"It must be nice..."

OK.  I have, for whatever, reason, been unreasonably lucky in my lifetime.  The other day (EDIT:  6 WEEKS AGO), I hit a 400-1 shot and was granted 2 tickets to "Hamilton" through the ticket lottery.

As it happened, it was like the ONE night that we had NO obligations that couldn't be changed in the last month or so, and so...we jumped at the chance to take the tickets, all $20 of them, and went to see the show.

In my manic state, of course, I shared this news on Facebook, and some people expressed interest in hearing my thoughts on the show.  I'm not certain why, but I'm honored to be asked like that...so I, in my own fashion, will give you far too detailed a review (EDIT:  I didn't do that!) of my experience with "Hamilton" in Chicago on a pleasant January night.  Thanks for asking.  SPOILERS WILL BE IN THIS (EDIT:  Turns out, NO!).

First off...our tickets were on the aisle of the center section...in row B.  When we walked in, I said to the usher, "Ours are way down there, I think." She said, "Oh, yeah, WAY down there."  As we got closer to what I assumed was row B (the SECOND ROW), I was not happy to find someone sitting in those seats...and I didn't want to have to do the "I think you're in our seats..."  Then, I realized, that they were, in fact, sitting in row C, and that row B is...the front row.  So.  We had front row seats to "Hamilton," and we got them for $20 total, and a few moments of my time on Tuesday night when I entered the lottery.

I went into this show completely blind.  I hadn't watched any clips, I hadn't read any reviews, I hadn't listened to the CD, despite owning it for over a year, and I damn sure didn't know anything beyond the story...well...a good chunk of it.

That's HIGHLY unusual for me.  I like research.  When I direct a show, I often get other materials, or delve into all the online materials I can find, etc.  Not always, but often.  So, I was approaching this...in the moment.

First things first.  Front row seats are AMAZING for getting the subtle moments.  AMAZING.  And they are really inferior to getting the spectacle.  Granted, our proximity allowed us to be spat upon throughout the night, as performers popped out their consonants, and I was looked at directly by performers in several key moments, but...I missed the big stuff.  I'm a fan of the small stuff, anyway...so this played right into my wheelhouse.

I spent a good deal of our time in advance studying the set.  Fantastic.  Detailed, nuanced, the wings were carefully hidden as part of the set, the stage allowed for multiple locations without ever moving (huh, where have I seen THAT recently?), and I loved it.  Kind of fun...actual stage hands appeared during intermission to change the scenery.  ACTUAL STAGE HANDS IN BLACK CLOTHES ON STAGE AT A BROADWAY SHOW.  I cannot remember the last time I saw that.

I would love nothing more than to review the performers, but I don't think that's what I'm supposed to see.  I think I'm supposed to see the totality of the piece.  I think I'm supposed to understand that what I'm watching is a Greek play, complete with a VERY active chorus, with the actors wearing masks.  No, they do not physically wear masks, but...well.  Can't put it delicately.  Thomas Jefferson did not have the skin color of an African-American.

Ultimately, I think that's what I saw in the show.  I recently directed "Sense and Sensibility."  The show was great at times, and missed at times, a great deal of that, I feel, owing to the script.  The show was written as a break-neck paced telling of Austen's classic story, and set pieces were to be minimal.  I was criticized for not using any set...but what I did, and I couldn't put words to it until someone who watched one of the final rehearsals said, "You're making us focus on the acting, and the story, and not the superfluous."  And you know what?  That's a hard thing for people to do.  "Hamilton" begs us to do that.  Nay.  It FORCES us to do that.

There are a crap-ton of distractions throughout the show, but one is not focused on the rifles in the hands of the Yorktown scene, as there are none, but one is forced to pay attention to the performers.  And God love me, I did.  I picked up damn near every word they were saying.  I caught myself, as per usual, being the only one laughing at one of the jokes, because it flew by other audience members, or because their experience with the material is different.  I've spent a good deal of my life trying to embody a couple of founding fathers, including the aforementioned Thomas Jefferson (twice) while performing the play "1776."  I've studied this era.  And I cannot remember the specific moment, but like usually happens to me in a play, there's a 1% joke thrown in, and I find those the funniest, and usually laugh really loudly.  BTW, a 1% joke is one that only 1% of the audience will get.  Bah.  Randysplaining at its finest.

The show is brilliantly costumed, from the androgyny of the women, who wear pants throughout, but occasionally don skirts over those, to the uniforms worn by the soldiers, to the amazing whites that those who have passed wear at the conclusion of the show...just breathtaking.

The set is amazing.  Duh.  The multiple layers of the center turntables, allowing variance in speed, or allowing characters to be stationary in the center...more genius.  The details are amazing.  It's a damned sparse set, carried on by the performers, and it just works.  We're visiting so many locations in such a short time...it's hard to imagine more.  Know who else did stuff like that?  The Greeks.  Stop me when you sense a theme.

Choreography is mind-boggling.  The actors move so quickly and so smoothly around the stage...it's like a well-choreographed dance.  Wait.  OH....  For a show that requires us to focus SO MUCH on the spoken/sung word, the choreography is crazy good, while not pulling our focus.

The music.  It's not all rap.  There's a hell of a lot of rap, but there are also some ballads, some love songs, some songs of regret.  Two particular musical pieces stood out to me, besides the obvious ones.  Near the end of Act I, following the defeat of the British at Yorktown, there is a wonderful duet between Hamilton and Burr called "Dear Theodosia," in which each of them describe the sacrifices/desires of a parent, while touching on the hope that the birth of the new nation brought.  That I can be so compelled by watching two men in chairs stare straight ahead and sing...well.  That's a hell of a number.  Again...front row on that one.  Every facial twitch was visible.  The other number I was sucked into was "The World Was Wide Enough."  It's a lesson for all of us.  In our personal lives, in our philosophies, in everything, we are going to encounter those that are the absolute opposite of us.  And while we may not see their value, there's a reason they feel that way, there's a reason they are here.  I, FAR too often, do not allow for differences to my often-very-correct opinions.  But you know what?   The world is wide enough for others, too.  I forget it.  ALL THE TIME.  I don't duel people to the death, but I've certainly silenced a few, or forced them to confrontation, or whatever, and I'm...wrong.  Just wrong.  What I'm saying may be right, but I don't have the experiences of others to empathize with why they may be right, too.  I'm a shit in this regard. 

One other thing.  There are 3 conceits that I have said for a long time are my favorites in theatre.  1.  I LOVE the "Bad Idea Bears" in "Avenue Q."  I think a couple of Care Bears simply flopping a noose out while a character contemplates failure is one of the most brilliant things, well...ever.  2.  That the "Elephant Man" does not wear anything prosthetic.  It makes us look at the man, and at ourselves.  3.  The Venticelli in "Amadeus."  Like the "Bad Idea Bears," I love this little chorus that is essential to the plot, but also detached from the action, because, well, they don't really exist.  All of these things are, for me, a big part of the reason why I love theatre as a means of story-telling so damned much.  "Hamilton" added, for me, a fourth.  4. King George III.  I can't say more, but his inclusion in the show, and the way he is used, and BEING IN THE FRONT ROW AND SEEING THAT ACTOR'S EYES REFLECT WHAT HE WAS SINGING SO SUBTLY...crazy.  Just crazy.  And, as a Jefferson guy, the subtle-as-a-freight-train dig at John Adams...well.  I'll always love one of those.

