Strangers on a Train (1951)

 ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Strangers on a Train (1951) – A. Hitchcock

There is something a bit unsatisfying about Strangers on a Train despite Hitchcock’s awesome technical prowess and complete mastery of the use of suspense. I’ll chalk it up to the presence of Farley Granger and Ruth Roman, a rather dull pair of lead actors.  Robert Walker, in contrast, is magnificently psychopathic as the stranger who strikes up a conversation (on a train) with Granger, offering to kill his wife (Kasey Rogers) in exchange for Granger killing Walker’s father.  You see, Granger, an up and coming tennis star, is seeking a divorce from cheating Rogers that will allow him to marry Roman, a senator’s daughter (the film takes place in DC).  Walker’s father may or may not be a tyrant – it seems more likely that Walker perceives persecution that is not there.  At any rate, Walker carries out his side of the “bargain” (again, all in his head) at a small town carnival and then pressures Granger to follow through on his end.  Of course, he won’t and Walker promises to retaliate.  The police are closing in all the while.  The suspense arrives when Granger must finish a tennis match at Forest Hills, NY, before racing back to the small town carnival to catch Walker before he plants evidence at the scene of the crime (when Walker also drops said evidence down the drain, the tension is ratcheted up even further). Indeed, Hitchcock is near the top of his game, playing with audience expectations and spiking the film with a dash of morbid humour).  If only he’d managed to get a stronger cast…but of course, his real masterworks were soon to come.

Ace in the Hole (1951)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ½

Ace in the Hole (1951) – B. Wilder

To say that Billy Wilder’s follow-up to Sunset Blvd (1950) is bleaker and even more cynical is really saying something (and I’m saying it).  Humans can be despicable.  Moreover, this 1951 film is positively prescient about a number of things: 1) the way that the news media would seek out lurid stories to attract more eyeballs; 2) the temptation to manufacture such stories to increase circulation; 3) the public’s willingness to consume such stories regardless of their truth; and 4) the easy deals the media would make with politicians to gain access to stories in exchange for favourable coverage (which people consume despite its palpable falseness).  There’s probably even more.  Kirk Douglas plays Chuck Tatum, a reporter who has burned bridges at most big city newspapers and now finds himself stuck in Albuquerque, New Mexico, waiting for a break.  It comes when a local man is trapped in a cave-in when looting a Native American burial site.  Tatum convinces others (the sheriff, the engineer) to leave the man underground while the story builds, attracting national attention.  A circus results.  Wilder doesn’t pull any punches depicting Tatum and also the man’s wife (Jan Sterling) as callous and unfeeling, seeking only a buck or fame –- some thought Wilder a misanthrope but he might have just been telling it as it is (or would be). It’s interesting to reimagine the film with social media thrown into the mix – likely it would be worse with all those selfies taken at the spot and you-tubers giving a play-by-play.  Wilder couldn’t envision the chaos we have in the “media” today, but he had a good handle on the sickness in human nature that is cause and consequence.    

Summer Interlude (1951)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Summer Interlude (1951) – I. Bergman

Maj-Britt Nilsson stars as Marie, a star ballet dancer, who receives a package that unsettles her on the eve of opening night of a major performance.  When a power outage causes dress rehearsal to be called off, she takes the opportunity to take a ferry to a nearby island where a flashback ensues.  We see her younger and happier, beginning a summer romance with Henrik (Birger Malmsten), a rather sullen young man whose parents are divorced and who lives with an elderly and mean aunt.  The cinematography here, by Gunnar Fischer, is gorgeous and the feeling of summer (its radiance and peacefulness) shines through.  The young lovers spend an idyllic couple of months on the island where he lives and she is staying with her creepy lecherous Uncle Erland and sad neglected Aunt Elisabeth.  As in other Ingmar Bergman films of this period, the dialogue is fresh and frank, talking of sex but also about death, god, relationships, culture, and the future.  As the summer ends, we learn why Marie has become lonely and bitter in the future, despite her career success.  As we dip in and out of the flashback, Marie meets Uncle Erland on the island, now both much older and we learn about the mysterious package and its import.  After she returns to Stockholm (presumably), we see her with her new boyfriend, struggling to commit to him – a legacy of those earlier days – but there may be hope for the future.  Nilsson’s performance her is very strong – her joy is infectious in the early days and her sadness later is palpable.  Bergman’s investigation of memory as an island that we visit that can haunt our present is a compelling metaphor.  Recommended.

