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Showing results for tags '1927'.
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The reviews I've read about "Wings" (1927) justifiably rave about the air sequences, many of which were filmed from *above*. I've now seen this film three times, and I just cannot agree with the critics who dismiss the "land plot" as being maudlin - critics are looking at this groundbreaking motion picture through a modern lens. Yes, it's all been done now thousands of times, but I'd love to transport myself back, 87 years ago, and view the thrill of the audiences watching this motion picture marvel. See the restored 2012 version if you can, unless you're an absolute purist who must listen to Bach's keyboard works only on harpsichord. There are two reasons I've seen this three times: one is my OCD which compels me to watch, in sequence, every single Academy Award winning film (even though the awards themselves mean virtually nothing to me now); the other is that it's just a great movie. A true epic that has it all, and despite its nearly two-and-a-half-hour length, isn't the least bit boring despite being silent - I would advise making it a two-day project unless you're known for patience. It's a misprint to say this movie "stars" Gary Cooper, as he appears on screen for less than three minutes, but you can tell that he has quite a screen presence, even from this tiny sample. Despite Clara Bow's fame, she adds very little to this film except for star power (she was the biggest star in Hollywood at the time), and in fact, my favorite character is a relatively minor contra-antagonist: the German flying ace Count von Kellerman, who only appears in two extremely short scenes - less than a minute each - and yet embodies everything about human decency, chivalry, and respect - this, despite him being a portrait of Manfred von Richthofen (the Red Baron). It was an incredibly bold, sympathetic portrayal of a man many Americans at the time still detested (after all, the war ended less than ten years before, and von Richthofen registered over eighty (!) kills). Watch it and you'll see what I mean (and if anyone wants to make a case for Richard Arlen being the true star of the movie, you'll get absolutely no argument from me). -
"Sunrise: The Story of Two Humans" was not only the first major film of Karl Struss, but it also featured the first winner of the Academy Award for Best Actress (Janet Gaynor). The 1st Academy Awards had separate categories for Best Picture ("Wings") and Best Unique & Artistic Picture, and this film won the latter. Have a look at our extensive Film Index, and see which movies you've missed out on.
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Too many people think "Motherless Children" debuted on "461 Ocean Boulevard" when it didn't happen that way at all. The great Willie Johnson (I loathe to call him "Blind" Willie Johnson, but yes, he was blind) introduced this song in 1927. This is how the song was supposed to sound:
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There are some truly great quotes in this column from two men who clearly had the utmost of respect for one another. Cobb's quote about the first time he ever laid eyes on Johnson is hysterical. "Ty Cobb Talks About the Greatest Pitcher he Ever Faced" by J. Conrad Guest on detroitathletic.com
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Neal, I listened to "When the World's on Fire," and it's absolutely amazing - Woody didn't do much at all with this one, did he. That said, I still don't know if he was proud or ashamed to be an American - I can see it both ways, which is probably the point. Although I didn't quite understand all the words (I'm sure I could find them on the internet), there's a certain innocence to The Carter Family's song that I find sweet and charming. Trivia: June Carter is a distant cousin of President Jimmy Carter (!)
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In case anyone hasn't noticed, I've been compensating for a lifetime of not having watched television, and a decade of not having watched films - and I've been compensating in a big way. Completely organically, I've discovered a gentleman named Robert Butler - a man whom I'd certainly never heard of before, and a man whom I suspect is a household name only within the industry. However, here's why every single person with the slightest bit of interest in television (and film) should be instantly familiar with the name Robert Butler. Let's take *just* the pilot episodes he directed, and nothing else. I reiterate: These are the pilot episodes only - look what we have here: Nov 27, 1988: Star Trek - "The Cage" (Butler completed this work in Feb, 1965, but it didn't air for over 23 years; it was shown in a different form as "The Menagerie," of which he directed Part Two.) Sep 17, 1965: Hogan's Heroes - "The Informer" (This is the only one out of 168 episodes to be filmed in black-and-white.) Jan 12, 1966: Batman - "Hi Diddle Riddle" (The first appearance of Frank Gorshin as The Riddler.) May 9, 1975: The Blue Knight - "The Blue Knight" was a TV movie which served as the pilot for this crime series starring George Kennedy. Jan 15, 1981: Hill Street Blues - "Hill Street Station" - Do you see how formidable this list is becoming? Oct 1, 1982: Remington Steele - "Tempered Steele" - A relatively minor series, but still made it to 94 episodes. Mar 3, 1985: Moonlighting - "Moonlighting" - Bruce Willis, anyone? May 11, 1991: Sisters - "Moving In, Moving Out, Moving On" - This seemingly "small" series had 127 episodes. Sep 12, 1993: Lois & Clark: The New Adventures of Superman - "Pilot" - Teri Hatcher Butler also directed many episodes of "The Dick Van Dyke Show," and essentially began Kurt Russell's career - he also did a *lot* more than I've listed here (I've listed only the pilots that he directed). I think that *just* directing the pilot of "Star Trek" is enough to make Butler famous, but considering everything he did on top of that? This man is an absolute legend - and I'd never even heard of him. Sometimes it takes a non-expert to shed light on a subject, and I hope I've done that here - Mr. Butler deserves it.