So.  What am I left with?  "Hamilton" is a wonderfully modern Greek drama, complete with actors wearing masks, but telling the tales of a people's origins to a modern audience, using the language of the times.  We see their flaws, we see their heroics, we see their humanity.  We cry with them.  We laugh with them.  We are awe-struck by them.  I will, when I can finally justify it, be taking all 3 children over whom I hold some direct influence to see it.  Because it's that important, not only as a piece of theatre, but as a way of defining...me.  I have dedicated my adult life to making this art form myself, albeit on a small stage, but I want my kids to see why I love it so.  I want them to understand what a great piece of theatre does to me, spiritually, and what it does to me as a human.  I have often said that I'm my best self when I'm in charge of a theatre production.  I'm organized like I never am elsewhere, I'm more thoughtful and listen more.  I'm more gentle when leading.  I laugh.  It's what I think I do best.

"Hamilton" reminds me why I want to do that part of my life so well.

And I cannot wait to see it again.

I've made this about myself.  Isn't that what theatre is supposed to do?

So.  This may not be what others wanted me to write.  It may be briefer than I expected it to be.

It's what the piece did to me.

Go, and let it do something to you.

Wrap up...

...well.  I did it.  I got through all 100 of the AFI Top 100 (10th Anniversary Edition).

Here is the chart.  Completed.  I've got a little bit to explain about it at the bottom.

There's a lot of information on this chart.  Some of it is incomplete, but some of it is pretty damned accurate.  

Because this quest was all about a list, I'm going to make some of my own.  I'm not going to use quotes around the titles.  I know I should.  I'm lazy and don't want to type that much.  Here they are, in no particular logical order:

7 "New to me" films I liked WAY more than I thought I would:

1.  Nashville (this film is probably now in my top 5 films of all time - and I'd never seen it before)

"Treasure of the Sierra Madre"

2.  High Noon
3.  All About Eve
4.  The Best Years of Our Lives
5.  Double Indemnity
6.  The Wild Bunch
7.  The Treasure of the Sierra Madre

5 "New to me" films I knew I'd love but finally made time to watch:
1.  The Gold Rush
2.  Modern Times
3.  Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?
4.  In the Heat of the Night
5.  The French Connection

8 "Old to me" films I was surprised I liked so well upon this viewing:
1.  Do the Right Thing

"Do The Right Thing"

2.  Chinatown
3.  Rocky
4.  Network
5.  The Sixth Sense
6.  Platoon
7.  Apocalypse Now
8.  Dr. Strangelove Or:  How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb

5 Films I don't think you've seen that I think you should:
1.  Nashville (with a bullet - this could be 1-5 on this list)

"Sunrise:  A Song of Two Humans"

2.  Sunrise:  A Song of Two Humans
3.  Sullivan's Travels
4.  The Last Picture Show
5.  The General

5 Films that I do not find anywhere nearly as good as popular opinion does:
1.  Schindler's List
2.  The Searchers
3.  Tootsie
4.  Bringing Up Baby
5.  Blade Runner

5 Films that I'd watch annually, because of GREATNESS
1.  Nashville
2.  Citizen Kane
3.  Casablanca
4.  The Godfather
5.  Lawrence of Arabia

10 (can't do 5) Films that I'd watch annually, because of how they make me feel (sentiment):

"Jaws"  Duh.  

1.  Jaws
2.  Star Wars
3.  City Lights
4.  The General
5.  It's a Wonderful Life
6.  Modern Times
7.  The Gold Rush
8.  Dr. Strangelove...
9.  All About Eve
10.  Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid

5 Films that I probably wouldn't mind never seeing again:
1.  Intolerance

"Bringing Up Baby"

2.  Bringing Up Baby
3.  Spartacus
4.  Ben-Hur
5.  American Graffiti

5 Films that did not win the Best Picture Oscar that should have (based on the competition from that year):
1.  Network
2.  Citizen Kane
3.  Raging Bull
4.  Apocalypse Now
5.  Do the Right Thing

10 More films I should watch annually:
1.  Raiders of the Lost Ark
2.  Annie Hall

"Annie Hall"

3.  The Philadelphia Story
4.  Psycho
5.  The Graduate
6.  The Maltese Falcon
7.  Duck Soup
8.  Sunset Blvd.
9. One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest
10.  The Silence of the Lambs

5 Films you may have seen, but you likely now dismiss, but should watch again because they are way better than you remember:
1.  King Kong
2.  The Sixth Sense
3.  Annie Hall
4.  Rocky
5.  Shane

"Ben-Hur"

5 Films I'd take off the list:
1.  Tootsie
2.  American Graffiti (this would be the last of the 5)
3.  Blade Runner
4.  Ben-Hur
5.  Spartacus

5 Films I'd put in the previous 5's place:
1.  Alien
2.  Malcolm X
3.  Amadeus (was on first list in 1997)
4.  All Quiet On the Western Front (ditto)
5.  Fargo (again dropped from the first list) - I'd also accept The Big Lebowski.

"City Lights"

10 Films you should watch with a romantic partner (obvious):
1.  Sunrise:  A Song of Two Humans
2.  Tootsie
3.  The Apartment
4.  Casablanca
5.  Swing Time
6.  The Sound of Music
7.  City Lights
8.  West Side Story
9.  Annie Hall
10.  Sullivan's Travels

5 Films you should watch with a romantic partner (not so obvious):
1.  Vertigo
2.  Cabaret

"The General"

3.  Modern Times
4.  The General
5.  The Graduate

15 Films you HAVE to watch with children at some time (all of which I have):
1.  Duck Soup
2.  E.T.
3.  Star Wars
4.  Raiders of the Lost Ark
5.  Snow White
6.  Toy Story
7.  City Lights
8.  The Gold Rush
9.  Modern Times
10.  The General
11.  The Wizard of Oz
12.  King Kong
13.  The Lord of the Rings:  The Fellowship of the Ring
14.  A Night at the Opera
15.  The Sound of Music

5 Films I absolutely cannot wait for my children to be old enough to see (because I don't think you HAVE to be an adult to understand them):  
1.  Jaws

"Psycho"

2.  Psycho
3.  Titanic
4.  The Sixth Sense
5.  To Kill a Mockingbird

Bonus Film I cannot wait for my children to be old enough to see:

1.  Dr. Strangelove...

The 10 Best Reviews I think I wrote:
1.  Psycho
2.  Raging Bull
3.  Nashville
4.  The Last Picture Show
5.  Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?
6.  Citizen Kane
7.  The Wild Bunch
8.  Titanic
9.  It's a Wonderful Life
10.  Casablanca

"Nashville" - SPOILER!

One thing on that list I photographed above.  I charted the number of AFI Top 100 films that showed the physical use of a gun being fired (not a firearm, a gun - so "Lord of the Rings" doesn't count).  See all those "x" marks in the second and third column after the film's title?  Column 2 is guns, Column 3 is deaths.  The total was 65 films that showed the use of a gun.  Two thirds of the "great movies" in our time show a gun being fired.  71 films show an on-screen death.  What does this say?  It says that our stories need closure.  Death doesn't occur in real life at the rate it does in film, that's for sure, but this is story telling, remember?  Drama is best explained through death.

