Literature is art, Cinema is entertainment. The old bias is still alive and kicking. It’s a shame that such a collaborative effort, one in which hundreds of people’s opinions and actions go into the process, where every detail of lighting, sound, dialogue, and camera movement is focused on in detail, can be described as a less challenging, watered down version of a novel.

But this is not always the case. Sometimes it is the film that makes the larger impact, allowing a mediocre or pulp novel plot to saturate the mainstream culture, and be remembered long after. Here are some of the films that come to mind.

Dr. Strangelove (1964): Kubrick often manages to irk the authors of his source material. Whether it’s Stephen King’s complete dissatisfaction with The Shining, Anthony Burgess’ critique that the last chapter was cut out of A Clockwork Orange, or Arthur C. Clarke having to spend the rest of his life answering the question “What the hell was 2001: A Space Odyssey about anyways?” Despite those complaints, at least those three didn’t end up like Peter George, whose serious Cold War suspense novel Red Alert was turned into a gigantic satirical jab at the government, the military, and scientific innovation. George was upset that his hard work was being played for laughs, but as time has passed, the first dark comedy has only grown more popular, since it’s still able to poke the same institutions in the eye in a way similar to The Daily Show. A novel with the same plot as George’s (so much the same that George sued the writers) was adapted into the film Fail-Safe in the same year. Two years later, George killed himself, forever incapable of appreciating how he made his mark on the twentieth century.

The Godfather (1972): Mario Puzo wrote his 1969 book as a pulp novel, mainly just trying to relate some mafia anecdotes he had learned while a journalist. Paramount Pictures, under the rule of boy wonder Robert Evans, picked up the film rights. Though Francis Ford Coppola directed, he was definitely not in control. Evans took a kind of hands on role that hadn’t been seen in

Hollywood since the golden age of the studio system, and Coppola was in constant fear that he and Marlon Brando, who he picked as the lead, would be fired. Ultimately, it was a win-win-win-win situation for all three men. Puzo never had to worry about being published again. Evans was able to prove that he wasn’t too young to head a studio. Lastly Coppola and Brando would have shakey, but redeemable futures in film with high highs and even lower lows. But the Godfather has penetrated our culture in a way that the book never could, introducing us to Al Pacino, Diane Keaton, John Cazale, and James Caan. Furthermore, The Godfather: Part II, is one of only a handful of sequels that greatly improves upon its predecessor (The Empire Strikes Back may be the only other). What significance this bears is that the film has become much greater than a work of art or mere entertainment. It is forged into our minds.

Blade Runner (1982): This may be unfair, because I for one hate reading Philip K. Dick. It’s more or less an issue with his writing style. He goes out of his way to distract the reader with strange juxtapositions. Ridley Scott’s adaptation of Do Androids Dream Of Electric Sheep? is a beautiful representation of a very dence text. Few people can make a noirish sci-fi masterpiece, but Scott manages to turn any genre into a real winner. The real surprise comes in Harrison Ford, who manages to really act in this one, rather than opting for sarcasm and rugged good looks. To date, it is Ford’s only film I’ve watched where I forgot halfway through that he was in it, and he’s the main character. If I were to name another science fiction movie that doesn’t completely rely on action and is more focused with identity….well I’d have to go back to Kubrick with 2001…wouldn’t I now?

Books are good. Films are good. Both can be equally challenging or shallow, it’s just people’s perceptions that have to change.

I don’t want to talk about Little Women right now, so I thought I would just sum up my thoughts on the Academy Awards Sunday Night. Quite a few of my friends have a huge aversion to the Oscars, citing that they are often out of touch, too timid to make daring choices (Last year’s safe choice of Crash over the more controversial Brokeback Mountain races into mind), which often leads to tame forgettable films winning the top honor (I will never like you Gigi, no matter what the Academy says). But in my opinion, there aren’t many awards shows that reward the viewer for having taken that step of seeking out more challenging films, both old and new.

Watching the montage of Foreign Film honors reminded me of the importance of this art and refreshed me. Thinking back to the first time I saw Z, Rashomon, Nights Of Cabiria, Cinema Paradiso (If there is any film that expresses its love for cinematic art and the lives that revolve around it, it’s this one) I realized what an affirmation I was experiencing in this simple montage. My time was not wasted. During the hours I spent viewing film after film, laughter and tears alike, these were not false emotions that I experienced. I do not watch the Oscars solely to see what will be recognized as the best movie of the year. There is no objective way to do such a thing, what is important is the collage of film history that is thrown together in one room for one night, and if you do your homework you can feel like you’re in the know. You can be closer to the experience than Jack Nicholson sitting front and center with a creepy grin on his face.