The African Queen (1951)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

The African Queen (1951) – J. Huston

John Huston’s film is a classic Technicolor adventure yarn that keeps its focus on the burgeoning romance between two mismatched misfits played by Humphrey Bogart (early 50s) and Katharine Hepburn (early 40s) and leaves more serious questions behind.  As they escape the WWI-era Germans down the Ubangi river in Bogie’s ramshackle (and titular) boat, they need to work together to overcome many challenges (an enemy fort on the shore, a series of rapids, a broken propeller, an endless shallow and muddy river of reeds).  Bogie is rather rough and loves his gin whereas Kate is prim, religious, and a bit of a prude.  But as they fall in love, they compromise – this is a gentle older person’s companionate love.  And they cook up a plan to blow up a big German warship patrolling an African river.  It’s fun and the music (by Allan Gray) is jaunty and almost comical at times.  Of course, Huston notoriously shot this on location and engaged in big game hunting and lots of drinking during their stay in Africa.   Lauren Bacall (who doesn’t appear in the film) was along to look after Bogie who apparently hated the shoot but won an Oscar.  To my mind, The African Queen is lighter fare, potentially even for kids (who are old enough to understand war); I would have preferred things to be a bit edgier but there is no doubt that the film belongs in the canon just for the unique pairing of the stars alone.

Othello (1951 version)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ½

Othello (1951 version) – O. Welles

Although Welles’ Othello puts forth a very serviceable reading of the Bard’s tragedy of jealousy, the real magic here lies in the circumstances of its production and the way that Welles welded together diverse elements (with string and bits of sealing wax) to create an alternate reality that never really existed except in the minds of the viewer.  Shot variously in Morocco, Venice, and other parts of Italy, it would be impossible to create a map that links the various locations together. Yet, miraculously, the film feels whole, in glorious black and white with Welles’ eye for the wondrous shot in fine form.  Of course, it is the editing that keeps the disparate parts together, with shots and counter-shots apparently filmed years apart in different locations, and sometimes the cutting is fast and furious (but never less than astounding).  The acting can be variable (Suzanne Cloutier seems a weak Desdemona – and, apparently, she was dubbed for the 1955 version, re-edited by Welles for the US release) but somehow Welles (as Othello) and Michael MacLiammoir (as Iago) pressed on, even when other members of the cast were absent (and shot with doubles from behind).  If all this sounds like it might distract one from Shakespeare’s words, well, yes and no – the tragedy is still terrible (with Iago cruelly convincing pitiful Othello that innocent Desdemona has cheated on him), even with Welles’ condensing, but the amazing spectacle of the production itself creates the most awe.

A Streetcar Named Desire (1951)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ½

A Streetcar Named Desire (1951) – E. Kazan

Undoubtedly, the intensity and themes of the play by Tennessee Williams are responsible for the power of this film -- but there is also no doubting the fact that the acting craft on display heightens that power yet further.  Vivien Leigh plays Blanche DuBois as pathetic yet somehow noble, deluded and debauched but worthy of our pity and sympathy.  As the only central member of the cast not to step straight from the Broadway production into the film, she was thrust into the web of Method actors, led by 25-year-old Marlon Brando (and also featuring Karl Malden and Kim Hunter).  Brando pulls out all the stops in showing Stanley Kowalski to be a thug, pitting his raw unbridled style against Leigh’s more composed acting (and this contrast meshes perfectly with the dynamics of the drama).  Of course, the play was sanitized when it was refashioned for the screen but it isn’t too hard to read between the lines.  Blanche DuBois arrives in New Orleans to stay with her sister, Stella, and brother-in-law Stanley in a small seedy apartment in the French Quarter. Tensions erupt between Blanche and Stanley.  She begins a romance with his friend Mitch (Karl Malden) which is dashed when Stanley investigates Blanche’s past and reveals all to Mitch.  Then, when Stella is in the hospital having a baby, Stanley does the unthinkable to Blanche which causes her to lose her grip on reality (which was already tenuous).  Director Elia Kazan (who infamously named names to HUAC the next year) translated his Broadway success to the screen by breaking it out of the small apartment and including other locations (sparingly); one innovation was to keep shrinking the set so that Blanche’s growing claustrophobia becomes real to the audience.  To his credit, Kazan doesn’t get in the way of the play or the acting but instead manages to create the perfect environment for both to flourish. The result is gripping but deeply unsettling.   

