Cloud Atlas

It’s happened again. I’ve encountered a book that I can’t shake. Only this time, my reading of the novel was three years ago, and the troubles it caused me were dredged back to the surface of my mind after I watched the film adaptation.

Cloud Atlas

Cloud Atlas by David Mitchell features six connected though incomplete stories of people than span generations and locations. First, we are introduced to Adam Ewing, a lawyer in the 1850s overseeing his father-in-law’s potential slave acquisition. The second follows Robert Frobisher, an aspiring composer of the 1930s working as an amanuensis to the successful Vyvyan Ayrs. We then move to the 1970s as journalist Luisa Rey begins to uncover a story about a power plant. Then, to 2012 in which publishing guru Timothy Cavendish has to cope with the outlandish behavior of one of his authors. In the future, we meet Somni-451, a genetically-engineered clone living in a dystopia. Finally, Zachry from the very distant future comes into play.

I can’t give away the plot. This isn’t a spoilers thing; this is a Roz-is-not-competent=enough-to-even-begin-to-concisely-explain-this kind of thing. Let’s just say that it is delicately interwoven and a little confusing. But don’t let that scare you away. If I got through it, you can, too.

So, why am I haunted by the book after just having watched the movie? Well, the movie harkened back to my reading of the novel, which happened on a family road trip. As the film was playing, I was having flashbacks. I could have told you exactly which part of the flat, flat plains I was traveling on when certain events happened in the book. For some reason, it has really stuck with me. I have to imagine that has a lot to do with the message of the book. Again, this is one of those things I can’t explicate, not because I don’t want to but because I really can’t. I’m not sure what I took away exactly. I mean, sure, I got the major thematic elements, but I have a lingering feeling that Mitchell had more to say. That “more” was just a little better hidden than the surface messages were.

So, instead, I’ll just tell you what I enjoyed about the book. I enjoyed the six interweaving stories. There’s a tale in here for everyone. My favorite was Robert Frobisher – played by the incredible, uber-talented Ben Whishaw in the movie, by the way. Most of the stories are heavy for one reason or another. My second favorite, the story featuring Timothy Cavendish, is deliciously hilarious and relatively uncomplicated. It’s like reaching an oasis after days of desert travel.

I also appreciated the varied writing styles Mitchell used for the differing stories. The most prominent change was in the language. Each generation of characters had a distinct speech pattern. In Zachry’s story, the dialogue was so unique that it took me a while to even figure out what was being said – think Creole or pidgin.

Possibly the part of the novel that has me most confounded is the musical piece that gives the book its title. My favorite Robert Frobisher writes a piece called “Cloud Atlas,” and I find myself incapable of imagining exactly what that would sound like. The piece in the film is fine but not great. I wonder if you’ve read it, what kind of musical piece did you imagine?

The Harvey Girls

The Harvey Girls (1946, IMDB)

Hello, friends. After a long writing drought, I’m back. I thank you for your patience!

I return with a post about “The Harvey Girls” (1946), a cute musical starring Judy. (Do I even have to mention the “Garland” anymore? Doesn’t Judy deserve to be a one-name woman?) If you haven’t seen it, it’s pretty great. Judy plays Susan Bradley, a woman brought to the Wild West after she answered a personal ad. On her train ride to the frontier, she happens to be traveling with the Harvey Girls who are determined to establish a Harvey House to bring some class and fine dining to those backwards cowboys. Judy arrives, sings “On the Atchison, Topeka and the Santa Fe,” then comes to find that the writer of her personal ad is ugly, old, and has a thing for Marjorie Main (who, by the way, is her spectacular self in this film). Judy decides to become a Harvey Girl rather than a wife. Shenanigans ensue, which include a cat fight with the scarlet women of the saloon across the way. Angela Lansbury is fantastically malicious as the leader of these worldly wise women, playing off Judy’s doe-eyed innocence. As it always seems to happen, Angela and Judy are interested in the same man (John Hodiak). I won’t spoil the ending for you, but I bet you can guess who wins.

Let me stop here to call out Ray Bolger, one of Hollywood’s most underrated dancers. He does a number in this movie that knocks me out every time. He’s in true Scarecrow form, doing dance moves that make you swear his legs don’t have any bones. He’s an actor who goes all in, using his whole body and face, contorting himself for the laugh – and I love it.

But, to the meat of this post: you know how you can have a great movie that is spoiled by one miscast role? (Ashley Wilkes in “Gone with the Wind” anyone?) Well, John Hodiak does that in this musical. Someone needs to explain to me why anyone would cast him in anything, especially as a leading man. He’s dull, expressionless, and definitely not handsome enough to warrant this casting mistake. I’ll never understand it, and it’s definitely a pet peeve of mine. What about you? Do you have any movies that are kept from greatness because of one miscast actor or actress?