Okay, it’s quite easy to critique the work of a dead man without fear of his rebuttal, unless he’s a zombie and then you have a quite different problem all together. So here’s my main problem so far.

Sir, there is a technique in filmmaking known as elliptical editing, cutting out the unnecessary bits so you focus on the nutmeat of the story. Did we really need a five minute scene of the girls in the store, buying their presents only when we know that they will be returned later? Focus on the March Girls’ charitable efforts my good man. Despite this I am glad you finished the scene with the shopkeeper giving each girl her own personal peppermint phallus.

Secondly could you pander any more to our boys overseas with that not so subtle speech about fighting the good fight? No you could not. The acting here is so much more wooden, I feel like I’m about to get a splinter.

Beth cried, I liked that. If I recall there is a line in the book to the extent of “Beth was crying, which was perfectly normal.” 

Oh…and nice sadomasochism if I do say so myself.

When we were discussing the male equivalent to Little Women, the suggestion of Fight Club certainly was not made in jest. Though it is a book of more mature themes, and would not be suitable in the children’s section, I immediately thought about how that book clicked with guys in high school. Dr. Campbells right about the themes of questioning masculinity beating the audience over the head (which applies to both the movie and the novel), but what young man angry and frustrated by his recent pubescent journey is going to seek out subtlety? I received it as a Christmas gift from one of my good friends, just as Little Women would be given to a younger lady. And I too tried to pass on the word about it, writing a review of the book, training to be a future servant of criticism. It may be laughable, it may be to recent to know for sure, but if you ask a 15 year old guy (preferrably one that reads) about Fight Club, they will light up, drop the surly act, and actually engage you in conversation.

Moving back to the 1933 Little Women, Cukor was obviously gah-gah over Hepburn/Jo and I have two examples of blocking that prove it. I hope to explain this sufficiently as I cannot find screenshots of the scenes, but I managed to find the film poster and it will give my observation some visual aid.

Both on the poster, and in the two early scenes, one when Mrs. March reads her children the letter, then when they sing as Beth plays the piano, there is always blocking which gives Jo an extremely prominent spot. Sort of a Number One ranking. Then Amy and Meg are usually of equal prominence, and Beth is always featured last. In the former scene, it is almost like Jo is the top of a pyramid. Amy Meg and Marmie are in the middle, and Beth, quite accurately is the base. The piano scene is an example of horizontal balance, with Meg, Amy, Marmie, and Beth all on the left side of the screen, and Jo on the right, with a considerable gap in between. If you were to imagine the screen as a scale, Cukor essentially is demonstrating through cinematic measures how Jo is equally as important as her three sisters and her mother COMBINED. It seems to me that there is no question that Cukor was going for was the “Jo March Story”

1933 was a long time before Katherine Hepburn was labeled (Libelled, she’s not a pickle jar!) as “Box Office Poison,” a term she later was thankfully able to shake, and I think her independent nature fuels Jo and brings her to life, it’s not often that a character and actor are so close in spirit.

I liked how the characters, mainly Jo and Amy, were introduced in this George Cukor adaptation, since first impressions are always important and a film is no different. Having Jo at her aunt’s home, trying to sneak out of reading out loud, resulting in a shouting match and her pleading so she could work on a play. In less than 5 minutes we know the details of her job, her temper, her passion for creativity, and her skill for talking her way out of things. With Amy too we see both her lack of interest in school and how, when she is caught, she does not take punishment well. Always show rather than tell, and I think Cukor managed to show quite a bit to his audience.

Just as the film strongly establishes Jo and Amy, it also manages to give Laurie an awfully bad hand. From the first time he opens the window to say hi, we see Laurie as buffoonish. He may have his moments like at the party, but Laurie definitely conjured up the most laughter for his all-around hokey attitude. Though it may have been due to the culture/time difference between my generation and the 1930’s, it appeared to try and prove to the audience just how bad Laurie was for Jo. The portrayal of Bhaer offered a lot more humility and patience than the portrayal of Laurie.

