atmosphere throughout is very early ’90s indie-ish, but all that knowing dialogue (mostly not English) helps make it a timeless film.
Think Pink!
Today’s video of Kay Thompson’s “Think Pink” number from Funny Face is cheating a bit, since I already posted this on Facebook two weeks ago… but the whole thing is so fabulous it deserves an encore here. The effects with split screens and such were pretty advanced for 1957, and for pure visual flair you can’t beat model Suzy Parker and her animated toothpaste. While viewing just remember, there isn’t the slightest excuse for plum or puce — or chartreuse.
Weekly Mishmash: January 31-February 6
AKA (2002). Cheap but engaging film about a poor bloke (boyishly handsome Matthew Leitch) who worms his way into British upper crust society by pretending to be someone he isn’t. This gay-themed drama doesn’t do much to hide its meager budget, and straight-to-video camerwork and clumsy direction doesn’t help matters either. Also, given the talent on display (Diana Quick, Bill Nighy), the acting can be startlingly amateurish. I found it interesting despite all that; Christopher liked it much more than I did. Probably the coolest feature of the DVD is the option to watch the film in triptych form, with three takes of the same scenes playing simultaneously. It helped make this unexceptional flick a bit more watchable.
All American Ads 1900-1919, edited by Jim Heimann. Having a bulging shelf full of the other All American Ads books, I jumped at the chance when Taschen recently had this volume on discount. You would think that advertising in these early 20th century years would be visually stuffy and filled with conservative Victorian values, but I was actually disarmed by how subtle and lovely many of these ads were. Since printing methods weren’t yet advanced enough to take advantage of photography, most ads of the era depended heavily on illustration to the point where the entire ad, text and all, were rendered on the artist’s canvas. And what gorgeous illustrations they are! Apparently having little more than a sumptuous rendering of a happy customer was enough of a “hard sell” back then. Some of the best pages here are campaigns by familiar brands like Coca-Cola, Kellogg’s Corn Flakes, Cream of Wheat and Old Dutch Cleanser. I also enjoyed spotting the work of well-known illustrators such as J.C. Leyendecker and Coles Phillips, whose “fade away ladies” were as much an icon of their era as the Gibson Girl (1890s) or the Vargas pinup (1940s) were for theirs. Pretty nifty visual resource, and it’s already given me inspiration for my next (top secret for the moment) project.
Bright Star (2009). Gorgeous to look at but strangely static film, about the brief but passionate romance between penniless poet John Keats (Ben Whishaw) and his well-dressed lady love, Fanny Brawne (Abbie Cornish). I though Jane Campion did a pretty good job directing this story, aided by some wonderful cinematography that paints various sparsely decorated interiors with the delicacy of a Vermeer painting. I also liked the historically accurate costume design, which was the only area in which this film was honored with an Oscar nomination (the photography ought to have made the cut as well). Unfortunately, the film is deadly slow at times, and the blandness of the two leads makes it play more like a BBC America time-filler than it needed to be. Normally I don’t favor star power in a film like this, but here I feel like it was desperately needed (as a matter of fact, probably the only cast member I truly liked was the precocious little red haired girl).
City of God (2002). Rented this Brazilian drug running epic after noticing that it placed in the IMDb top 250. For a film that I’d never heard of, I was surprised to see it ranked up in the top twenty. This is an audaciously filmed, fast paced romp that fits squarely within the tastes of IMDb voters (which don’t necessarily overlap with mine, but that’s a different entry). Described as a Brazilian Goodfellas, this film tracks the fortunes of a group of young men who turn to drug dealing, gangs and hoodlumlike behavior as a way to escape the Cidade de Deus (City of God), a stifling 1960s housing project for the poor. Moving into the ’70s, the film focuses on two young products of that desperate environment who took on different paths — one as a photographer and the other as the kingpin of a drug dealing network. At times I felt like this film was too ambitious and I wish it had been reigned in a bit, perhaps by ditching the ’60s prologue. The story is also somewhat “been there, done that” in the way it unfurls, but there are so many outstanding sequences along the way that the average viewer is likely to forget that stuff. If at least a few scenes don’t elicit a “wow,” then … you must be dead. If anything, the film is very evocative of its place/time and the wild allure of Rio and Brazilian culture in general.
