"Michael...

...why are the drapes open?"

And with that line, and what happens next, this step in the journey of watching the AFI Top 100 (10th Anniversary Edition) lets us know that this is not our father's "The Godfather."

On with it...

Film 69

69.  "The Godfather:  Part II" (AFI Rank #32)

It was an intentional choice not to watch this back to back with the original, and an intentional choice to watch this in the same bloc as the original.  This film requires breathing room, and I gave it some.

Settle back, folks.  I'm not going to shorten this review.  I'm going to plumb the depths of this film, of other film sequels, and I'm not going to edit myself.  I'll do what I can, but I feel like this is going to be a long review.  I also will, so you know, be discussing the finale of this film, and it's a complete and utter shocker/heartbreaker if you haven't seen this film before.  I'll let you know when I get there, but I have to discuss it.

"The Godfather:  Part II" is a tremendous, important, whirlwind of a masterpiece.  I have previously expressed my opinion that "The Godfather" is my favorite film.  As such, it would be easy to say, "Well, Randy, you just have a proclivity to this particular story, and you like this film because, well, because of course you do."  That is simply not the case.  I have seen plenty of sequels in my day, plenty of films that are continuations of beloved stories.  One recently premiered in movie theatres to rave reviews by both critics and fans.  And all I saw, all I continue to see in it...is a cynical remake of a film that was FAR superior 38 years ago.  Of course, I'm speaking of "Star Wars Episode VII:  The Force Awakens."  No new ideas were explored in that film, shots were lifted from the original almost frame for frame.  Things we'd seen before appeared, as if we were supposed to say, "Hey, that's a thing!  I remember that thing!  That was a thing in that movie I loved!  HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!  Whee!  This is fun!"  It's all style, and no substance.  The Empire has no clothes.  And, the biggest travesty, the biggest mistake, was not utilizing the most compelling part of any of the "Star Wars" films:  Luke Skywalker.   You're not here to hear my thoughts on "Star Wars"...yet.

No, you're here for "The Godfather:  Part II."  I brought up "Star Wars" because it is a good comparison point for why this film is so vastly superior as a sequel/prequel than any other film cursed with continuing a story/shoehorning in older ideas.  Cleverly filmed as overlapping stories, "The Godfather:  Part II" interweaves the story of young Vito Corleone and his rise to prominence with the story of Michael, his youngest son, as he inadvertently destroys all that his father built.  It was an ambitious idea, executed nearly flawlessly by a reluctant Francis Ford Coppola and his amazing cast and crew.

Following structurally the opening of the original, this film begins in Corleone, Sicily, as young Vito Andolini (the eventual Vito Corleone) is orphaned by a ruthless mafia boss, and smuggled off to America, to Ellis Island, alone and...nine years old.  We then switch to "the present," and a religious ceremony, where his grandson, Anthony Corleone, Michael and Kay's son, is receiving his first communion.  Like the original film's wedding sequence, we see the Don, Michael, spending the day absorbed in business, occasionally stopping to make an appearance at the party.  The parallels between Michael's life and his father's are immediately shown.  Except it's not really parallel.  There is always a little feeling of joy that overwhelms that opening in the original.  None of that exists in the exposition of "The Godfather:  Part II."  A senator threatens Michael in his own home, a longtime Caporegime of the Corleone family speaks angrily to the boss, Michael's sister is a disaster, Fredo's wife is a sloppy drunk, and Kay, sweet Kay, reminds Michael that he promised the family business would be completely legitimate in five years.  That promise had been made seven years prior.  On top of that, we see Michael shoving Tom Hagen, the smartest guy not named Michael, out of the room as he discusses some business with the messenger boy, named Johnny Ola, of a powerful man, Hyman Roth, with whom Michael is trying to make some major business takeovers.  No, this family celebration hardly feels like a celebration at all.  The contrast with the original film is stark, and its impact is immediate.  It is obvious that the American dream, having been realized in the first film, is crumbling away as further and further corruption and deceit take over.