However.  That seems like a LOT.  When you have 3 Charlie Chaplin films, and all 3 contain a gunshot, and one contains an on-screen death, while one shows the gun fired..and the death...but not until after the shot...so it's not really an on-screen death...well.  It's a wonderful tool for storytelling.  I won't comment further.

I do want to talk at some point about the discrepancy between male actors and female actors on the list. I'm not sure how to do it, but only 4 women appeared in 3 films on the list, and two of those appeared in the only sequel to make the list, so they weren't new castings.  Men?  Let's just say that a LOT of men appear in 3 films on the list, and Al Pacino isn't even one of those.  Jack Lemmon is only in 2.

So.  That's it.  I'm happy to discuss further if you wish.  I recommend watching the list yourself, if you are into this kind of thing.  There are a lot of great films that don't get watched any more, and a lot that don't get watched enough.  Take some time and watch some of them.

Thanks again,
Randy

I've almost forgotten...

...how to do this...but I'll try and catch up quickly.

It is done.  I have completed the task.  Well.  Once the final thought is expressed below, I will have completed it.

I spent the last year plus watching the entire AFI Top 100 (10th Anniversary Edition) and talking about them here.  I took 5 months off in 2015 to direct a couple of shows, then stopped earlier this year because I saw that this film was going to be showing on the big screen, and I figured the best way to wrap this up was to watch the final film in a theatre.  So.  That's what I did.  Joining me in this were friends Craig and Margie, and we ran into Eric at the theatre.

Before I get started, I do have to describe the experience last night.  I'd had a particularly shitty day yesterday, and was looking forward to the distraction this was to be.  Arriving at the theatre later than I'd hoped, I was still pretty on edge when I stepped into our particular theatre, only to see that Ben Mankiewicz of TCM was already on the screen...giving the intro that I wanted to hear.  EXCEPT.  His lips were moving, but no sound was coming out.  The tech let the film run for a good 6 minutes with no sound, then stopped it, and tried to start it over.  Perfect.  It was a lot of fun, because we got to riff a lot with the film showing, but it wasn't ideal.  Except for me...it provided a moment to laugh at the ridiculousness of my day.  And...in a strange way...it was a graphic example of the theme of the film...it was the perfectly absurd moment I needed, and I felt myself immediately, FINALLY, relax.

After much reporting of the problem, along with free popcorn and drinks for the 15 of us in the theatre, and 20 minutes later, they finally got it working.  I will say one thing - Craig posited that a silent version of "Dr. Strangelove..." featuring Lionel Barrymore in the title role would be great.  I agree.  I think I got off a pretty good zinger when the theatre staff was taking orders from the patrons for their free popcorn and soda when I said, "...and two hard boiled eggs."   Getting to use that one around Craig was particularly fun for me.

Anyway - the experience of sitting in the theatre was a good one, and I'm glad I opted to do this film this way, and glad I got to share the experience with the people I did.

On with the show.

Film 100

100.  "Dr. Strangelove or:  How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Love The Bomb."  (AFI Rank #39)

For those of you that have followed along on this quest...FIRST...Thank.You.   Second, you may know that Stanley Kubrick had 4 films he directed wind up on the list.  While "2001..." is generally regarded as his great masterpiece, I'm not so sure.  This essay is going to be long.  It's my last chance, and I'm going to touch on a lot of things I have been talking about during this project.  I'm also going to gush about Stanley Kubrick.  A lot.   I'm also going to assume you know the premise of this film, and how it ends, as I'm going to discuss the ending.  I'll put up a spoiler alert before I do.


Here goes.

It is hard, perhaps, to imagine how revolutionary a film like "Dr. Strangelove..." was in 1964.  The United States had nearly gone toe to toe with the Russkies in the October of 1962, "duck and cover" was being taught to terrified children in schools, and we'd been through one war to stem the tide of communism, and were just firing up another one. The young President had just been assassinated.  It was an era where the absurdity of it all may have been lost...and then this film hits, skewering the seriousness of all of it, and exposing it for the insanity that it was.  Based on the book "Red Alert," this film and "Fail-Safe" were made at the same time, both based on the book, one treating the subject seriously...and this one...not so much.  How many of you have heard of "Fail-Safe?"  It starred a bunch of super famous people, like Henry Fonda, Walter Matthau, Dan O'Herlihy, a young Larry Hagman and an even younger Dom DeLuise.  It was directed by Sidney Lumet, the best director not named Alfred Hitchcock or Stanley Kubrick never to win the Academy Award.  Yet, that film is largely forgotten.  "Dr. Strangelove..."...well...that's a different story.  By the way, you should watch "Fail-Safe."  It's a tremendous film.  It's hard to take it as seriously if you've seen this one, but it's a tremendous film.  And the ending is horrifying.  Just horrifying.


I digress.

It is no secret, if you've been reading along, that I love Stanley Kubrick.  His mastery of the visual art of film is astonishing, but what he may not get enough credit for is his ability to bring actors to incredible performances.  He had a deserved negative reputation for shooting far too many takes, but when one watches the performances his actors give, one has to stop and wonder if he wasn't on to something.  Shelley Duvall may have been tortured during "The Shining," and there's no justification for it, but wasn't she terrifying?  Wasn't Nicholson?  How great was Malcolm McDowell in "A Clockwork Orange?" Vincent D'Onofrio in "Full Metal Jacket?"  Hell, Keir Dullea in the previously mentioned "2001..." is riveting, and I'd hardly call that an "actor's" film.  Then, we get to this film.  The performances in this film may be Kubrick's best, however.

Drawing from a cast of talented character actors, Kubrick made every one of them resonate.  Slim Freakin' Pickens is crazy good.  And he's Slim Freakin' Pickens.  Have you seen "Blazing Saddles?"  Doesn't he look like he's reading cue cards throughout that film?  Here?  He's so true, so honest as Major (King) Kong, that you wonder if Kubrick didn't tell him he was making a comedy.  Wait.  Kubrick didn't.  And THERE is the genius.  We get James Earl Jones not relying on being James Earl Jones.  His moments of panic when he realizes the bomb bay doors won't open are desperately honest.  Utilizing "negative function" official language, but showing the overwhelming fear in the moment...is genius.  And that's a tiny little portion of this great big film.

The acting award for this film, in my opinion goes to George C. Scott.  His Buck Turgidson is one of the great comedic performances...ever.  Think about that.  George C. Scott playing comedy, and playing it brilliantly.  I've read stories as to how Kubrick got this, and somewhere I read that Kubrick asked Scott to always do "one more take, over the top" on every scene.  He then took those takes and assembled the film with them.  Whether or not that's true is subject to hazy memories, apparently, but the performance Scott gives doesn't make that rumor seem untrue.  Hell, there's a scene where Scott is walking away, trips, rolls over, keeps going as if nothing happened, and finishes the scene.  I'm guessing that NO ONE thought that take would be in the final cut, yet there it is.  And that is all Kubrick.  And Scott.  And everyone who held it together long enough for the director to yell "cut."  Look.  I'll use this in my defense of Scott.  He is doing the punchlines...while PETER FUCKING SELLERS is playing straight man.  And that's more Kubrick.