Erasure – Total Pop! Deluxe Box. A lesson in the dangers of letting nostalgia affect one’s purchases, I downloaded this box set despite already owning half the tracks on it. But I didn’t mind because I love Erasure, a group that has had a surprisingly longevity for the kind of sweet synth pop they purvey (only the Pet Shop Boys can match them). This set supplements their 1992 best-of Pop! The First 20 Hits with 20 more tracks covering Vince Clarke and Andy Bell’s underappreciated 1994-2007 work, along with 14 okay live recordings covering their entire career. If anything, this set proves the duo’s solid commitment to melodic synth-based dance pop — regardless of whether the genre is trendy or not (anyone remember how weird “Chorus” sounded coming out amidst the grunge explosion of 1991?). The big surprise for me was their more recent stuff, such as several charming cuts from their covers album Other People’s Songs (2003). Selections from 2007’s Light at the End of the World trend toward distressingly boring dance music, but the beauty of Erasure is that they will always have something new and intriguing to show for their next venture.
Mayor of the Sunset Strip (2004). I caught this documentary about Los Angeles quasi-celebrity Rodney Bingenheimer on the Fuse network. Totally fascinating! This film follows the impish but strangely sad Bingenheimer, famous more for befriending various musicians and promoting the L.A. music scene than for any inherent talent the guy himself possesses. The filmmakers use Rodney’s story to explore fame and the hollow pursuit of it. I still don’t know if that was a genius move or not (for all I know Rodney is truly a happy fellow and not the sad, vacant soul who comes across here), but this aspect makes for absorbing viewing. Best part: the montage of Rodney bopping away in the background of various vintage performance clips (Mamas & the Papas, Beach Boys, etc.).
Weekly Mishmash: January 24-30
Big Trouble in Little China (1986). Following They Live in my exploration of ’80s John Carpenter movies, Big Trouble in Little China seems to have a big following amongst action kitsch lovers. Like Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom, though, I sense that a big chunk of the people who adore this film were impressionable young boys when they first viewed it. This jaded fortysomething didn’t get as much of a kick out it, but the movie is still fast-paced and fun with an over-the-top sensibility that the director and star Kurt Russel run with for all it’s worth. Although the story is nothing to write home about, I enjoyed the appealing cast, the fighting scenes, and the Asian weirdness of it all. When it comes down to it, however, real Asian action flicks are exponentially weirder (see below).
It’s Tough to Be Famous (1932). Intriguing early talkie supposedly inspired by the rise of Charles Lindbergh. Lanky and elegant Douglas Fairbanks, Jr. stars as Navy officer Scotty McClenahan. When his submarine is bombed, McClenahan gallantly chooses to save his crew over himself. Returning to land, he gets a hero’s welcome and becomes a national celebrity. This film covers ground similar to Crooner with David Manners; unlike that tale, however, this one treats fame with a healthy dose of cynicism. Fairbanks doesn’t want to be famous at all and resents that the adulation has changed his relationship with girlfriend (Mary Brian) and prevents the now-retired officer from getting a decent job. Although the film is a bit poky and unfocused, it’s interesting to watch in today’s celebrity craving climate.
Latitude Zero (1969). Wild and campy sci-fi action monster flick from Toho studios and Godzilla director Ishirô Honda. Actually, this plays a bit like a Godzilla flick, only with Joseph Cotten and a hammy Cesar Romero standing in for the big green scaly guy. In this film, a submarine containing three scientists loses its way and crash lands deep undersea. The vessel’s crew is rescued by an advanced sub piloted by well preserved 204 year-old scientist Cotten, a man who introduces them to his utopian underwater community (shades of Lost Horizon’s Shangri-La) — a society whose peaceful existence is under threat from a maniacal geneticist (Romero) who lives on a nearby rocky island populated with giant rats. Yeah, I didn’t make that up. Don’t expect anything great here (not even cheesy great), but there are plenty of detailed miniature special effects, Austin Powers-esque silver and gold outfits, futuristic Op Art decor, and an international cast of youngsters and vets seemingly trying to out-ham each other. We watched the U.S. dubbed version, which conjured up memories of being a kid and watching monster movies every Saturday on our local outlet for cheesy old sci-fi, World Beyond broadcast on Phoenix’s KPHO (locals: remember that?). ’60s camp aficionados: don’t miss this!