A Place in the Sun (1951)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

A Place in the Sun (1951) – G. Stevens

Montgomery Clift is like a deer in the headlights when he stumbles into Elizabeth Taylor and her snooty social circle.  You see, he’s from a poor and sheltered background and the luxuries of the idle rich are quite beyond him. At first, he resists, maintaining his working class mentality and wooing dowdy Shelley Winters.  But when Liz (I mean Angela) seeks him out and pursues him (which her parents think is a whim or acting out), he falls hard.  Unfortunately, there’s a problem – he’s gotten Shelley (I mean Alice) in the family way; he’s trapped and won’t be able to secure that place in the sun with Liz.  In this regard, the film might be considered a noir, particularly when Monty (I mean George) foments his plan, consciously or not, to get rid of Alice.  Knowing that the film is based on Dreisser’s An American Tragedy, it seems hard to not read it in terms of class differences – just those words “American” and “Tragedy” in the context of today’s reality make you feel that George/Monty is forever locked out of a world where his dreams can come true and that the American Dream is really a Tragedy because it invites desperation and disappointment.  George Stevens brings his competence and craft to the film (shot in black and white to avoid letting color brighten its story); glamour and charisma emanates from young Liz; and Monty’s method approach is absorbingly thick. I’m debating with myself whether a director with a darker touch who could flip this more firmly into a true film noir would have ruined its mysterious stunned quality or whether Stevens got it exactly right, showing us the fantasy world that only the 1% can attain without raising any doubts that it would be beautiful (for this must be what American Dreamers perceive).    

The Browning Version (1951)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

The Browning Version (1951) – A. Asquith

Anthony Asquith’s adaptation of Terrence Rattigan’s play (from the playwright’s own screenplay) is a case study of one man’s failure and self-loathing.  The trick that Asquith pulls off is to wring a measure of sympathy and feeling from viewers for a man who has clearly let himself and those who depended on him down.  The fact that the man is a teacher (at a British public boarding school) makes his failure that much more impactful and public.  Although it is never addressed directly, one has to wonder how Crocker-Harris moved from point A (a brilliant scholar of the classics with a bright future in front of him) to Point B (a hollowed-out disciplinarian who has ceased to inspire students nor to care).  Fortunately, there are no flashbacks here but just Michael Redgrave in torment, as he slowly withdraws from his state of denial and allows himself a full dose of self-realization and, yes, self-loathing, upon the occasion of his retirement due to illness.  Perhaps the most poignant moments in the film come about when we are made privy to Crocker-Harris’s marriage and his wife’s total and utter disregard for his emotions (she openly cheats on him and viciously and cruelly denies him dignity).  We may feel pity but also a sense of grieving for his loss (of everything).  Only a glimmer of hope remains that self-realization can lead to some sort of resurrection --but Asquith wisely keeps that out of the frame.

The Steel Helmet (1951)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

The Steel Helmet (1951) – S. Fuller

Tough and uncompromising, Sam Fuller’s first war film (enlivened by his own experiences in WWII) shows gutsy G.I’s in Korea coping as best they can with the situation (which involves  a potential enemy behind (or up in) every tree). Jumping right into the action from the word go, we follow a few soldiers who have survived when their patrols are killed as they hook up with another group and take refuge in a Buddhist temple.  Among the soldiers are a Japanese-American lugging a bazooka, an African-American medic, and a cigar-chewing no-nonsense Sargent who has befriended a Korean boy.  Fuller’s script doesn’t hold back from criticizing America’s actions toward its own people (segregation of African-Americans, internment of Japanese Americans during WWII) even as it defends democracy as better than communism. We even see an American commit a war crime, which apparently got Fuller into hot water with the FBI, given that the Korean War was still ongoing when the film was released (and the terrible realities of war were apparently not ready to be acknowledged). I found the film gripping from start to finish; despite its low budget, it feels realistic and its stock characters are somehow made fresh. Packs a wallop.   

  

Early Summer (1951)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ½

Early Summer (1951) – Y. Ozu

Ayako and I had a discussion about what the Japanese title “Bakushu” means – she thought it should signify “beer” and some homework reveals that the correct translation is probably “The Barley-Harvest Season” rather than “Early Summer”.  I’m not quite sure what is being harvested – possibly Noriko (played by Ozu regular Setsuko Hara) who is being urged to marry because at 28 she is at risk of becoming an old maid.  However, Noriko is a modern post-war Japanese woman who wants to make up her own mind.  However, her boss and her family conspire to match her with a rich (though 12 years older) businessman – who we never meet.  Indeed, Ozu very playfully includes numerous ellipses in the plot, never quite allowing us enough information to expect Noriko’s ultimate decision.  Although it comes as a surprise, this decision may actually have had a basis in experiences not shown in the film – that is, Noriko does spend offscreen time with her eventual husband, perhaps a considerable amount of time (and late in the film, some potentially pivotal time searching for her missing nephews with him).  As usual, Ozu also disorients the viewer with his camerawork, often cutting in ways that are distinctly different from the invisible Hollywood style that we know and sometimes from one place to another without warning.  His usual counterpoints are here:  traditional Japan vs. modern Japan, male vs. female, old vs. young, city vs. countryside – but they are used subtly to tell a story about the complexity of families (across three generations) and their sad but inevitable dissolution.