Immediately following the conclusion of the party, we are left alone with Michael and Kay in their bedroom.  I quoted the line at the opening of this.  An assassination attempt is made, with the bedroom exploding with bullets from automatic weapons.  Again, this film, this film is so much more dangerous than the first.  Yes, an assassination attempt was made on the Don in the first film, but we knew who did it, and we knew why.  This...this is a mystery...and Michael, having survived, turns to Tom Hagen and says, essentially, that anybody could have done this, even the closest of friends, because all of their friends are really just businessmen, and that this business is...well...shit like this happens.  Chilling.

That's a lot of plot.  I write about it because it is so vital to understanding this film.  As the film progresses, we get to see the rise of Vito Corleone, now played by Robert DeNiro, in flashback, as he makes his way in America.  Starting as a grocer's delivery boy,  working for the father of his eventual consigliere, Genco, Vito is shown a man named Don Fanucci, a man with an enormous scar across his throat, and a man who is obviously the local mafia captain.  Fanucci is a sloppy buffoon of a character, always gesturing in a way that makes him appear like a big shot, but watch him.  He constantly looks around for approval.  He is always seeking an audience.  He squeezes the local Italians for protection money, but he's not consistent in his demands, and he really doesn't follow up with any threats.  Vito meets Pete Clemenza and Sal Tessio through a series of circumstances, and the three of them start up their criminal enterprise.  When Vito is finally approached by Fanucci, and told to pay tribute to him of $600, he gathers Tessio and Clemenza, and asks them for $50 each.  He then meets Fanucci, gives him the $100...calling his bluff...and Fanucci...accepts the amount.  He even says that Vito should come and work for him.  Vito knows his mark, and having seen enough, kills Fanucci, and takes over the block.  Whereas Fanucci was a buffoon, interested in only himself, Vito is smooth, and generous, and helps those around him.  The scene with Signor Roberto is especially juicy.

I mentioned that Michael's story is one of collapse.  Michael, fueled by a blind conviction that he must control every single aspect of his family's...and his FAMILY'S life, or bad things will happen, does nothing but cause bad things.  He has enemies all around him, including his wife.  He loses it all.  He finally seeks counsel from his mother.  He asks how his father did things.  He asks if his father was ever worried about losing his family.  His mother replies, "How can you lose your family?"  Well.  This film.  This film shows it.

Lots and lots of other stuff happens, and eventually we learn that older brother Fredo is the traitor in Michael's family.  He didn't know what he was doing, of course, as Fredo is dumb as a stump, but he opened the door to the assassination attempt on Michael.  Michael realizes this while in Cuba as it falls into Communist control, and he kisses Fredo, HARD, on the lips at midnight on New Year's, and exclaims, "I know it was you, Fredo.  You broke my heart.  You broke my heart!"  It is a chilling scene...chilling.  Yeah.  Eventually, Fredo is brought back to America, meets with Michael, where he admits his error, and Michael decrees that Fredo is out of his life.  He then turns to Al Neri, his most tenacious/dangerous captain, and says, "I don't want anything to happen to him while my mother is alive."

On top of all of this tight family betrayal, there is a larger betrayal at work, in that Michael has been called to the U.S. Senate to testify about his involvement in the (said aloud for the first time in either of the two films) mafia.  His sins are listed, and the list is accurate.  Of course, Michael denies all of it.  Cool to the end, Michael is betrayed by the angry captain from the opening of the film, Frank Pentangeli, played by Michael V. Gazzo.  Believing that Michael tried to have him killed, Frankie agrees to testify against Michael.  He is offered government protection for life as a result, and he is ready to betray Michael.  Except Michael shows up with Frank's Sicilian brother to his testimony, and Frankie denies everything he swore to previously.  It's a tremendous scene.  It's...chilling.  There's that word again.  In the end, we are left with Tom Hagen, alone, with one of Michael's father's captains, delivering the news that his life is over.  This mirror scene from the first film and Sal Tessio reminds us that what is past is prologue.  Chilling.

I'm going to stop the plot talk.  This film is a spiderweb of plot lines, some of which are hard to keep up with, but ultimately very, very satisfying.  Coppola did a wondrous job on this film, both continuing the story of Michael, while giving us some real weighty facts about Vito's earlier life.  We get to see Don Tomassino, Michael's Sicilian protector in the original film, and we learn why he walks with leg braces.  We get to see the villa where Michael lived in Sicily.  We get to see the origins of the Genco Olive Oil company.  We get to see some old fashioned blood revenge.