P.S. I think Judy is at her most beautiful in this film. Carry on.

Self-Awareness in Film

I love things that are self-aware, probably because I am hyper self-aware. I like things that turn inward and critique or reflect upon themselves. Along with requiring a unique sense of perspective (being on the inside and still looking in), it takes courage, too. I can think of lots of examples: 30 Rock skewers network television from the perspective of a network television show; At Swim-Two-Birds is a meta-textual story, a writer writing about a writer. Two of my favorite movies deal with this self-awareness. They are movies about movies – I just love that.

Singin’ in the Rain – courtesy of IMDB

The first is Singin’ in the Rain, which I’ve written about before. Gene Kelly stars as Don Lockwood, a performer who got involved in motion pictures after his work as a set musician and then stuntman. He caught the eye of starlet Lena Lamont played by a delightfully annoying Jean Hagen. His best friend, Cosmo Brown (Donald O’Connor), works on film music and keeps Don grounded as his star rises. But, no one keeps Don’s ego in check better than Kathy Seldon (Debbie Reynolds), a chorus girl Don meets serendipitously. She insists that she’s not familiar with his movies and considers film to be second to the stage. The movie focuses on the shift from silent to talking pictures. Classic musical shenanigans ensue, brilliantly choreographed musical numbers highlight Kelly’s propensity for all things dance while a slew of excellent songs with beautiful lyrics will keep you humming hours after seeing the movie. Kelly’s iconic Singin’ in the Rain dance will have you swinging off of lampposts, too.

Just as Don and Lena were getting settled in their stardom, something came along to uproot everything they knew about their business. Don is lucky enough to have Gene Kelly’s beautiful voice, Lena is not. Rather than have the audience hear Lena’s real voice, studio executives dub her lines with the voice of Kathy. Watching silent film stars struggle to adjust to the presence of sound in a movie is fascinating. In real life, actors had to drastically change their performance styles or risk becoming antiquated faces of films past. In a way, Singin’ in the Rain deals with the fickleness of Hollywood. Audiences love Lena, but they won’t respond positively when they hear her speak. Kathy has all of the talent, but her face isn’t recognizable to the moviegoer. Both situations kind of stink, though I promise you’ll be rooting for Kathy.

This movie was made in 1952. In terms of time, it was not far removed from this actual occurrence. Silent film stars of the 1920s were pushed out by young vocal ingenues.  Vocal dubbing ran rampant throughout Hollywood, which I am obstinately against, by the way. How cool is it that a movie took on these two Hollywood black marks? Of course, this is a movie musical so the commentary is done through song and dance with lots of smiling, but the commentary is still there, and I like it.

The relationship between Don and Kathy is also very Hollywood self-aware. Don has a huge ego as most movie stars will. When he meets Kathy and she refuses to indulge his star, he’s affected. He can’t stop thinking about the girl who doesn’t seem to care that he’s a movie star. How self-aware is that? It’s an actor emphasizing the worst part of an actor’s nature and thereby providing a criticism.

The Artist – courtesy of IMDB

A lot of the self-awareness present in Singin’ in the Rain can be paralleled with that of The Artist. The extremely talented, oh-so-handsome, Gene Kelly-esque Jean Dujardin plays a silent film star George Valentin who can’t seem to cope with the coming of sound. He helped launch the career of Berenice Bejo, but she quickly surpasses him in Hollywood. George desperately clings to the Hollywood he once knew and makes a few flops before he calls it quits.

The Artist deals with Hollywood’s ever-changing nature but focuses on the individual more than the conceptual whole. The audience comes to understand George’s fear of becoming obsolete, a fear that transcends the film business and can be applied anywhere. His downward spiral is more drastic, however, because his success depended on the fair-weather adoration of strangers. The Artist is aware of the fleeting nature of fame and the dangers of pinning one’s self-worth on it.

Sunset Boulevard – Courtesy of IMDB

Sunset Boulevard does this, too. Gloria Swanson plays silent film star Norma Desmond years after her last movie. Self-awareness abounds in this film. Not only is it a movie about a movie, but Gloria Swanson’s personal story parallels that of Norma. Swanson was also a silent film star whose career experienced quite the lull after the dawn of sound. Swanson had to pull from personal experience to play Norma Desmond. The result is one of the most impressive performances I’ve ever seen. Norma is all at once, desperate, pathetic, creepy, elegant, and regal. In this movie, Hollywood is fickle and actresses are friendless – maybe a little too true to life?