Paris, je t’aime (2006). Twenty short films by a host of acclaimed directors, all relating to love and life in and around Paris. Some segments suffer from being too short (Gus Van Sant’s part, the only story involving gay men), too pointless (Alfonso Cuarón’s single take of Nick Nolte yammering away to a French dolly), or too weird (a courtship told in stylized mime). The good parts greatly outweigh the bad overall, however. The beauty of a film like this is that each viewer can come away with their own favorites to savor. My own were Alexander Payne’s segment, narrated by a plain looking middle aged American tourist, and the segment with two transplanted Nigerians whose paths cross in remarkable ways.
Surrogates (2009). Bruce Willis copes with a near future in which American society is populated with “surrogates,” lifelike robot avatars controlled by humans who have become too sedentary to experience fresh air and nice walks for themselves. This had a lot of potential to be an involving thriller with a deep message a la Spielberg’s Minority Report, but the end result is a disappointing mishmash with plot holes galore. It’s not horribly done, and entertaining in its own modest way. Whatever you do, don’t watch the previews, which give away too many essential plot points.
Swing Out Sister — Shapes and Patterns and Chris Isaak — Best of Chris Isaak. Swing Out Sister and Chris Isaak are two performers with deeply retro sensibilities and strangely durable careers; these releases also serve as interesting reminders of how record companies handle performers that don’t fit in one readily identified musical niche. 1997’s Shapes and Patterns was Mercury’s last-ditch attempt to market the sophisticated pop of Corrine Drewery and Andy Connell to the U.S. (the duo remains popular in Japan). By this time the duo had expanded their striking brand of Bacharach-esque pop to include bits of ’70s funk and even chilly electro (”Icy Cold As Winter”). It didn’t translate to big sales, but this album is still a pleasure to hear. Although the album doesn’t hit the peaks of ’89’s Kaleidoscope World (sheer perfection, in my opinion), this is a good vehicle for Drewery’s expressive but never show-offy voice and Connell’s candy sweet arrangements. Who’da thunk that these two would still be around today? I’ve also harbored a liking for Chris Isaak (and not just for his hot looks), but I’ve never actually gotten any of his stuff until recently coming across his best-of on eMusic. His schtick is a singer-songwriter’s take on ’50s/early ’60s Roy Orbison style crooning, but with a dose of modern grit that elevates it above mere retro pastiche. Listening to this collection, what strikes me most is how consistent his sound has been. The tracks range from “Dancin’” off his 1985 debut to a handful of 2006 tunes, all versed in laid back California cool with simple arrangements and echo-laden vocals. That sound is best epitomized on the sexy “Wicked Game” (his only top 10 hit), but just about everything he’s done is worth looking into.
Binder, Maurice Binder
I’ve been checking out a lot of favorite 1960s movie title sequences lately. Today’s neat discovery: a YouTube user has strung together all of the James Bond franchise title sequences so you can see how they developed over time. The first group below includes titles from Dr. No, From Russia with Love and Goldfinger — all designed by Maurice Binder (not true, actually; see comments). Binder designed the credits on all 007 franchise films released up to his death in 1991. Even the more recent Bond titles owe a huge debt to his seductive imagery.
Weekly Mishmash II: January 17-23
The Monkees — The Monkees [Deluxe Edition]. Though I’ve only been subscribing to mp3 download site eMusic for a few months, they’ve already hit upon a treasure trove of new albums from the Warner Music Group just added this month. This move doesn’t sit well with the indie-lovin’ eMusic faithful, but it’s a-okay with me. The first thing I decided to sample was the Monkees’ first album from 1966, as reissued with bonus tracks by Rhino in 2006. Despite having only one hit (”Last Train to Clarksville”), this was a groovy little album. The affable voice of Micky Dolenz can be heard on most of the tracks, with a few vocals going to Davy Jones and Mike Nesmith (Peter Tork is nowhere to be heard). Naysayers find the Monkees to be a fake Beatles, but mostly what I get off this LP is a smoothed out version of the L.A. garage rock popular at that time. Although most of these tracks are written by Tommy Boyce-Bobby Hart or Gerry Goffin-Carole King, Nesmith’s winsome “Papa Gene’s Blues” proves the band had at least one talented songwriter within its ranks. Nifty vintage commercials and early demoes of tunes that wound up on later Monkees albums make up the bonus tracks.