And that, to me, is the overwhelming theme of the film.  It is expressed so beautifully by Kay, who has aborted a male baby of Michael's, and who is telling him their marriage is over:  "I didn't want your son, Michael.  I wouldn't bring another one of your sons into this world!  It was an abortion, Michael!  It was a son, Michael!  A son!  And I had it killed because this must all end!  I know now it's over. I knew it then.  There would be no way, Michael...no way you could ever forgive me...not with this Sicilian thing that's been going on for 2000 years!"  And that's it.  In the first film, Michael remarks about the lack of men in a village.  It is explained that they are all dead because of vendettas.  Michael, ever the loyal Sicilian, carries out this same style of rule over his own little empire.  Frankie Pentangeli can't testify because of it, Michael destroys everything around him because of it, and it all culminates in the finale.

OK.  I'm going to talk about the end of the film now.

STOP READING UNTIL TOLD BELOW IF YOU DON'T WANT TO KNOW THE ENDING.

Eventually, Mama Corleone dies.  Fredo, the outcast, is at the funeral, and Michael comes to him, and clutches him in grief.  Except that he looks up, and with a cold, dead stare, looks at Al Neri.  We know the die is cast.  Michael, like in the first film, wipes out his "family's" enemies, and like the first film...kills one of his family members.  This time, it's Fredo.  Having been brought back into Michael's life, Fredo enjoys a life of quiet relaxation in Lake Tahoe on the family compound. Then, one day, as he goes out on the lake fishing with Al Neri...it all ends for Fredo.  The scene, so exquisitely filmed, is a silhouette of the two men in the boat, and we hear Fredo using his secret trick for catching fish...reciting a "Hail Mary."  We then are shown Michael, staring out the back window onto the lake, and we hear a single gunshot echo across the lake, and Michael's head drops.  We cut to the boat, and the man in the forward position, Fredo, is down.  Neri, in the rear, tentatively stands up...it is obvious that what he has done has affected him.  It's a cold, cold moment.  It is...well...it's the coldest moment I've ever seen in a film.  I mentioned chilling before...this is a plunge into liquid nitrogen.  Michael, in trying to keep his family together, has killed his own brother.  Yes, this Sicilian thing...it continues.

We then flash back to Vito Corleone's birthday, and we see Sonny, Fredo, Tom, Michael, Tessio, Connie, Carlo, and Tom's wife Theresa on Dec. 7, 1941.  They are discussing the war, and Michael admits to his family that he has joined the Marines.  It's a wonderful scene, and exceedingly cold, coming right off of Fredo's death, as we realize that of the 6 men in the scene...4 of them are dead...all by violence.  3 of them at the behest of Michael.  Some family.

I think, ultimately, that's Coppola's point.  You may think that what you are doing is best, but if you allow jealousy, or control, or anything take over, all you will do is lose control, and destroy all around you.  No, family members of ours don't die in violent deaths, generally, but that's storytelling.  It's metaphor.  Yes, it's extreme, but I know of families where brothers may as well be dead.  And how, pray tell, is that any different than Fredo's physical death?

YOU MAY RECOMMENCE READING.

If the first film was the birth of the American dream, this film is the death of it.  It's a masterpiece.  Simply a masterpiece.

Acting, as always, is extraordinary.  Al Pacino, not the caricature he became, is so dead, so numb in this film, it's hard to see what he became later in his career.  His Michael is no longer sympathetic villain.  He's just villain.  It is one of the finest performances captured on film.  DeNiro is tremendous, and became the only person to win an Oscar for playing the same role that won an Oscar in a previous film.  Duvall is Tom Hagen, believable and honest throughout, I love this role.  Duvall is so fucking good in it...bah.  Gazzo lights up the screen when Frankie Pentangeli appears, Lee Strasberg is amazing as Hyman Roth.  John Cazale gets some real dialogue to sink his teeth into, and shows a stunning range as Fredo.  Even Morgana King finally gets to speak as Mama Corleone, and she nails it.  Diane Keaton...is Kay.  She's not Diane Keaton.  That's a big thing to say, as Diane Keaton almost always feels like Diane Keaton.  Even Talia Shire shines in this.