While watching, this idea popped into my head that there may be a connection with this post-Civil War book, and how its film adaptations also always following major international conflicts. The 1933 one is a stretch, since WWI ended in 1918, but the other adaptations are all a few years after American military campaigns. WWII – 1949,
Vietnam – 1979, and Desert Storm – 1994. Little Women certainly does offer a lamentation for those who are away fighting, what with the March girl’s father away, but I don’t think this means that there is some deep underlying message due to that, instead maybe it’s just an example of how America loves both this novel and getting it’s war on simultaneously.

Finally I’d just like to point out my favorite exchange of dialogue:

“Christopher Columbus!”

“Oh Jo, don’t use such dreadful expressions!”

I’ve seen the 1994 version of the film, and I was ten then, so a lot of the passages of Little Women seem familiar to me in a kind of vague way. We heard Dr. Campbell read that quote about Theodore Roosevelt being very taken with the novel. I believe the term “worshipped” was used.  I think it makes perfect sense that he read it, for Roosevelt was just a sickly 9 years old when the book was first published, not the mustachioed, panama canal establishing, rough rider safari-master president that our minds immediately jump to. What else is he going to be doing back in 1868, playing hoop-and-stick?

Robyn has a very good post on how many people identify with Jo, citing her charisma and spirit as the ideal features we wish to relate to. I think another important aspect is that we do have one very large connection with Jo. Even if one doesn’t like the book that much, it’s impossible to deny the fact that very much like Jo, we are all readers. Also, since we are enveloped in the medium that Jo dominates, thanks to her voracious literary appetite, she ends up coming across best for that particular medium. Now maybe if this narrative were translated into a “Peter And The Wolf”-like recording, Beth’s musical prowess would allow her to (heaven forbid) dominate. Or if it was some MTV reality show where the main character’s mission are to be a stuck up little bitch, well I think Amy would definitely succeed in that otherworldly realm.

Johnny Caspar is the most obvious element in the Coen Brothers attempt to magnify ethnic differences in Miller’s Crossing. In order to succeed in the business, Giovani Gaspari had to change his name to something a bit more Anglo. Even when his gang is on the up and up, the mayor gives him the run around. Johnny calls it “the high hat” and Tom addresses it as “Double Talk.” Whatever term you go by, you see quite clearly that political corruption isn’t the mayor’s only problem at hand. He’s got some issues with race too.  Johnny’s vendetta against Bernie also seems to have some racial complication in it, namely that Leo isn’t about to let an Italian call the shots on a Jewish friend. Then you have Tom and Eddie, both right hand men and both ethnic outsiders. Tom’s Irish background, as well as his brains, seems to allow him to move in between since he has no ethnic ties to either side. Eddie the Dane (originally to be played by Peter Stormare, who the Coens always use in innovative ways) is also an outsider, and manages to keep his head clear of prejudice, observing things clearly and being equally ruthless to just about everyone. 

The Glass Key seemed to touch on these issues a bit. Madvig seemed to be a WASP while Shad O’Rory’s Irish background was quite evident. The 1942 film changed O’Rory into a more ambiguous ethnicity, though he seemed Italian to me. Yojimbo may have had some cultural rifts, but since I know little about feudal
Japan, I cannot identify what they are if there are any. Verna’s moment in the film was quite wonderful. Repeating “Drop dead.” To Tom while walking past him was a great punctuation mark, both repeating the line she says most throughout the film, and also a nice homage to The Third Man. 

Martin Scorcese actually just referenced the same scene at the end of The Departed, if you have the pleasure of seeing it. Such instances are great examples of how films live, grow, and manage to shape each other.

I first saw Millers Crossing when I was 12 or 13, so watching it a decade later was like having a dream come back to me after years of faint recollections. Of course it had the recognizable faces I see in so many Coen films: Frances McDormand, Steve Buscemi, John Turturro, and in maybe his best Coen role, Jon Polito.

I found violence to be one of the most varied elements when discussing how the filmmakers adapted the Glass Key. Most of the punching was very similar to a 40’s film. But there were minor deviations, such as when Tommy rejects Johnny Caspar’s first proposition. Caspar leaves him in there with the Muscle Henchman, who takes his time getting ready before he beats Tommy (Note how the camera in the scene is on the floor, very similar to many scenes in Citizen Kane, it makes the Henchman nearly double in size as he walks towards Tommy) Right when you expect to see a harsh beating, Tommy hits him with the chair and we see a seemingly one dimensional character suddenly become hurt both physically and emotionally, he stumbles out of the room, and it’s the smaller guy who comes back to punish Tommy. To me, that’s recuperation of myth as myth. We all mentally stopped when the big guy couldn’t handle the violence, and then everything managed to start right up again.