Peter Sellers plays 3 roles in the film.  He plays United States President Merkin Muffley (yup, that's his name), Group Captain Lionel Mandrake (more on this later), and the titular Dr. Strangelove.  Of the three roles, only Strangelove is the punchline guy.  The other two are most assuredly the straight man.  Think about that.  One of film's greatest comedians was playing straight man for 85% of this film.  And it works.  Brilliantly.  Sellers plays foil to General Jack D. Ripper (yup, that's his name), played by Sterling Hayden, who modern viewers may recognize as Police Captain McCluskey, who is assassinated, along with Sollozzo, by Michael Corleone in the first "Godfather" film.  Hayden is another actor more associated with drama, yet his unhinged performance here is...hysterical.  And again...I'm going to credit Kubrick with a big assist on this one.

You know, it occurs to me that I've only been mentioning the actors, and not noting particularly specific things.  OK.  Here goes.

Watch George C. Scott when he takes the phone call where he learns that General Ripper has unleashed a nuclear attack on the USSR.  His demeanor never shows what must be going on on the other end of the phone, but there's a moment where he slaps his belly.  That slap, that acting choice, is sheer magnificence.  We see all the energy that he is no doubt repressing physically release itself in that moment.  You may think of it as just a funny thing the actor did. I don't.  I see the process.  I see the work.  I see the genius.

Next, look at General Ripper in the extended scene where he is shot in close up on his face.  We know he's crazy.  We see it.  Yet, it takes an excruciating amount of time for him to finally spew the words that assure us of that, when he finally discusses fluoridation of water as a communist plot, but until then Hayden is SO intense, SO serious that the payoff just slays us.  Choices.  It's an interminable set up...and the payoff is gold.

And then there's Sellers.  I think his great acting chops are best flexed as Mandrake, but it ain't like he's slouching in the other roles.  Next time you watch this film, I want you to watch Mandrake's face as he says "Oh, hell" during the phone call that General Ripper makes to inform him that the United States has been engaged by the USSR in nuclear war.  The subtle flex of his brow, the way his eyes vacantly stare ahead.  Again, this isn't an actor just winging it.  These are choices being made, being executed, and being displayed for us to revel in.  Top that off with the milquetoast Muffley, and the insanity of Strangelove...and well...damn.  Just, damn.

Let's talk writing.  Taking a book that was NOT funny and realizing that a satire was the best way to deal with it is vintage Kubrick.  I've talked, I think, about Kubrick's ability to juxtapose inappropriate music over scenes before. If I haven't, think about the "Mickey Mouse Club Theme" at the end of "Full Metal Jacket," "Singin' in the Rain" over the rape scene in "A Clockwork Orange."  These things show a director not afraid to turn one's expectations on their ear.  "Dr. Strangelove..." feels like an entire film of that.  Opening with a sequence that is only properly defined as "two airplanes having sex," this film just doesn't match with its subject.  Yet, even when we get that it's a comedy...and we are ready to settle in and really laugh...Kubrick throws in a battle sequence shot with a hand held camera that is clearly the inspiration for more gritty war films like "Saving Private Ryan."  The battle sequence feels REAL.  And it's absurd that it feels that way.   Yet, here it is.  These shifts in expectation, these zigs where others would have zagged are Kubrick at his best.

Wait.  I was going to talk writing.  STUFFED with memorable lines, this script crackles with dark, black, dark satire.  When President Muffley realizes that he's staring into the abyss of nuclear war, and when questioning General Turgidson about it, stating that he was under the understanding that he "was the only one authorized to use nuclear weapons."  General Turgidson's response is a killer: "That's right, sir, you are the only person authorized to do so.  And although I...uh...hate to judge before all the facts are in...it's beginning to look like...uh...General Ripper exceeded his authority."   I'm sorry, but if that's not funny to you, nothing is.  It's perfect corporate speak.  It's perfect blame-shifting.  It's perfectly absurd.  It's only one example of the jewel that is this script.  I mentioned Mandrake before.  The names used in this film are also...brilliant writing.  Merkin Muffley.  Buck Turgidson.  Major Kong.  General Jack D. Ripper.  Dr. Strangelove.  Soviet Premier Kissoff.  Ambassador Alexei de Sadesky.  I haven't mentioned Major "Bat" Guano.  Then...Mandrake.  The bible talks of the mandrake plant as being a cure for sterility, or erectile disfunction.  Other uses include hallucination and a cure for arthritis.  I think the sterility cure was what the authors were getting after...but this is the most subtle of the names.  The film is like a Marx Brothers farce with the names...and yet all the characters are deadly serious.  And THAT'S what makes them so funny.

I told you I'd get wordy on this.

Other Kubrick genius moments:  the black and white film includes a war room table covered in green felt, like a poker table, so the actors would assimilate a "game" feel into their performances.  Taking the most heinous and awful moment of the film, when the bomb drops on the USSR, and making it hilarious by having Slim Pickens ride it to its destination.  You know this scene.  You've seen it referenced in a hundred different places, including "The Simpsons."  Think about this scene.  Watch it.  It is silent.  Not an ambient sound, except for Slim Pickens' hootin' and hollerin'.  That silence is deafening.  Kubrick doesn't want us to forget how desperately serious that moment is...but he's making us laugh at it, anyway.

That leads into something else.  Sound design.  Ride in an airplane sometime, and tell me that Kubrick didn't fully capture the din whenever he shows the interior of the B-52 bomber in this film.  Other directors may have viewed it as a distraction.  For Kubrick?  It's a detail, necessary to the plot, and always present.  I mentioned the silence of the climax sequence.  Listen to the empty echo of the war room when it's presented in wide angle.  Think about the use of Vera Lynn's "We'll Meet Again" during the montage of nuclear annihilation   Kubrick gets sound.  He relishes it.  We are better film viewers for his attention.

Wait.  I didn't say "spoiler."  Fuck it.  You know how this one ends.

Visually, I want you to study this film, also.  The opening shot featuring a human, with Peter Sellers hidden behind a wall of computer printout...that alone is genius.  I mentioned the long closeup on General Ripper as he gnaws on a cigar explaining why the world has to die.  The battle sequence is stunning.  The War Room set is mesmerizing.  This film is a visual treat.  It's an auditory treat.  It's a writing treat.  It's an acting treat.

I'm beginning to think you might understand why I saved it for last.

This...may be...a perfect film.  And it's the best way I know how to wrap this series.  I wanted a laugh at the end, but having watched so much great film doing this, I see this film, now, as a culmination of all the best aspects of all that came before, be they silent films, westerns, science fiction, war, comedy, romance (that's a stretch), drama, epic, crime story, film noir, what have you.  This film shows what's best in all of them.  And its maker was one of the best at what he did.  I saved this for last for different reasons, but I now realize that this film is...it.  It is just...it.

I mentioned that I saw this with Craig, Margie and Eric.  Craig's take when asked "why this film?" was "Because it is a DARK, DARK comedy, and I love it."  Margie commented that she "Loved the silly way in which it treated a serious subject."  Eric echoed my thoughts on the "perfect film" on Facebook the next day, but I didn't ask him after the film.  Shame on me.

So.

There it is. I've watched and written about 100 films.  I feel richer for the experience.  I hope you enjoyed my meanderings.  I sure did.