Coppola won Best Director for this film, an honor that was not given him for the original.  He tried really hard not to direct it, begging for Scorsese to take it.  I'm glad that it wound up in his hands.  His touch is present throughout, and his sense for the material is so good, it appears instinctual.  We get just enough of the old film to remind us why we love this story, but this film is a different animal.  It's much less concerned with the pleasantries of mafia life, and much more concerned with the consequences.  The final shot, of Michael, considerably older than the final shots of action in the film, obviously alone on his compound, and sitting in a chair, contemplating his life, sums it up.  Whereas the first film ended with a door closing on the secrets, this film ends with Michael outside, completely exposed.

This film was the first sequel to win a Best Picture Oscar, and while "The Lord of the Rings:  Return of the King" is a sequel, technically, is it really?  I brought up "Star Wars" before.  I never followed through on that.  This film shows us the blueprint to putting old elements into a prequel without them feeling forced, along with the blueprint of how to continue a story to its conclusion.  "Star Wars" got this mostly right in "The Empire Strikes Back" and "Return of the Jedi," but it completely missed on the prequels. "The Force Awakens" is a wasted opportunity, because it concerned itself with giving us an old story, retold, upon which to build a different mythology.  Had it just done what it should have, and CONTINUED the story, maybe I feel differently about it.  Nope, it suffers from trying to make sure we understand just how clever it is.  And it's hardly clever.

I cannot say enough about this film.  Like "Lawrence of Arabia," and its predecessor, this is one of my favorite films, and also one of the best films ever made.  It is sometimes called the greatest film ever made (TV Guide did that).  It is number 3 on the IMDB fan lists.  It's that good.  If you haven't watched it, and you skipped the spoilers above, you need to sit down and watch the first one.  Then watch this one shortly thereafter.  Don't watch them consecutively, as you'll be overloaded.  This film needs time for you to breathe.  It's a long affair, but you gotta do it.

Roger Ebert didn't love this film, but he recognized its greatness.  His take from this "Great Movies" series is here.

Folks...

...it's time again...for a biggie.

One more stop on the quest to watch and write up the AFI Top 100 (10th Anniversary Edition).

This one is a big, huge, dude-centric epic, and one that I've had the pleasure of seeing on the big screen, which I did when the film was restored and re-released in 1989.  I went downtown to watch it.  With my father.  It is one of my father's favorite films, if not his favorite, (Dad tends not toward hyperbole - a trait that skipped me) and the film has always held a special place in my heart.

Film 68

68.  "Lawrence Of Arabia" (AFI Rank #7)

This is going to be hard.  I'm going to gush, and I'm going to limit the hell out of this, or we won't finish this.

I tried to wait to watch this one with Julie, but trying to keep to this schedule is hard, and the films are largely on my DVR, which means that Julie needs to come to my house to watch them, and her parenting time is hardly conducive to that...I digress.  I wanted to share this with her.  I am publicly apologizing for not waiting, not because she needs me to, but because I want to do so.  I should have waited.  We will watch it together, soon, I have no doubt, but I watched this on my own.  I also watched this while I was sick with bronchitis, as I did with a couple of other films I've reviewed recently.

This film, which won the Oscar for Best Picture, tells the highly, HIGHLY fictionalized account of T.E. Lawrence, and his involvement in the Arab Revolution that helped defeat the Turks (and Germans) in World War I.  It is an epic of EPIC proportions, replete with long shots of a cruel, untamed desert, stirring battle sequences, enough proper politics to make a man understand the forces that really control our destinies.  It also has an amazing ability to grab us and never let us go, no matter how sick we may feel about what we watch on the screen.  It's theatre.  It's visual art.  The film doesn't flinch from the character it creates in Lawrence, even if he's not real, and the one that we watch is so decidedly perfect, so vile, so enthralling, we are drawn to him like a magnet.  It doesn't hurt that Peter O'Toole, stunningly beautiful and awkward all at the same time, is the guy portraying him.  This, my friends, is easily one of the five films I'd make you watch if I was teaching a course on film's greatness, and how it can be utilized.