The Big Sky (1951)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

The Big Sky (1951) – H. Hawks

I think I was ready for a boffo adventure story and this Howard Hawks picture, featuring a group of men traveling up the Missouri River to the Pacific Northwest to do some trading with the Blackfoot Indians, hit the spot.  Kirk Douglas and Dewey Martin star as a couple of rough and ready young guys who join up with Uncle Zeb (Arthur Hunnicutt) and a band of French outdoorsmen for the long journey.  Hawks is great at creating a sense of community and his combination of sets and location shooting make the drama feel almost real.  There are a number of different exciting episodes along the way and of course a love interest in the form of a Blackfoot maid, brought along on the trip.  The relationship between Douglas and Martin – and with the woman Teal Eye – doesn’t always hold together properly.  Viewers likely prefer the adventure story and perhaps Hawks did too.

The Tall Target (1951)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

The Tall Target (1951) – A. Mann

Very taut and suspenseful thriller from director Anthony Mann and starring one of my favorites, Dick Powell, as a police detective intent on foiling an assassination plot against president-elect Abraham Lincoln.  The entire film takes place on a train en route from New York to Washington and then to further points south.  The talk among passengers (headed south) is virulently anti-Lincoln.  Powell is on the wrong side of politics in supporting “the tall target” and his superiors won’t back his investigation.  So, he goes it alone, tangling with both the plotters and the police who get in his way.  Ruby Dee has a good role has a slave who helps Powell (and the film does not shy away from condemning slavery). Apparently, the film is historically accurate (more or less), as Lincoln really did have to “sneak” into Washington for his inauguration.  Who knew? 

A Christmas Carol (1951)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ½

A Christmas Carol (1951) – B. D. Hurst

Alastair Sim is Ebenezer Scrooge in this noirish but largely faithful retelling of Dickens’ novella.  I granted an extra ½ star to this for the nostalgic pleasure it provides – this is my Dad’s favourite Christmas film.  But it moved so quickly and contained so many evocative scenes of the 1840s that I soon moved beyond just connecting with my own childhood to enjoying the movie on its own terms. Sim’s performance verges on caricature at times but he is still very moving as the bitter man who believes all humanity is selfish – until he is visited by the Spirits of Christmas Past, Present, and Yet-To-Come.  Things become dark enough that the final scenes of renewal may bring a tear to your eye.

Diary of a Country Priest (1951)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Diary of a Country Priest (1951) -- R. Bresson

Whenever I watch a Bresson film, I always feel that there is something I'm not quite grasping, that is just out of my reach.  I think it may be a theological principle related to "grace" or "salvation" that I never learned, whereby characters who suffer tremendously, needlessly, and often not as a result of any of their own actions (e.g., Balthazar or Mouchette) attain some sort of spiritual transcendence (thanks perhaps to a benevolent Christian god).  I'm not quite sure how these things work together but they appear consistently in Bresson's oeuvre. In this film, his later style of focusing the camera on the small details of hands at work on sometimes mundane tasks and on the often serious but blank faces of the non-actor protagonists is only beginning to crystalize (his next film, A Man Escaped, is a masterpiece). Still, there is an intensity that grows from the camera's singular preoccupation with Claude Laydu who plays a young priest taking over his first parish in a French country town full of hostility toward him.  He keeps a diary in which he reports (in voiceover) the events that unfold as he attempts to resolve a family's spiritual and moral crisis.  He is sick and his grasp on consciousness and possibly reality seems tenuous. We never know if he is making the right decisions and he does not seem to know himself.  Nevertheless, he seems to achieve "grace" by persevering in his course despite suffering, both physical and in his duties.

The Lavender Hill Mob (1951)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ½

The Lavender Hill Mob (1951) -- C. Crichton

If you haven't seen any of the comedies that Sir Alec Guinness made at Ealing Studios in the 1950's, then I highly recommend that you do.  The Lavender Hill Mob is a heist film like no other, in which mild-mannered bullion office clerk Guinness masterminds a scheme to get the gold out of the country.  Charles Crichton directs this so as to raise the tension and also to release the wackiness.  Even after watching this many times over the years, I still chortled. See also The Ladykillers, The Man in the White Suit, and Kind Hearts & Coronets.

Venom and Eternity (1951)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Traité de bave et d'éternité (Venom and Eternity) (1951) – I. Isou

Self-referential debut of a new kind of film-making, one that disconnects the audio and visual components (Discrepant Cinema) and violently attacks the raw film stock. In three parts, variously a wide-ranging philosophical tract about cinema, an alienated free love story, and a series of letterist poems wherein the sound of unintelligible letters is the point. So jammed full of ideas (and "boring" stock footage) that it makes you alive to possibilities and nostalgic for 1951. (Obviously an influence on Assayas' Irma Vep...but also on Japanese "rock" band Ruins?)