Oh.  Roger Ebert.  Yeah.  Here he is on "Dr. Strangelove..."    You know, I just realized, I didn't comment on Sellers' signature role in this, Dr. Strangelove.  Roger does.  Read his thoughts, they are better than mine. Roger and I were in lockstep again.  I really loved reading his reviews after I'd written mine.  Gonna miss that.

Oh well.

We'll meet again.  Don't know how.  Don't know when.  But...I know we'll meet again some sunny day. 

Thank you.  I've got one more post on this quest, but this is it.  Thanks for being part of it.

And then there were...

...two.

This is the second to last stop on the journey to watch and write about the entire list of the AFI Top 100 (10th Anniversary Edition) in 12 months' time...

This was saved for now...because at heart, I'm a sentimentalist.

Film 99

99.  "Casablanca" (AFI Rank #3)

This is tricky.  There are a great number of people whom I care about deeply who don't care for this film.  I understand their perspective.  There is a great deal of this film that feels like melodrama, with a tense situation foisted upon it.  To that argument, I cannot offer a counter.  It is true.  It is melodrama, and a tense situation is foisted upon it.

To me, though, it is SO much more than that.  I'm not entirely certain that I can ever convince them otherwise, so I'm not going to try.  I'm just going to describe my reactions to watching it this time.

Like several great films, the opening sequence of "Casablanca" is an extended scene that seems to fly by in a moment.  Stuffed, and I mean STUFFED with exposition, the opening of "Casablanca" until the moment that Rick's closes the first night is...39 minutes long.  If I was asked, I'd say that opening lasted 20 minutes at the most.  The fact that it is nearly twice that long...well...that's what great filmmaking is.  It transports us into another world, bathes us in a scenario/story, and expects us to grab hold of it and embrace it.  Very little action happens in it, yet it pulses, breathtaking in pace, and treats the viewer like he/she can keep up with what's happening.  And it's wonderful.  Just wonderful.

This film is #3 on the list.  It won the Best Picture Oscar for 1943.  Its characters are iconic.  Its spoken language contains some of the most quotable lines in film history.  But why?  Why?  It really is just a melodrama.

Also - although the love story would tend to make one think this is a couples film...I'd call this a "guy" movie.  Yes, there is some sappy stuff in it, but the sensibilities of this film seem decidedly "male" to me.  They do.

Let's start with the script.  Written by Julius and Philip Epstein, with some work thrown in (but rejected) by Howard Koch, the screenplay for this film is a taut masterpiece that bristles with energy, overflows with eloquence, and throws in a healthy dash of "screw you very much" lines - just when they are needed.  This is ultimately what separates "Casablanca" from other films.  Its story is so damned available, so remarkably well-constructed, and so shockingly complete.  Scenes follow through to logical endings.  There is no enigma, no great "well, you decide how it ends."  No.  The script poses problems...and it solves them. There is something deeply satisfying about watching a moment/scene unfold, and then watching as the action comes to a logical conclusion.  And along the way, usually, we have a brief twist, or a wildly funny/witty line or two thrown in for good measure.  I'd love to say something definitive like..."I think the script, among all the elements in the film, is the one that is most vital to its success."  EXCEPT...

...as great as the script is...I cannot imagine that it plays the way it does without the actors involved.  How does the film work without Humphrey Bogart?  As stiff as he is, and as limited a range as he often displays...can you picture anyone else as Rick Blaine?  Of course not.  Bogart has an undeniable charisma on screen, and was, indeed, one of the biggest stars Hollywood ever produced.  He had the lead in 4 of the films in the AFI Top 100.  The man is simply an icon, and films like this one are what made him so.  Picture "Here's looking at you, kid." being delivered with any other tone to the voice.  Ronald Reagan was rumored to be considered for the role.  Picture HIM delivering it.  Hell, the last line in the film could only, and I mean it, ONLY be delivered by Bogart.  It just fits his temperament, his persona, his voice, his everything.  I have to admit that I was prejudiced against Bogart - precisely BECAUSE of his perceived lack of range, etc.  This was the only film of his I'd seen before I attempted to watch these films the first time, in 2014.  I loved this performance, but questioned how good he could possibly be in anything else.  He has become caricature.  And I guess that's what happens to icons.  Watching these 4 films, though, I have grown to love Bogart's particular brand of cool, and the commitments he makes.  He was an actor, not just a movie star, albeit an actor with a particular appeal/range.  I should stop.  I'm gushing.  Look, if you don't get how great Bogart is in this film...try this one moment.  It happens just before the deeply satisfying ending of the film, as the plane is departing Casablanca.  Not a word is spoken.  There is a shot of Claude Rains as Renault and Bogart, Blaine in the foreground, Renault behind him, watching the plane depart, with a little depth of field/bokeh trickery.  The composition of the shot is stunning...BUT...look at Bogart's heartbroken face.  It's gut-wrenching, perfect, and shows some real acting skill.  That one moment makes me audibly gasp nearly every time I see it.  Oh, and one more thing.  Name another actor that makes the line "I was misinformed" so damned funny.

Paul Henreid and Ingrid Bergman play the other points in the love triangle, Victor Laszlo and Ilsa Lund, respectively.  Henreid always is overshadowed by the two other principles when discussion of this film comes up, but I watched his performance intently this time.  His Laszlo is a complex character, in which we see leadership, injury, hope, intelligence, wisdom, and courage.  His accent fits.  Yes, knowing what we know now of concentration camps, it seems a shade trite that Laszlo seems to have done so well in one.  This was 1942, and the horrors of Germany's solutions to problems were mere rumors at this point, and certainly not going to be discussed in a Hollywood film.  Still, there is a deep wound behind Henreid's eyes (not so subtly accentuated by a scar right by his right eye), and he shows a remarkable vulnerability at times.

Writing about Ingrid Bergman is hard.  She is simply wonderful as Ilsa, an (at times) fully realized woman who loves her husband, but doesn't NEED him.  Ilsa is immoral at times, certainly by the standards of 1942, but she doesn't have any regrets about that.  She is living her life, and she happens to have been involved with our two leading men.  Bergman's real moment to shine, I think, is her scene in the street with Bogart.  I mentioned in parentheses (at times) in the open to this paragraph.  There are some things that become dated in modern sensibilities about Ilsa, especially the idea that at the end of the film, she's kind of assigned where to go, rather than making the choice herself.  Kind of.  Bogart's final speech to her is not him asserting his will as much as him telling her how much she'll regret her choice if she stays with him, but there does have the feeling that "We got this, sugar.  You go with him."  Hollywood is TERRIBLE with its use of female characters, and Ilsa Lund is a character in a Hollywood film.

For me, however, the film rises, and rises, and rises with the performance of Claude Rains as Renault.  There is such joy in the character, such ease in his movement, in his speech, in everything that he does.  It doesn't hurt that Renault has some of the funniest lines in the film, but I'm also positing that those lines are so damned funny PRECISELY because of Rains.  It is thankless work being a character actor.  The films of the AFI Top 100 are riddled with several of them (men, mostly) making multiple appearances, actors such as Ward Bond, Martin Balsam, Ned Beatty, Robert Duvall (at least in his incarnations on the list), Karl Malden, Ben Johnson, Thomas Mitchell, and Jack Warden.   I submit that Rains is the guy, however, that makes his screen time the most delightful.  Always seeming like there's something else going on behind those eyes...man, do I love watching him perform.  It's easy for me to pick out moments where Rains devastates with his spectacular delivery of sparkling dialogue in this film, but I'm going to reference that scene I mentioned above with Bogart.  Look at Renault.  There is just as much heartbreak in him as there is in Rick, if for different reasons.  Renault is a rank opportunist, and as such, he can foresee the future.  That plane leaving spells bad things for him, and he knows it.  Rains nails this moment. One other thing.  Doesn't it feel like Rains plays this entire film with a smirk?  I'm looking for stills, and it's not as prevalent as I thought.