My Bill (1938). TCM last week celebrated the birthday of actress Kay Francis with a morning-long slate of her soapy vehicles, of which this particular one got caught via the TiFaux. This was apparently the first film the fabulous Francis made after she made a stink with Warner Bros. over the terms of her contract. As a result, the Warners brass started casting her in lower budget b-movies (they even gave her scripts that highlighted her Elmer Fuddlike speech impediment — ouch!). My Bill is a heartwarming family melodrama with the glamorous Kay miscast as cash strapped widow and mother of four children in a small, judgemental town. It’s a very simplistic and predictable film, but I actually enjoyed the way Francis interacted with the actors playing her children — particularly Dickie Moore as the only child who sticks with his ma after his bratty siblings decide to stay with their rich aunt. Moore is cute without being cloying, providing the emotional anchor to this admittedly slight tale. Read more about this film (and the rest of Miss Francis’ oeuvre) at the Kay Francis’ Life and Career weblog.
Pandorum (2009). A “been there, done that” sci fi horror film set on a spacecraft with crew members emerging from hypersleep to find themselves lost in space and outnumbered by grungy, mysterious creatures. Ben Foster and Dennis Quaid do decent enough jobs heading up a quirky cast, but there’s nothing novel to be found in a familiar story populated with characters from the action/horror playbook. Tough chick? Check. Ethnic dude who meets an early end? Check. Batshit crazy guy? Check. Drinking game: take a swig each time Foster takes a tumble.
They Live (1988). “I have come here to chew bubblegum and kick ass… and I’m all out of bubblegum.” Pulpy fun from director John Carpenter and bemulleted, surprisingly hunky leading man Roddy Piper. This is a rather obvious anti-conformity screed, but it’s pretty enjoyable once you turn your brain off. Piper’s five minute long fistfight with actor Keith David was an interesting sight, but what stood out for me was the homo-subtext between the two actors (that couldn’t have been done on purpose, could it?). I like the idea that aliens live among us, beings which can only be seen through special sunglasses, but Piper must have been a fool to think glassy-eyed Meg Foster was a human. Abrupt ending was a disappointment.
Weekly Mishmash I: January 17-23
Chinese Box (1997). IFC showing. A very serious drama documenting a British photojournalist (Jeremy Irons) living in Hong Kong when the city underwent their historic transfer of power to the Chinese in 1997. The tumult of these events is mirrored in Irons’ personal life, in which he deals with his girlfriend (Gong Li), a barkeeper who is also involved with a wealthy Chinese businessman, and a feisty street vendor (Maggie Cheung) who captures his attention. We recorded this for the cast, since Irons is always good, Li never fails to look gorgeous, and the versatile Cheung is watchable in just about anything. Despite them, though, this film is a big bore overloaded with too many obvious metaphors. The characters never really connected with me — Irons is too remote, Li (in her first English speaking role) looks uncomfortable, and Cheung can’t do much with her obnoxious, underwritten character.
Crooner (1932). Fun early Warner Bros. talkie starring handsome David Manners as a big band leader who finds swift stardom after emulating a Rudy Vallee style of soft singing. He gets a swelled head, however, finding that fame is more fleeting than the latest hemline length. Manners is too bland a personality to carry a film, and the songs are beyond unmemorable, but the film moves along nicely thanks to Lloyd Bacon’s crisp direction, and the marvelous Ann Dvorak is on hand as Manners’ girlfriend. I like that the ultimate indignity of Manners’ conceited singer comes when he hits a “cripple” (a WWI vet with one missing leg). How shameful!
The Girl Next Door (1953). Another musical hobbled by forgettable songs, but almost redeemed through its charming cast. This Technicolor Fox opus stars effervescent June Haver as a stage star who retires to a (fabulously decorated) suburban home. All is cozy until Haver finds herself drawn to the slovenly cartoonist (Dan Dailey) living next door, a widower raising a young son (Billy Gray). For some reason, I find myself drawn to June Haver and her generic perkiness, and she’s a good match in the dancing department with the athletic Dailey. I enjoyed the unusual domestic setting here, too, and there are several interestingly staged numbers (such as the one below, with Dailey and Gray doing some intricate moves with a bunch of Lifetime plastic dinnerware). This film even contains two fantasy sequences animated by the UPA studio. These scenes are cool to watch and very ’50s modern looking, but like the rest of the film they don’t quite jell. Overall the film is a diverting curio for ’50s musical fans, über perky and unmemorable.
The rest of the Mishmash continues tomorrow — betcha just can’t wait!