Gun violence is completely different, especially in the scenes where Leo evades assassination and manages to kill everyone involved in the attack. He marches down the street like Arnold Schwarzenegger with a tommygun and a beautiful scowl. I find this to be more than Nostalgia or Burlesque, it is an exaggerated stylized display of gangster perfection. Likewise the chaotic police raids were a throwback to the inept authority you see in Fritz Lang’s M, and visually like Seibei’s and Ushitora’s men in Yojimbo right after Sanjuro decides not to partake in the first showdown. In both, warriors run around without purpose, utterly ridiculous.

I noticed early on that Leo and Johnny, when they are behind their desks, will often sit with their body facing to the side (often with shoes up on the table). Such behavior is a subtle form of disrespect. Leo first does it to Johnny, and both Leo and Johnny do it to the mayor and the police chief. The only person they completely face is Tom.

Such action is a wonderful detail that Tom really has earned respect from both sides. (When the Dane has found out that Bernie is still alive, Johnny does not face Tom. With that body language, one could see that there was an important obstacle in their relationship, which eventually led to Johnny favoring Tom and killing the Dane

Buscemi and Turturro in a way are members of the same sort of element. They are “The Little Guy That You Can’t Trust.” Peter Lorre practically made this character a facet of
Hollywood gangster films. Buscemi seems to be playing TLGTYCT for burlesque purposes. The motormouthed bug eyed exaggeration is very humorous, but still manages to fit within the film. Turturro is more of a threat to Tom, though he may be funny at times, he definitely is not just there for comedic value.

There’s a lot to be said about Miller’s Crossing, so I hope to write a few more blogs in the next week, especially one about ethnicity being a much more overt theme in the film than in The Glass Key.

Over the past three days, I’ve watched movies for 16 hours. A really strange array of flicks actually, but some of them had definite connections to The Glass Key and Yojimbo.  Some I had seen several times, others were very new to me.

Out of the Past: I watched this after Dr. Campbell’s recommendation during the Noir discussion. Robert Mitchum is one of those great actors that never had the adoration that Gregory Peck or Jimmy Stewart (In fact, Mitchum’s death on July 1, 1997 was greatly overshadowed by Stewart’s passing the following day). His role as an ex-private eye who became tangled up with a mobster might not reach the bravado of Night of the Hunter (my personal favorite), but his acting was certainly competent in a film that employs all Noir calling cards. Dark shadows, double crossings, and one deadly dame. Interesting that the quintessential Noir flick starts and ends in a small backwater town. It certainly doesn’t stay there though. The scenes in Mexico reminded me greatly of something out of Casablanca and San Francisco supplied the big city badness. Since it was my first viewing I surely missed a lot, but I hope to watch it a few more times, especially with the commentary by Noir expert James Ursini.

Star Wars: A New Hope: The second I turned on the TV this morning, those rolling credits started and I was hooked. I haven’t watched the A New Hope sine Episode III came out when I had to remind myself again why I had been so crazy about this trilogy for a decade of my life. Of course it holds up, taking heavily from genre films like Westerns, Flash Gordon Serials and WW II Fighter Plane movies….not to mention the obvious influence of Kurosawa’s films. The Jedi simply couldn’t exist without the the cinematic portrayal of Samauri.

Shane: The first time I saw this was for Dr. Kemp’s 245 class, and to be honest, I didn’t make the connection that Alan Ladd played the title role in what is probably the most important pre-1960’s Western (High Noon might be a nose ahead). This role really captures a broader acting ability much more than Ed Beaumont. Sure he gets roughed up, but we finally get to witness him throwing a few punches of his own. Ladd has this beautiful ability to peer out of the corner of his eyes in both films, he rarely turns his head when he sees something of interest. It was certainly more subtle in Shane than The Glass Key. Likewise Shane has connections to Yojimbo. I took special note at how feminine Jack Palance appeared (much like Unosuke). But while Unosuke’s gun weilding threatens Sanjuro’s feudal role and must be stopped to preserve his purpose, Shane actually is bringing about his own end by letting the homesteaders keep their land. This allows the West to become a tamed sanctuary for settlers, which neither Shane nor Palance’s Wilson can really exist in.

It’s late now, and I probably sound nuts. I hope Dr. Campbell got to read some of Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs. Everyone should have a copy of that book.