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"Comedy Icon Jerry Lewis Dies at 91" by Joi-Marie McKenzie and Joel Siegel on abcnews.go.com
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"Once a Jayhawk, Always a Jayhawk" on kuathletics.com "'I Hadn't Run in Years': Ex-Kansas Player, 89, Scores in Scrimmage" on cbsnews.com
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"The Lodger - a Story of the London Fog" (1927) is the first silent Hitchcock I've seen - I saw it because I heard him describing some of his techniques in an interview. I've read that Hitchcock had a "thing" for blondes, and was sort of (I don't want to misquote, because I don't exactly remember) "kinky-dominant" - if true, that trait comes right out at the beginning of "The Lodger," as a murderer known as "The Avenger" kills only young blondes, and only on Tuesday evenings. At around the 4:27 mark, when the word "MUR DER" is alternating in color between blue and white (I'm watching the film on YouTube, as shown below), the piercing music sounds very related to the opening theme of "Psycho" - clearly it was influenced by this, at least partially, although I have *no* idea if this is the original score - it sounds awfully modern. As a side note, it's remarkable how modern silent films can seem when they've been digitally renovated - with the use of color filters, and modern music (this may or may not be modern music), it's not much more of a "foreign experience" than watching a "foreign film with subtitles," and (as you'll see if you watch the film below) really feels almost contemporary to today. If this is the original score, then it's really compelling - the part where the lodger asks to have the photos removed is accompanied by a sort-of hybrid between Ravel's Bolero and Rimsky-Korsakov's Scherazade - it's definitely an "Arabian" theme, and seems to get more intense as time goes by. However, at the 23-minute mark, it becomes acutely, painfully obvious that this is a modern score, and while this score may appeal to a younger generation, opening up access to this classic suspense-thriller to a certain segment of a younger audience who might not finish it otherwise, it probably repels more viewers than it reels in. The comments in the YouTube video (below) reveal a depth of scorn for this particular moment that is almost universal. The score was okay, even powerful and very good, up until this point; but this is where it really jumped the shark. And my goodness, 27-minutes into the movie, and we're suffering through the same music. Let it end, please. One night, near midnight, the landlord, Mrs Bunting, is awakened by the sound of the lodger descending the stairs, and it's a Tuesday night. I saw an interview with Hitchcock where he said he used the lodger's hand on the rail to show that he was descending the staircase (it's shot from a high, top angle), and with sound, he would have probably chosen to use the sounds of footsteps instead. He went on to say that he favored color over black and white - this was a confident director who did not resist change; he embraced it, and went with it. There was one scene, lasting only a few seconds, that showed the lodger pacing back-and-forth, and the landlords down below, looking up at the ceiling, hearing the pacing. Hitchcock had a glass floor constructed so the viewer can "see" what they were "hearing." This near-obsessive level to detail is the difference between good and great. The landlord family begins to strongly suspect - and for good reason - that the lodger is The Avenger, and is terrified that he is forming a romance with their daughter, Daisy. The next Tuesday night, the lodger and Daisy sneak away on an unannounced date - of course, this *had* to be on a Tuesday. The entire family is thrown into a panic. Joe, Daisy's ex-boyfriend who cared for her *much* more than she cared for him, hunted them down, and confronted the lodger. This backfired in more ways than one, as we would soon find out. Joe, officially assigned to investigate The Avenger, shows up with two police officers and a search warrant, and goes through the lodger's room, including a locked cabinet. When they find a bag, filled with incriminating evidence, things go from bad to worse, and the lodger escapes, with handcuffs on. He ominously tells Daisy to meet him under "the lamp." Several minutes later, Daisy sneaks out to meet him, and the terrified family realizes she's gone. The lodger had an alibi, but people refused to believe it, and he was in big, big trouble - especially as a mob of people went after him, and he became stuck on an iron fence in his handcuffs, getting beaten. For the proper ending, it's best if you watch the film for yourself. I loved this movie, and in many ways it showed an immature Hitchcock, who, in my eyes, is an immature genius. Why this film isn't more famous is beyond me, and I'm *so* glad I saw it. Yes, it's somewhat straightforward, in Hitchcock terms, but it's still a great movie. I would *love* to hear some opinions of others who have seen this film. It's probably available with the original score, but if you can tolerate the periods of modern music, this version is not bad at all. And it's free!