Weekly Mishmash: January 10-16
Leif Garrett – The Leif Garrett Collection. I thought it might be kitschy and fun to make this 12-track collection my last download for the month at eMusic. Listening to it from start to finish, it’s pretty apparent that Leif was only put on this earth to look dreamy on album covers and posters (preferably in skintight jeans) — but some of it bears further exploration. His biggest hit “I Was Made for Dancin’” still sounds goofy yet incredibly potent, an artifact of the time when disco and rock could mix without a blink. There are a few goodies in his later, lesser-known stuff — “Memorize Your Number,” a Knackish power pop gem from 1979, the breezy California soft rock number “You Had to Go and Change On Me,” and the ’50s flavored “Runaway Rita” (his last charting single from late ‘81). The rest is bubblegum dreck, but the little girls understand.
The Hospital (1971). Bleak, savagely funny satirical drama set in a beleaguered hospital run by a suicidal administrator (George C. Scott). This was directed by Arthur Hiller and written by Paddy Chayefsky in a startlingly contemporary manner that would foreshadow Chayefsky’s own Network from a few years later. The dialogue is whip-smart and expertly played by a great cast that includes Scott, Diana Rigg, and a host of actors that would later become better known in a variety of later TV shows. Although many elements are strained and dated (the protesters, for example), I was surprised at how timely and enjoyable this was. And, yes, I can totally imagine today’s hospitals being run this incompetently.
For the Thrill Of It: Leopold, Loeb, and the Murder That Shocked Jazz Age Chicago by Simon Baatz. Frustrating, absorbing at times account of the “trial of the century” for Richard Loeb and Nathan Leopold Jr., affluent 1920s college students who brutally murdered an 11 year-old boy as an exercise for their own demented enjoyment. Baatz’s approach is incredibly detailed and comprehensive, which works well on the sections dealing with the crime itself, and what happened later on with the two men after they were sentenced to lifelong jail terms. He does tend to get too detailed, however, and it seriously hobbles the book when Baatz decides we need to know the complete backstories of the two attorneys (I skipped those chapters). The account of Leopold and Loeb’s trial, with page after page of medical experts debating the boys’ sanity, was mind-bendingly dull. The good parts of this book were very well done, however, adding much needed perspective to a crime that was fictionalized in movies such as Alfred Hitchock’s Rope and Tom Kalin’s Swoon.
The Lucy Show: The Official First Season. An interesting watch, since all I’d known of Lucille Ball’s first venture after I Love Lucy were the later color seasons in which her daffy Lucy Carmichael character works at a bank under Gale Gordon as the imperious Mr. Mooney. This first season was a different animal altogether, and not just for the crisp black and white photography. Lucy plays a widow raising two children under the same roof with her best friend Vivian Bagley (Vivian Vance, of course), a divorcée with her own boy. Ball throws herself into the role with aplomb, and she has excellent chemistry with Vance (who seems to relish playing a sexier, less matronly character than Ethel Mertz). The domestic setting provides a lot of good situations; I just wish it worked a bit better. The kids are shrill and don’t really add anything to the show, and many of the plots are so Lucy-centric that it makes one realize that she worked best in an ensemble. Finally, the writing is just so stupid and silly with one preposterous situation after another. Despite its faults, it was fun watching this DVD set with a host of nifty extras (such as the credits sequence with commercial insert below). Bring on season two and Mr. Mooney!
Man Hunt (1941). Interesting, somewhat ridiculous WWII propaganda film directed by Fritz Lang. Given the cast and director, I was expecting more than the hokey dramatics presented in this yarn with Walter Pidgeon portraying an Englishman who nearly assassinates Hitler. The film begins as a relatively low-key affair when Pidgeon is chased across Europe by Nazi official George Sanders and his verminlike minion (John Carradine). Then things turn bizarre with the appearance of Joan Bennett as a poor Londonite sporting the worst cockney accent ever committed to film (trust me, it’s dinner theater My Fair Lady production awful). The gullible Bennett falls for Pidgeon, a point that is hammered home by Alfred Newman’s overly obvious musical score. I won’t spoil the rest, but things unspool in a way that makes this more an interesting, hokey beyond belief curio than the lost classic that many fans insist it is.