David Lean directs this film, and it is...well...it's a filmmaker's film.  It has taut, engaging performances in its small moments, and it has an overwhelming sense of scale.  And I do mean overwhelming.  No sense skirting around it.  It is impossible to watch this film and not feel very, very small.  We think ourselves to be these grand creatures, tamers of the world, but we are tiny, weak beings when faced with the true nature of our planet.  This film brings that home constantly, and so artfully, and so magnificently...have you seen this film?  Have you seen the vistas?  The shots that are so exquisite?  The shots that are so awesomely perfect you wonder how anyone managed it?  I submit that the cinematography on display in this film is the greatest recorded in film history.  The driving force behind that, and the man who refused, adamantly, to turn over his film to second unit directors, is David Lean.  Every frame is dripping in artistry.  Every.  Single.  Frame.  Yes, there are scenes that are smaller in nature.  There are a lot of them.  Every one of them is a sumptuous feast for the eyes, though.  It is art.  No.  It's high art.  It's Van Gogh level art.  This medium was never used so well as it was with this film, and the imagery it creates.  Is that gushing?  I think that's gushing.

Not to be overlooked, of course, is the score.  Brilliantly composed by Maurice Jarre, it is impossible for me not to sing, "Lawrence, Lawrence of Arabiaaaaaaaaaa" over the main theme.  Again, we get a sense of scale with the music in this film, and it is no small part of what makes this film so compelling.  Even the white noise associated with shots of the blazing sun make us feel.  Thrilling when it needs to, quiet when it needs to, the soundtrack/score is such a living portion of this film, that it's impossible to imagine any of it without it there.

It is funny, I suppose, that I love this film so much, while criticizing "Bonnie and Clyde" for being so fictionalized.  This film is far, far from what T.E. Lawrence actually was.  Yes, he believed in the Arab Revolution, and helped with it in World War I, but very little else of this film is true.  It is not suggested anywhere that Lawrence was a sadist, as he is portrayed here.  It is suggested that he was actually gay, which is hinted at here, but hardly exploited.  Know what?  As a film, none of that matters to me.  And, there.  I'm calling bullshit on myself.  I criticize "Bonnie and Clyde," while revering this film.  I'm a hypocrite.  I am.  Know what though?  This film is so far superior to "Bonnie and Clyde," that it's like talking about a poorly done child's coloring book page as compared to Picasso's "Guernica."  That's unfair.  "Bonnie and Clyde" is hardly a child's drawing.  But it's not even close to the masterpiece this is.

I can go on for days and days about individual scenes and their significance as I watched.  I can talk about the fact that all the action and movement goes from left to right in the film.  I can talk about the scenes of the Arabs crossing the desert, and their tiny, tiny stature in comparison to their surroundings.  I can talk about the mastery of the train scene.  I can talk about the scene where Lawrence checks his reflection in his knife, which is reprised later, in a much, much bloodier environment.  I can talk about the thrill of the raid on Aqaba.  I can talk about the unreal visual of a boat traveling through the desert.  I can talk about the scene where Lawrence rides back to camp with Gasim on his camel.  I can talk about the amazing visual of our introduction to Sherif Ali.  I can talk of our introduction to Auda Abu Tayi.  I can describe the heartbreak of a scene with unstable sand.  I can talk about ill fitting clothes, and awkward walks.  I can talk about the destruction of the myth, as the man comes to realize he's no myth.  I can go on and on.  I'm not going to.

I do find it odd that most of my favorite films have defined "act" breaks.  Those films include this, "The Godfather," "Jaws," "Star Wars," "Dr. Strangelove...," "Psycho," and "12 Angry Men."  All of them have moments of profound shift of either scene or mood.  It may be my work, my entire life, in theatre that makes me love that so.  I don't know.  I just know that films I love tend to play that way.  "Lawrence...," in its initial act, establishes T.E. Lawrence and all the other characters as conquering heroes, men to be admired for their pluck, or bravery, or whatever.  We then, in this film, get an intermission, and what follows can best be described as "denouement."   We watch as Lawrence slowly devolves into animal, sadistic to the core, full of false pride, hubris, whatever.  We see him so blindly arrogant as to believe that he can walk right into a town full of Turks and escape any sort of recrimination.  Why?  Because he's T.E. Fucking Lawrence, God's chosen one.  Of course, Lawrence does not escape, and is captured and brutally tortured by the Turks.  He is also, the film more than discreetly implies, raped by one or all of his captors.  From then on, we see Lawrence not as conquering hero, but as vengeful beast.  Even the Arabs, the barbarians, are shocked by the Englishman's behavior.  This is what great tragedy brings us.  And to place this film in the pantheon of great tragedies...is proper.  Tell me Shakespeare wouldn't have written this, given its availability in Elizabethan England.  Of course he would have.  Of course this story gets told, however inaccurately, because it is so...so completely fucking compelling, that it just has to be told.