Quick.  Who has the most screen time in this film - Syndey Greenstreet, Peter Lorre, or S.Z. Sakall as Carl?  Lorre and Greenstreet are the stars, but the answer is Sakall.  And that's the last thing I want to get to about acting.  In a script that delves into many, many characters, and gives them real stuff to do/work with, it is disarming how well all the "background" actors perform.  Dooley Wilson nails Sam.  Greenstreet and Lorre ooze underworld.  Then we have characters like Yvonne, who are barely in the film, but as a construct, represent so much.  All of them have purpose, all of them make sense, all of them propel the story.  Of particular note is Joy Paige as the Bulgarian wife.  How much do we know about Rick if she's not part of the story, and how hard would it be to learn it without her performance?  I'm rambling.

Music, of course, is used to great effect in the film, and the haunting piano under "As Time Goes By" evokes so much melancholy, it's hard to overstate its importance.  The music matters.  Oh yeah...and don't forget the "La Marseillaise" showdown in the club.  This film needs its music.

Lastly, I want to talk about Michael Curtiz.  It would be easy to overlook the contributions of a director in this particular film, given its performances and script.  There aren't a lot of stunning visual compositions to look at in the film...and yet...there are.  Look how the love triangle is always blocked as a triangle.  Observe the details in wide shots where people are behaving the way they should.  Observe the use of light/shadow.  As we've gone on this journey, I've talked about two main things a director does - visual imagery and performances of actors.  Well.  I don't know how, given the performances of the actors in this film, that one can call the job that Curtiz did as a director anything short of a masterpiece.  The ensemble works together so flawlessly...I have to give some of the credit to Curtiz.  Why?  Because I direct plays, and I'd hate to think that my contributions to some of the performances I was able to garner were moot.  Curtiz has two films on the list, "Yankee Doodle Dandy," and this one.  Both feature iconic performances from the actors.  I don't think that's an accident.  Incidentally, he made them both in the same year.  Hollywood was a different place a long time ago, and we forget how industrious some of these people were.

I've rambled on long enough.  "Casablanca" was saved for the end of the list because I'm a rank sentimentalist, and I wanted films at the end of the list that I LOVE watching for whatever reason.  This film I LOVE watching because of how much I love watching movies.  If you haven't seen this film...you may not like it.  I do.  Lots of people do.

Ebert wrote about this one, too.  Because of course he did.  His essay is here.  Roger and I seem to love the film for the same reasons.

You know...

...I think I screwed up.  I should have saved this film until the end.  I started with Chaplin, I should have ended with Chaplin.  I really wanted the film I saved for last to be the last one, though.

Still.  This was a mistake.

Last chance to watch this genius on the road to finishing up watching the AFI Top 100 (10th Anniversary Edition).

Film 98

98.  "City Lights" (AFI Rank #11)

I am not going to pull any punches.  Hollywood has never, nor will ever have, seen a force like Charles Chaplin.  Period.  You may prefer Buster Keaton's comedy, and I have no argument there.  Buster Keaton was often funnier.  Buster was also a hell of a director.  The Marx Brothers were brilliantly funny, and made really funny films.  Harold Lloyd's star never really shown as brightly, but he was also amazing.  However, no one, and I mean NO ONE, filled the screen like Charlie Chaplin did, with the combination of writing, performing, directing, producing, composing, or you name it.  This is the gold standard, and his like will never be seen again.  That a silent film actor/director could, over 70 years since the work had been completed, occupy three slots on the AFI Top 100, and it might feel like too little reverence is paid him, is testament to that.

How do I know that, personally?

Well, personally, it's because it's been 85 years since this film was made, and this time through, I watched it with 3 children who howled with laughter (2 of those children had seen the film multiple times before this viewing), a girlfriend who was in tears at the beautiful ending, and myself, who just reveled in audible gasping awe at the commitments Chaplin made as an actor, and some subtle, remarkable things he did as a director.  I've posted a picture of an example of an acting moment above, between the titles of this post.

It is easy, in today's modern times (heh), to dismiss Chaplin as merely a comedian, or a producer of bits/sketches that, while brilliant, aren't real "movie making."  And doing so would show a great ignorance of the man as a filmmaker.  Yes.  I said filmmaker.  Chaplin was more than a character/caricature.  He was also an obsessive, and at times tyrannical, filmmaker with a penchant for unyielding perfectionism.  What was remarkable about Chaplin was that he actually owned his own studio, and paid for this film entirely out of his own pocket, so he could do whatever the hell he wanted.  And what Chaplin wanted, starting three years prior to release, was a silent film called "City Lights," to compete with an industry that had gone entirely into "talkies."   Chaplin had a story to tell, and he wanted to tell it through pantomime.  And by God, what a story he tells.

Utilizing his universally famous "Little Tramp" character, "City Lights" is the tale of a down-and-out vagrant who is mistaken for a wealthy customer by a gorgeous, but blind, flower peddler.  Along the journey of the film, we see the Little Tramp meet a drunken millionaire, who, when in his cups, alternates between loving the Tramp and wanting to end is own life.  When sober, the millionaire doesn't remember the Tramp at all, but every time he sees him while drunk, he's his best friend.  Through a series of deceptions, the Tramp wins the girl's heart, and spends the balance of the film on various plots to support her and her grandmother, including cleaning up the streets from various animals' droppings, and boxing.  During this time, we see a newspaper headline about a doctor who has discovered a cure for blindness. Finally, following a drunken evening at his great friend the millionaire's house, the Tramp is accused of stealing money, after kinda thwarting a plot by some thieves.  He is caught and sent to prison for about 9 months.  When he emerges, he has lost his shirt, his pants are shredded, and he looks beaten.  We then get one of the most beautiful endings to a film, ever.  I'd have a tough time negotiating between this film and "It's a Wonderful Life" for great endings.  In fact, I'd argue the last two films in the quest, "Casablanca," and "Dr. Strangelove..." are way up on the list, also.  Hmmmph.  End of the list, brilliant endings of films.  I think I like closure.  I have to talk about the end of this film, and will below, but I will warn you before I do, in case you've not seen this film and this writing inspires you to do so.

This film is chock full of segmented comedy sketches - we have the opening statue sketch, the riverfront suicide sketch, the dance hall sketch, the animal droppings sketch, the cheese/soap sketch, the underwear sketch, the boxing sketch, the party sketch, and the break-in sketch.  In those sketches are a subset of bits, like the wrong rope bit, the cigar bit, the spaghetti bit, the dancing bit, the chair bit, the horse parade bit, the elephant bit, soap bubble bit, the rabbit's foot bit, the referee bit, the bell bit, the whistle hiccup bit, and the blackjack bit.  All of these things are like singles, but the album they come from is so amazing, it's tough to see past the songs.  Framing all of these timeless comedy sketches is the story of the blind girl and the Little Tramp.  Ultimately, THAT is what makes this film great.  When I was a child, my parents would borrow Laurel and Hardy reels from the library, and show them to us on their home movie projector.  They were shorts, and the scenes were fairly simple, yet hilarious.  That's what all these sketches are, essentially.  They are little stand-alone shorts that are part of a greater piece...yet somehow they make that story better.  Much better.