Moon (2009) and Clonus (1979). Two low budget sci-fi indies which took on cloning as its subject, coincidentally seen in the same week here at chez scrubbles. It goes without saying that Moon is the better of the two, although Clonus has its own interest once you get past the kitschy ’70s trappings. The former concerns an astronaut (Sam Rockwell) who is the sole operator of a mining colony on the dark side of the moon. Readying to complete his three year mission, he is shocked to find a visitor who looks like his exact double. This film does wonders with a small budget, impressively creating a world with one set and several expertly done miniatures. I also liked how they filmed Rockwell playing against himself, which makes up for the implausible story (one guy running an entire moon colony?) and an imposing robot ripped off of 2001. Not an earth shattering film, but thought provoking nonetheless. I’d previously seen Clonus as a Mystery Science Theater 3000 episode, but watching it without the riffing reveals it to be an interesting story brought down by a miniscule budget. I will say this — it kept our attention. The DVD’s added interview with director Robert Fiveson had one anecdote which revealed something I hadn’t noticed in the movie.: he had instructed the actors playing the lobotomized clones to blink a beat longer than usual. It’s a subtle touch that adds a lot to their ’70s blow-dried creepiness.
The Silent Partner (1978). Overlooked crime thriller starring Elliot Gould as a mild-mannered teller who gets into trouble when he secretly absconds with part of a fortune missed by a psychotic bank robber (Christopher Plummer). This was kind of a cool story, well-played with a few scenes of shocking violence which called to mind Dressed to Kill. I enjoyed Susannah York as Gould’s sensible co-worker and love interest, which made up for the weirdly dubbed Céline Lomez as the other woman in his life. This was made in Canada, which has its own strange appeal, but the best part was that much of the film was shot in a brand new shopping mall. These scenes were a gas, and they totally reminded me of the local mall I once knew and loved that also opened around 1978 (yes, I’m a weirdo who loves it when a Swensen’s ice cream parlor pops up in the background of a movie). Add in unknown John Candy doing a non-comedic role and you have something that is worth a peek for the curious.
Silent Saturday
You oughta know this by now, but we can’t get enough old movies — on DVD, on Turner Classic Movies, anywhere we can find them. With all the old movies we get to see, however, it’s a shame that we rarely get the chance to see them as they were originally shown. This past weekend, Christopher, some friends and I got the privilege to experience a silent film the way it would have been shown back in the ’20s, on a big screen with live musical accompaniment. The film was Safety Last! starring Harold Lloyd, presented as part of a series of silent film screenings shown at the beautifully restored Orpheum Theatre in downtown Phoenix.
The film itself was so much fun, and there is a lot more to it than Lloyd’s famous “hanging off a clock” scene. Lloyd plays one of his usual cheerful small town boys here, one that must find a job in the big city so that he can afford to marry his best girl (Mildred Davis, who later became the real Mrs. Harold Lloyd). Although he finds employment as a department store clerk, Lloyd finds that he has to exaggerate his position so his girl won’t leave him. Eventually he devises a promotional scheme to have a “human fly” climb outside the huge department store, a plan that goes awry when Lloyd has to sub for his stuntman pal. This fast-paced romp was a great vehicle for Lloyd’s gift for perfect physical comedy, and the film is brimming with several clever bits that utilize it (Lloyd and his roommate turning themselves into hanging coats to avoid their landlady, for instance). The scenes of Lloyd climbing up that building are beautifully done, and what’s more you get a lot of breathtaking aerial views of downtown Los Angeles streets with their trolley cars and lack of crosswalks or stoplights. The showing had live accompaniment on the huge pipe organ that was part of the Orpheum restoration. This isn’t your run-of-the-mill organ — it’s huge! The score was magnificently played by local legend Ron Rhode, whom I remember playing a similarly gigantic instrument at Organ Stop Pizza not far from where I grew up. His presence made the evening doubly nostalgic for this whippersnapper.
Although the showing we attended was fun, it was also sparsely attended with only about 20% of the theatre’s seats filled. What’s more, the audience was, well, old. I only saw a few dozen people who looked under 40, and precious few children (which is a shame, since I think young kids would get a big kick out of this particular movie). The presentation was hosted by a local community college professor who lacked the gravity of a Robert Osborne. I was also disappointed with the lack of accompanying vintage shorts which were at the last showing we attended. Despite all that, it was a fun evening. The Orpheum really needs to get better p.r. people so the younger generation (and trust me, they’re out there) can enjoy vintage movies the way they ought to be seen.