I'm gushing again.

Acting in this film is also top rate, from the lead, played with unflinching gusto by Peter O'Toole.  Equal to him, and no less a force on screen are the portrayals performed by Omar Sharif and Anthony Quinn.  Both men commit to their roles, and to the scenes, that we don't, not for a second, believe they aren't whom they claim to be.  Also brilliant are Alec Guinness, Claude Rains, Jack Hawkins, Arthur Kennedy and Anthony Quayle.  José Ferrer makes a grand entrance and steals his brief time on the screen.  Pitch perfect.  All of them.

It is no understatement to say that this film easily qualifies as one of the 5 best films I've ever seen, and it is certainly one of my favorites, as well.  That is not always the case, as I think "Citizen Kane" is the single best film I've ever seen.  Given historical reference, and all the innovations it basically invented, all others PALE in comparison, but I wouldn't even put it in my top 20 of my "favorites."   This film, and "The Godfather" achieve the rare (for me) confluence of being both.

I don't want to continue, as we'll be here all day.  We will.  Trust me.

"Lawrence of Arabia" is simply one of the greatest films ever made.  If you haven't seen it, you need to do so...now.  If you have...you need to watch it again, because you should.  Because it is that good.  Because you need to see it again.  Because...well...because.

In researching a bit on this film, I found a quote that Steven Spielberg said this film would cost about $285 Million dollars to make today.  I'll bet it's way more than that.  No one makes film like this any more.  Thank God this one was made.

Ebert wrote about it late in life.  His thoughts are here.  I do love his description of the shimmer in the viewer's eye when describing the experience of watching this film.

You know where I see that?  When I talk to my Dad about this film.

Watch it.  Watch it again.  

EDIT:  I should have mentioned this. This film was produced by Sam Spiegel.  His resumé in the AFI Top 100 includes:  "The African Queen," "The Bridge on the River Kwai" (also with David Lean), this film, and "On the Waterfront."  I'd say the dude knew what he was doing.  Three of those four were Best Picture Oscar winners.

I watched this...

...last year when trying to get through the list, but never wrote it up.

Highly, HIGHLY stylized and fictionalized film on the way to viewing and writing up my feelings on the AFI Top 100 (10th Anniversary Edition).

Tough thoughts on this one may occur.  Or not.  Not sure.

Film 67

67.  "Bonnie and Clyde" (AFI Rank #42)

This film is credited, whether rightly or wrongly, with breaking a great number of barriers.  Things that it gets  credit for (undeserved in most cases) include:  showing a gun firing and causing injury (death) in the same frame (had happened before); nudity (doesn't actually happen); the first real wide use of squibs to show bullet damage.  As I've pointed out, some of these barriers weren't actually broken by this film, but it does get credit for them.

Released in 1967, and starring Warren Beatty and Faye Dunaway in the highly, HIGHLY fictionalized telling of the tale of the real life criminals Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow, this film was regarded as little more than pap by the studio.  It was given limited release, and it wasn't until some critics started lauding it (most notably a fledgling critic named Roger Ebert), that the film was given a wide release, where it gained traction, and made Warren Beatty a very rich and powerful man.  A pet project of Beatty's, he produced the film for 40% of the film's gross, rather than a fee.  The studio, having so little faith in the project, figured it had gotten a bargain.  Of course, the film went on to gross over $50 million in its initial release.  That's $20 million in 1967 dollars for Beatty, if you're keeping score at home.

Why, though?  Why this film?  What about it so captivated the American public?