My children love to narrate the pantomime as it occurs, putting words in the characters' mouths that match their actions.  Telling a story, and making it understood without words...well...that's something quite special.  But that is not to say that "City Lights" is 100% silent.  No, Chaplin composed the music for the score, and it's quite good at evoking mood at all times.  Also, there is a scene which features "speaking."  It is right at the opening of the film, and we see members of the city dignitary giving speeches at the unveiling of a new civil statue.  Their speeches are a series of nonsensical sounds, which were made by Chaplin speaking into some sort of taut paper device.  It sounds like a kazoo to me, but would think a comb wrapped in paper is also possible.  No, the film isn't a talkie, but Chaplin uses speaking to great effect in this scene.  And of course, the comedian left alone on a statue is rife with comedic possibilities.  Chaplin hits them all.

The boxing sequence is physical comedy genius.  That involves three people to make it work.  And it is freaking gold.  The dance hall sequence is no less astounding, and again is dependent on multiple participants to work.  Harry Myers, as the millionaire, is exceptionally good in this film.  What I want to discuss, and a scene that had me shaking my head in awe, is perhaps too simple, but the kind of thing that I notice, 'cause I'm a weirdo.  When you watch this film, I want you to watch Chaplin in the whistle/hiccup bit.  Every hiccup shown has a start, a middle, and an ending physically, and it's ALWAYS the same.  That's the kind of thing great physical comedians understand, through decades of practice - that if you always keep the bit detailed, and make a gag a series of small movements, suddenly it looks real.  I had the pleasure of directing a friend of mine in a scene where he had to fall down a flight of stairs.  The individual components of the fall were hardly complicated, but when seen in "full speed," it looked like he'd fallen down the stairs, when he had, in fact, just taken a few carefully choreographed large steps, followed by a somersault at the end.  I didn't choreograph it, I hired a professional for that, but the work was astounding to watch.  Knowing the few things I know about stunts/stage combat, it all comes down to selling it.  Watch Chaplin sell those hiccups.  Every single one of them.  It's magic.

Around all these gags, as I've mentioned, is the love story.  Virginia Cherrill plays the blind flower seller, and she is gorgeous, looks blind, and we see her heart all over her performance.  She's not just beautiful, but we see a beautiful spirit in her.  The Tramp falls in love with that spirit, and once smitten, is unable to think of himself at all.  What a wonderful thing to have.  He wants to take care of her, yet he is unable to take care of himself.  There is something about the Tramp I want to mention, though.  Yes, his pants are ripped in the seat at the beginning of the film, but the rest of his ensemble is in pretty decent shape.  His insistence on decent, if ill-fitting clothes, helps him in his ruse, and helps establish the mistake.  By the end of the film, though, the Tramp is different.  Winding up in jail for stealing from the millionaire, he gives the money to the girl, every single dime.  When released from prison, he's no longer capable of pride, and has slid even further down the societal ladder.  He looks wiped out.  It's haunting.  It's no longer funny.  Then comes the ending.  You may stop reading now, if you wish to see the film without knowing the ending.

SERIOUSLY.  STOP READING IF YOU DON'T WANT TO KNOW THE ENDING.  THIS WILL BE HERE WHEN YOU'RE DONE.

The final minute of this film is achingly beautiful.  If you can watch it without feeling warmly sentimental, then you need to get yourself checked out.  We see the blind girl, in a shop that is obviously doing all right financially.  She is arranging flowers...but then we see her check out her reflection in a mirror.  She's had the surgery, and is no longer blind.  The Tramp, clearly licked, and fresh from jail, winds up at the familiar street corner where he spent the beginning of the film.  That street corner turns out to be the location of the flower shop, and the no longer blind girl laughs at the Tramp as she sees him struggle in the street.  He then sees her, and is incapable of movement.  He just stares.  She then comes out to offer him a flower and a silver dollar.  He refuses, but she shoves the money and bloom into his hand.  But...when she touches him, she recognizes him.  Chaplin's face is a proud, yet embarrassed smile, and hers is one of pure love.  The last title card, after the Tramp asks is she can see is..."Yes, I can see now."  And the final shot of his face melts whatever was left of us.  It's a remarkably poignant moment in a film littered with gags, and ties the whole thing together in a wildly satisfying conclusion.  As I said, it's impossible not to feel warmth when watching it.  The kids don't understand how great it is...yet.  Now that they've been taught to love the film, I have no doubt that I've set them up to love this as adults, when I hope they understand it better.

OK, I'M DONE WITH THE TALK OF THE ENDING.

The acting in this film tells the story so magnificently, it's hard to not to just say "the acting is great."  Know what?  The acting is great.  The pace is great.  The composition of photography is great.  Everything about the film is great, and I have no quibbles.  Chaplin called it his greatest film.  AFI agrees, and put it just outside of the top 10, while later ranking it as the greatest romantic comedy of all time.  I'd submit that this film belongs in the top 10, for what it accomplishes without benefit of color, or sound.  I'd boot "Schindler's List" out of the Top 10 and replace it with this one.  Because I think "Schindler's List" is a great film, but not Top 10.  This film is a phenomenal achievement, and I am so glad that I found it before I got to this list, and so glad I kept it until near the end of the quest.  I love it.  Just love it.

There is no cinema without Charlie Chaplin.  This is his greatest work.  Do your homework.  Watch it.  Watch it again. Whatever.  Just watch this film.

I have to say this again. Ebert's review is here.  I DO NOT READ THESE IN ADVANCE.  Ebert even lists the gags, just like I did.  Holy shit.  Holy shit.

End of an era...

...for a different reason.

Last stop in the amazing period between 1966 and 1980 that yielded cinema's arguably greatest, but unarguably grittiest work.  The period provided 30 films in the AFI Top 100 (10th Anniversary Edition), and I have loved watching them.  It sucks that this is the last stop from that era, but I picked a good one to close out the era.

Film 97

97.  "Jaws" (AFI Rank #56)

I was seven years old when this film became a sensation in the summer of 1975.  Setting the standard for the summer blockbuster, this film became the highest grossing film of all time, and held the position until a little film named "Star Wars" arrived two years later.  Seen by 67 million Americans, this was not just a film, but a cultural event.  I was deemed too young, and probably rightly so, to see it, but you bet that I had "Jaws - The Game."  Even without seeing it, the film was part of my youth, and it was part of the summer of 1975 for America.

Then, when it showed on television...I want to say around 6th grade - 1979/80...I watched it for the first time.  I've seen it dozens of times since, and it was most assuredly kept for this late portion of the quest to get through the AFI list because it's one of my favorite films.  It's got everything that I love about film, good guys that aren't quite good, bad guys who aren't quite bad, lots of male-oriented themes, great music, wonderful visual composition, tip-top acting, a few happy accidents along the way that made the final product better, and a hell of a lot of great dialogue.  To wit:  I posted a photo of the credits on Facebook as I started watching this last night. I've received lots and lots of quotes from the film as replies.  The film is not only incredibly well done, it's incredibly well loved.  Yeah, I get tired of the constant references to "these waters," but the screenplay is tremendous.