Weekly Mishmash: January 3-9
If I Had A Million (1932). When this Depression-era anthology showed up on the TCM schedule, I was so delighted. For one, it’s one of Joyce Compton’s earlier films that I’d never seen. For another, I’ve always heard that this was one of the better films of its kind (different directors contributing short bits on a central theme) ever made. I wasn’t disappointed. The film opens with an eccentric dying multi-millionaire (Richard Bennett), fed up with his greedy family, deciding to leave his fortune to a bunch of randomly picked New Yorkers. Several vignettes then explore how a sudden flush of money affects everyone from a henpecked store clerk to a criminal on the lam. While it’s true that some segments were more successfully pulled off than others, overall I felt the film captures the tone of that time better than almost anything else. The segment with W.C. Fields and Alison Skipworth as a pair of crusty vaudevillians who take revenge on “road hogs” gets the most attention; mostly I enjoyed that part for the priceless street views of 1932 L.A. The segment with Wynne Gibson as a prostitute with a simple desire to sleep in a plush bed by herself was a marvel of economy. The very best part, however, was the closing segment with May Robson delivering a wonderful performance as a feisty resident in a stifling home for elderly women. It’s a revenge tale like the Fields/Skipworth segment, only twice as sweet.
Jennifer’s Body (2009). Pretty awful teen horror comedy with Megan Fox as a stuck-up girl who gets transformed into a flesh-hungry demon by a touring emo band, much to the dismay of her nerdy best friend (not-bad Amanda Seyfried). This is notable for being Diablo Cody’s first produced screenplay after Juno rocketed her into the a-list. I’ve never seen that film, but based on this one Cody’s slangy, painfully straining-for-hipness screenwriting style is not for me. At one point Megan Fox even says “MoveOn.org, girl!” — something that might look cute in a twitter post, but plays like an incredibly lame joke onscreen. It doesn’t help that her story makes little sense, and Fox further proves that she’s a smokin’ hot chick with little else in the talent department.
The Namesake (2006). Mira Nair’s ambitious feature on cultural clashes within an Indian-American family is earnest and well acted, but ultimately the film winds up an overlong example of biting off more than one can chew. The early scenes, depicting the arranged marriage and awkward early years of a young couple (Irrfan Khan and Tabu, both fine), are nicely done and poignant. I also enjoyed the appealing Kal Penn as the couple’s Americanized son, whose differing views on life from his own father’s form the backbone of the film. As soon as the story detours into soap opera-ish territory in the film’s second half, however, things get dicey. There were a few points at which the movie could have satisfyingly concluded, but then another wrinkle develops and the story continues — and this happens several times! Somewhat worthy if you’re into Indian cuture; otherwise beware.
The Stranger (1946). TCM included this suspenser on a morning-long salute to actress Loretta Young this week. Although Young frets nicely as a small town newlywed who slowly discovers her new hubby is a Nazi, this film really belongs to Orson Welles (in the title role) and Edward G. Robinson (as a government inspector tracking Welles down). Wells also directs, and this film does have a stylistic similarity to Citizen Kane and The Magnificent Ambersons, albeit in a watered-down fashion. The flourishes are enough to make it stand out over the somewhat routine script, and the three main actors are a joy to watch. Fun viewing that reminds me of how great black and white movies can be (even the silly ones) — and you can’t beat that clock tower climax.
Tipsy — Buzzz. eMusic download. Tipsy is known for seductive instrumental mashups that incorporate tasty samples from weird old easy listening records (or at least that’s what it sounds like to these ears). 2008’s Buzzz was his first album in a few years, a subtle departure from the more overtly kitschy sound he’s known for. Some fans don’t favor this “chillout” approach as much, but as far as swanky background music goes this album is tops. It sets a relaxed mood overall, but there is enough variety in individual tracks to keep things interesting. Some tracks even live up to the very descriptive titles they’ve been given — “Kitty’s Daydream” is a highlight. The only thing missing here is a cocktail festooned with a tiny umbrella.
Wee Willie Winkie (1937). Shirley Temple plays a girl named Priscilla who is sent with her mother to live in a British army outpost in early 1900s India. Unlike many of her other flicks, this film comes with a pedigree — it was based on a Rudyard Kipling story, John Ford directed (I can’t really picture the macho Ford growling “Play this scene cuter, will ya Shirley,” can you?), and co-heading with Shirley was recent Oscar winner Victor McLaglen. All those ingredients make this kiddie adventure a little less grating than usual, even somewhat touching at times. Sure, Shirley seems to be laying on the adorableness a bit thickly here, but that girl had such incredible poise and presence for someone so young. She is really kind of fascinating to watch, and the quality on display throughout makes Winkie one of her better starring efforts (1939’s The Little Princess will always be my fave Temple movie, however).