As I've said twice now, this film is hardly historically accurate.  A great number of details are actually taken from real life - but they are taken from OTHER criminals' real lives.  For example, there is a wildly funny scene in which C.W. Moss (Michael J. Pollard) parallel parks the getaway car, and can't, you know, get away.  Not quickly anyway.  It's terrific.  It's tense.  The first murder in the film happens as a result of it, and it happened, for real...to John Dillinger and William Shaw.  There are a great number of other things that happen in the film that were taken from other people's lives.  I'm not going to list them all.  You can go find the same information I did.

One other thing that is HUGELY important to the plot of this film that didn't happen, however, is the capture and humiliation of lawman Frank Hamer (Denver Pyle), of the Texas Rangers.  In reality, this never happened, and its inclusion in the film gives a sense of vengeance to the finale that...well...I'm not sure needs to be there.  Maybe it does, as it is kind of hard to swallow criminals just being gunned down for their crimes with no trial, etc.  But, that's what happened to a great number of the most wanted criminals back in the day, be it Bonnie and Clyde, or John Dillinger, or Pretty Boy Floyd.  These criminals, while clearly murderous sociopaths, were never given the benefit of trial.  No, they were gunned down, often in cold blood, as...well...as an example.  The criminal element that arose in the depression were largely lionized by the public, and became folk heroes.  I think law wanted everyone to know that they were the bad guys, and didn't deserve the praise.  So, they killed them, rather than bring them to justice in the manner that the Constitution actually lays out.  It was a dark time.

I'm straying off course.

So, Randy, what is it about this film, which is really just an amalgamation of a bunch of criminals, that so appeals to critics and to movie historians as to be considered...great?  You still haven't gotten to that.

Truth is...I'm not sure.

Look, this is a thrill-ride of a film, one that has us questioning our own judgments about good and bad, right and wrong.  The murder that takes place as a result of C.W.'s bungling by parallel parking a getaway car, is a shocking, horrible moment.  Yet, we still find empathy and sympathy with the people who carried it out.  They are still the protagonists of the film, and no matter what their activities, we find ourselves drawn to them, and rooting for them.  In a way, the film mimics what happened in real life.  We get caught up in the thrill of watching what is happening.  We get caught up in the personalities we see on screen.  We get caught up in any number of things we probably shouldn't.  I guess that is what makes the film great.  Its ability to capture a side of us that yearns for the freedom to do things with few consequences.  Until, as the film has to do to us, the weight of the actions prove to be too much, and consequences escalate to a point of being out of control.

Let's talk direction.  Directed by Arthur Penn, this film is incredibly stylized.  One can feel the hand of the director all over it.  That can be a bad thing, but in this case, it seems to work.  Utilizing camera work that is largely in our face at times, and often incredibly tight, this film really pushes its sense of adventure on us.  One scene, in particular should be noted.  Late in the film, as Bonnie pines for her family, and her inability to see them, a reunion of sorts is arranged somewhere in the Texas prairie.  The entire scene is shot with a window screen over the camera, to give it a hazy, nostalgic feel.  It's hardly noticeable, but it's there.  It feels as if we're, well, a little drunk on the moment.  No moment is really focused on, as the entire scene plays out, kind of off in the distance.  The camera seems more a spotty observer of the moment rather than a driving force, making us watch certain things.  No, it seems like a guy surveying a family reunion.  Off over there, the kids are playing on a hill.  There's a guy showing off a gun.  There's some people laughing.  It's masterwork, and it really helps bring home some humanity, as the film is flying towards its inevitable bloody conclusion.

Acting in this film is largely mediocre.  With powerhouses like Gene Hackman, Faye Dunaway, and Warren Beatty, this film has the potential to blow the doors off, acting wise.   Dunaway is one of only two women to appear in 3 films on the list (that didn't appear in a sequel - Talia Shire and Diane Keaton appear in two "Godfather" films, thus making that elusive 3 film thing) of the AFI Top 100.  She's a game-changer.  The film, however, never achieves greatness in acting, focusing, instead, on story.  The film was awarded two Oscars.  One for cinematography, and one came to Estelle Parsons, for her portrayal of Blanche Barrow, Clyde's sister-in-law.  I'm going to say this, and I doubt I'm alone.  I cannot imagine a less-deserved Oscar than Parsons'.  Her portrayal of Blanche largely ranges from shrieking wildly to shrieking less wildly.  These were choices of the director and producer, but to award such lazy and downright awful performing...well.  The character is a cipher.  The acting is laughable.  Yet, Estelle Parsons has a trophy that she needs to dust.  It's a travesty of a performance, and a travesty of an award.