And that seems like a good place to start.  Having previously directed one feature film, Steven Spielberg was handed the reins to a film based on a popular best seller written by Peter Benchley.  27 years old at the time, Spielberg not only turned in an incredible job as director (more to come), but wrote a significant portion of the script, along with Carl Gottlieb.  There are moments that are clunky with the writing (see previous mention of the overuse of the term "these waters"), but the story is remarkably taut, unbelievably quotable, and filled with lots of real world reactions thrust into unreal situations.  I'm just going to point out one small line that I think is absolute genius.  Early in the film, on the night that the first victim's body is found, Ellen Brody comes in to sit with her husband, and says to him, "Wanna get drunk and fool around?" to which he replies, "Oh, yeah."  Now, this may not seem like a big deal.  However, that's the way real couples talk to each other, and I love it.  I'm damn near 50 and I can't remember dozens and dozens of lovemaking sessions that began with some come hither look followed by a Hollywood-style passionate kiss, and candlelight.   I do remember dozens and dozens of times where it was initiated as simply as, "Wanna fool around?"  I don't drink, so the drunk part is out.  Point is that we didn't get a Hollywood moment.  We got a real-life moment, and it's wonderful.

I took a lot of time talking about the era in which this film was released, and I think it's important to remember that.  Watch some of the larger scenes and try and pick out the dialogue.  There is a great deal of chatter/noise in most scenes involving lots of people, and bits and pieces of dialogue appear out of the drone, but are not necessarily given great weight.  I think this is, once again, a function of the era.  This isn't the quick patter era of the 30s/40s, but this era threw conversations all over other conversations.  I happen to love that.  People cut each other off, reactions start before the previous line is finished, often audibly.  I think this film, in particular, uses that to great effect to separate Acts I and II, but it's also a tool used a lot in this era, as filmmakers began to push the boundaries and strive towards realism.  So, here's a film that happens to be a special effects spectacular with conversational techniques on par with wordy-ass films like "All the President's Men."

Beyond dialogue, there is a dirty quality to the entire film that is palpable.  Not "racy," but actually...dirty.  Chief Brody's truck is not a pristine vehicle.  Signs are hand-painted, mostly, and don't feel fake.  The dock at the Brody home is in disrepair.  The swingset is rusty.  Quint's shop is a nightmare...and was entirely built for the film to look that way.  The Orca does not appear to be seaworthy.  It's old, and really feels that way.  A great deal of time and effort was spent to make sure this film looked "used."  It succeeds at every turn.

Couple of brief quibbles.  1.  The boat on which Hooper arrives on the island does not appear to be the same boat that he and Brody later take out to go find the shark at night.  2.  No way the Mayor is that stubborn after the Kintner boy's death.  No way.

I've highlighted a couple of small moments that help define greatness to me.  Let's look at the big stuff.  As I stated, the composition of the photography is almost a character in the film.  Tell me you don't feel genuinely sad for Hooper when Quint stands on the pulpit of the Orca staring at him after he delays a kill shot that Quint thought he had.  Check out that shot.  Check out the shot where the meteor streaks past as Hooper and Brody stand on the Orca.  Watch the way the barrels are introduced and how they frame the shots in which they are used.  The opening sequence, in which Chrissy Watkins is consumed by the shark is gorgeous.  The happy accident of not being able to see the shark because they couldn't film it, because it wouldn't work properly, is perhaps the greatest thing that ever happened to this film.  There is so much more tension built by the mystery of what is under the water for the first act than there would have been had we seen the shark swimming among the legs in the Kintner death.
 
Ah.  Now.  Let's talk about what I love the most about this film.  The fact that it is two distinct acts.  On land, we see Chief Brody, henpecked by the powers that be in the town of Amity Island.  We have a great deal of noise and confusion, and a lot of really awful crap happening on land.  We then take a boat out into the ocean, and the cast is reduced to 3, and all the problems on the mainland disappear, along with all the noise.  There is music, some of it triumphant, some of it chilling, but the film quiets tremendously almost all at once.  It's 3 guys, some weaponry, a boat, and a 25 foot great white shark.  Quint even does the brilliant move of smashing the radio to isolate the hunters from the mainland.  We are trapped on that damned little boat, and it ain't a good place to be.

Act II of this film is really where I find my greatest satisfaction.  Quint's poetically delivered speech about the results of the sinking on the USS Indianapolis is one of cinema's great monologues.  Stuffed with imagery that only the spoken word can convey, Robert Shaw takes us to that desperate situation, and shows us a side of Quint, the scared side, that we need to help flesh out the character.  We see begrudging respect given to Hooper by Quint, and we see Hooper, so sublimely played by Richard Dreyfuss, offer the same.  In the middle of all of this is Brody, henpecked here as well, the low man on the totem pole, but the guy who is supposed to be in charge.  Roy Scheider's performance is stunning, true to life, and just the kind of understatement that is required between those two massive personalities.  And the fact that he ad libbed one of cinema's greatest lines doesn't sit too poorly with me, either.

This film could have been so very, very bad.  It had all the potential to slip into cheap horror film.  The commitment on the part of those making it to keep it from that, and to tell a really terrifying tale in a way that smacked of real-life is what made it so great.  The director could have shown the shark more, and showed the effects of shark bites more, but that would have been some sort of fetish thing.  No, the horrors of flesh being rendered from its proper place is decidedly understated in this film, and even when overtly shown, does not seem like spectacle as much as..."yup, that's what would happen."  Tell me how much less terrifying Chrissy Watkins' death is if we can see the shark.  Tell me that there isn't something that happens in your gut when she finally disappears underwater for good, and the screaming stops.  I HATE that the Kintner death had to be a child, but how else does that scene work?  That we only see a shredded air mattress is all we need know about the horrible death the child experienced.  Yes, we have Ben Gardner's head in the boat, and we have the leg of the guy who tried to help Michael in the "pond," but those things don't feel unnecessary, nor gratuitous.  It's fine filmmaking, not sparing the viewer of the real details, while not glorifying them either.

It's been over 40 years since this film appeared, and it's had 3 sequels made from its origins.  It's become a part of popular culture, and is recognized as a horror masterpiece.  To me, it will always be more than that.  It's a great, great film that happens to have some horrific moments.  Overall, though, it's a great big metaphor built around hubris, and man's inability to understand/control nature.  The shark could have been a bear, or a lion, or a nuclear plant, or any number of things that man thinks it can control but could wind up relentlessly stalking us/destroying us.   In this case, it's a shark, and the lessons learned have very little to do with the 25 foot fish.  That, friends, is what makes for great stories, and great, great films.  This is one of those.

One bit of trivia that is too delicious:  the shark is visible for a total of 4 minutes.  That's fun stuff.

I'm glad I saved this for the end.  It was great fun to go out on the boat with Brody, Hooper, and Quint and experience the exhilarating highs and deathly lows of their fishing trip.  I cannot say enough about how much I love this film.

Ebert loved it, too.  His take, from his "Great Movies" series is here.