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The great Magical Realism author Gabriel Garcia Márquez died today at age 87. He is one of the few authors that wrote a passage so strong, that I remember where I was when I read it. Márquez is one of my primary influencers as a writer, although I shouldn't call myself a "writer" in the same sentence with his name. From "One Hundred Years Of Solitude," at the moment when José Arcadio Buendía, son of Úrsula Iguarán, dies from a mysterious gunshot wound: "A trickle of blood came out under the door, crossed the living room, went out into the street, continued on in a straight line across the uneven terraces, went down steps and climbed over curbs, passed along the Street of the Turks, turned a corner to the right and another to the left, made a right angle at the Buendía's house, went in under the closed door, crossed through the parlor, hugging the walls so as not to stain the rugs, went on to the other living room, made a wide curve to avoid the dining-room table, went along the porch with the begonias, and passed without being seen under Amaranta's chair as she gave an arithmetic lesson to Aureliano José, and went through the pantry and came out in the kitchen, where Ürsula was getting ready to crack thirty-six eggs to make bread. "Holy Mother of God!" Ürsula shouted." From this passage alone, the reader knew, beyond any doubt, that Ürsula was fully aware it was her son that died. This may be his most famous passage, and "One Hundred Years Of Solitude" is required reading, but it does Márquez a great injustice not to explore him in much greater depth. The short story, for example, "The Incredible and Sad Tale Of Innocent Erendira and Her Heartless Grandmother," found here, can be read in one evening, and is every bit as profound (in Spanish, "Innocent Eréndira" is written as "Cándida Eréndira," and the story is a riff on Candide by Voltaire). I wrote a passage from it the first night I ever met Chris Cunningham.
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It pains me to say that the great German author, Günter Grass, 1999 Nobel Prize winner for Literature and author of "The Tin Drum," has passed away at age 87. "Renowned German Author Günter Grass Dies, Age 87" on dw.de (Deutsche Welle) "Günter Grass, Nobel-Winning German Novelist, Dies Age 87" on theguardian.com "Günter Grass, Who Confronted Germany's Past As Well As His Own, Dies At 87" on npr.org "Günter Grass, Nobel Prize Winner, Dies Age 87" on telegraph.co.uk "Günter Grass, German Novelist and Social Critic, Dies at 87" on nytimes.com Last year, we lost Gabriel Garcia Marquez; this year, we lost Günter Grass. Like Marquez's "100 Years of Solitude," Grass's "The TIn Drum" is one of the most important works of contemporary literature I've ever read. A giant has left us today. Please share your thoughts and feelings about this great German author - this has hit me pretty hard, and I'd love to see some discussion of his life's work. "The Tin Drum" (1959) is one of those literary works which you'll most likely find more rewarding to read before seeing the film (1979), although the film is excellent, having won a Palme D'Or and an Academy Award.
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I always had a crush on Clara Bow (until I saw her first "talkie"), the "It" Girl, who starred in a film pretty much named after her: "It", a silent film from 1927 (note that Bow also starred in the very 1st Academy Award Winner for Best Picture: "Wings" (also from 1927) - which I've seen twice now, and highly recommend despite its length) - the action scenes in the air are really quite something, and not just for students of film. One funny thing I noticed this evening was in a clip from "It": and I wonder if it's possible that this is the first time anyone ever cursed on the big screen. I'm not sure, but I think maybe. In the very good article, "Scandals of Hollywood: Clara Bow, "˜It' Girl" by Anne Helen Peterson on thehairpin.com, there's a clip about 25% of the way down the page entitled "Clara Bow Dresses For Dinner." At exactly 3:15 in the clip, she gets poked in the shoulder with a pair of scissors, and then, after bouncing up and down a couple times, turns to her right, and seems to say, "Shit!" to the girl who poked her. It's subtle, and you have to watch it a few times in slow motion, but if true (and I think it is), it makes cinematic history for the first time a curse word was captured on screen. At the very least, it makes for a good urban legend. Not to mention that Clara could then be (amiably) called the "Shit Girl." (Readers: I don't care if you reproduce this little mini-scandal - just please link to this post and give me credit for finding it. And if you want to know how I did ... it's probably exactly what I would have said, so that's why I noticed! Cheers, Don Rockwell). Update: I also found the use of profanity in "Wings" (also from 1927). So, whichever one was released first takes home the prize!