Can you think of other movies about movies that have a sense of critical self-awareness?

How about books, poems, television or artwork?

The Under-appreciated Career of Jack Carson

 

Jack Carson – courtesy of IMDB

Jack Carson is one underrated actor. Every movie I’ve ever seen him in I’ve liked. He had a great sense of comedic timing, could knock dramatic scenes out of the park and had a likable quality so important to being in motion pictures.

His body of work varied greatly. In the 1944 Cary Grant comedy Arsenic and Old Lace Carson plays a bumbling policeman/aspiring playwright while Grant is a successful writer. The greatest scene in the film comes when Carson happens upon Cary Grant, who happens to be tied up and bound to a kitchen chair waiting to be killed by the movie’s villain. Carson, rather than understanding Grant’s in terrible danger, uses the situation to his advantage and acts out his play. It’s hilarious.

Carson and Dennis Morgan, an adorable actor in his own way, did a series of buddy movies together. These are all light and fun, perfect little pick-me-ups.

Carson was also an accomplished dramatic actor.

He was excellent as Gooper, Brick’s brother, in the 1958 version (and only version, in my mind) of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. Carson held his own in one of the greatest ensemble casts ever assembled for a movie. He and Madeleine Sherwood were excellently slimy as Gooper and Mae Pollitt, exactly what I think of whenever I read the Tennessee Williams play. As sexy as Paul Newman and Elizabeth Taylor were together, Carson and Sherwood were the exact opposite – such a great accomplishment. 

Carson also appeared in Mildred Pierce, another dramatic film with a great cast. He holds his own against diva and drama queen Joan Crawford. That’s quite an accomplishment.

If you’ve never had the pleasure of seeing a Jack Carson film, do yourself a favor and watch one. You’ll be impressed by his range of talent. As a comedian or hard-hitting dramatic actor, he’s pretty great. Pick any movie on his long list of performances and I promise you’ll enjoy it.

Seven Brides for Seven Brothers

Seven Brides for Seven Brothers – courtesy of IMDB

“Seven Brides for Seven Brothers” was on TCM yesterday, and I had to watch it.

It’s been one of my favorite musicals since I was introduced to the genre as a fresh-faced two-year-old.

Everything about it is fantastic. The music is remarkable catchy, clever and singable. The sets, produced on a B-movie budget, make you feel like you’re in backcountry Oregon in the 1800s. Ironically, the movie ended up being a smash hit and now enjoys A-movie standing. Stanley Donen, quite possibly the greatest musical director in the history of MGM, directed an incredible cast and made “Seven Brides…” one of the most endearing films I have ever seen.

The story centers backwoodsman Adam Pontipee. One day, he heads into town to find himself a wife. (Cue Howard Keel’s beautiful baritone singing “Bless Your Beautiful Hide”). He sees fiesty Millie, played by a charming Jane Powell, and decides that “she’s the gal for me.” After some gentle persuasion, Millie agrees and the couple is married. Unaware that Adam has six uncouth brothers waiting back home, Millie is overjoyed with the thought of keeping her own house and starting a family.

She is welcomed to the Pontipee residence by Adam, Benjamin, Caleb, Daniel, Ephram, Frankincense and Gideon (named for Biblical characters), immediately upset that Adam didn’t inform her of the size of his household, and punishes him justly. Eventually, Millie warms to the brothers and vice versa. She teaches them all about “Goin’ Co’tin'” and inadvertently inspires the brothers to kidnap some local girls to be their wives.

The seven brothers are perfectly cast, consisting mostly of professional dancers, a former MLB baseball player and my favorite gymnast, Russ Tamblyn. Tommy Rall is another stand-out as Frank, the brother mortified by his Christian name and committed to avenging himself against anyone who makes fun of his Frankincense moniker. Their brides are sweet and cute but don’t distract from the incredibly adorable band of brothers.

Howard Keel is at his most excellent. I have always and will always think that his star ascended at the wrong time. He was rugged, handsome and had a singing voice that would make a grown man cry, yet he arrived in Hollywood at the tail end of the musical craze. “Kiss Me, Kate,” (also starring Tommy Rall) “Showboat” and “Annie Get Your Gun” all star Howard Keel and are worth your time.

Michael Kidd’s choreography is excellent and beautifully executed. The barn raisin’ dance is epic. Russ Tamblyn jumps over an axe, Tommy Rall spars with the city boys. He took full use of CinemaScope and created dances that were sprawling and intricate. Knowing full well that he had trained ballerinas in his company, Kidd used them to his advantage. This ain’t no sissy dancin’, either. This is a cast of manly man who just happen to pirouette beautifully and know how to properly point their toes.