In fact, ultimately, that's my take away from the entire film.  I get why it's important, but it didn't move me, because it always felt just off, and that it was really focused on the wrong things.  I think moments of it are masterful.  I think, in mass, however, that it leaves me pretty flat.  I've seen it twice now, so I can't blame it on an inability to keep up, like I could with "Chinatown" the first time.  This film is great.  It's important.  It also doesn't do a lot for me.  It's impotent.

Heh.  And there it is.  Impotence is a major theme in the film.  It's also my opinion of it.  It has all the teeth, all the tools to make it great.  It feels like it misses, though.  At least it does to me.  I'm probably out of step on that, and that's fine.

I can defend my opinion with the last scene.  Bonnie and Clyde, in real life, were ambushed on the road, not trying to help a friend, but just driving down the road.  They were gunned down in a hail of bullets, ripped to shreds.  There was no great "I love you" moment passed between them, as both were killed instantly by the first volley.  They were then massacred beyond reason because...well...because. The Hollywood feel of the assassination (and that's the proper term) at the finale doesn't ring true to me, and I don't feel sadness.  I feel nothing.  Maybe that's what I'm supposed to feel.  I don't know.  I want to feel something though, and I don't.  I know that this style of violence had not been shown before, and I can recognize its importance for that, but it still feels awfully clean.

I should mention one scene that I do love, however.  The scene in which the Barrow gang kidnap Gene Wilder and drive him around in his own car is tremendous.  It's a brilliant scene, and I'm not going to deny that.  It was Wilder's film debut, a man who went on to what can only be described as an astonishing career, and we see why in his brief moments in this film.  See?  I can see greatness in this.  I can.

Ebert's original review largely helped make the film, and the film's success largely helped make him.  A link to it is here.  It is odd that he didn't include this film in his essays on "Great Movies" at the end of his life.  Maybe he felt the review he wrote in 1967 was good enough.

Thanks, again, for reading.  It means a lot to me.

Gots to get...

...paid. Or finished.  Mostly finished.  Wait.  Check that.  ONLY finished.  I ain't gettin' paid for none of this.

Timely (hopefully not timeless) stop on the AFI Top 100 (10th Anniversary Edition).

This one and I met back in 1990 or 1991.

Film 66

66.  "Do The Right Thing"  (AFI Rank #96)

Whenever it was that I first saw this film, I didn't find it all that compelling.  It was good, yes, perhaps even VERY good, but I didn't view it as "mind-blowingly" good, or understand just what was so freaking revolutionary about it.

Then I went and watched a bunch of classic great films, aged 25 years, and the world...well...the world didn't change a bit.  Not one single bit.

More revolutionary than its initial release would have one believe, "Do The Right Thing" should probably be brought out right about now, as America, especially with race, continues down its merry path of not doing a fucking thing.  Yes, we've got an African-American President, who's had the bar for success moved every time he achieves one of the critics' goals.  We're worse off today, as a people, than we were 25 years ago, and Donald Trump's popularity is technicolor proof of just how bad it is.  We're worse off because we've had 25 more years to fix it and haven't done a fucking thing.

I'm going to confess a few things.  1.  I've actually seen a number of Spike Lee Joints, and I've always considered "Malcolm X" to be Spike Lee's triumph.  I am changing my mind on that.  As great as Denzel Washington's portrayal of the doomed civil rights leader was, it, as a film, in retrospect, stand up to the magnificence of this film.  2.  I would not be as passionate about this film if I had not educated myself with the films of Robert Altman, especially "Nashville."  3.  Shame on you, Academy.  This might (might) have been the best film of the 80s, let alone 1989.  Show me a Best Picture winner from the 80s that was better than this, and I'm going to throw number 2, "Platoon," right the fuck out, because it's not a better film than this one is.

Perhaps I'm at an age where I've seen too much.  Perhaps I'm weary of reading of young black men being killed because an overzealous police officer decided that whatever he did was punishable by death.  Perhaps I'm just sick of the idea that I can walk down the street in several states legally brandishing a gun.  Meanwhile, a black man...nah, not so much.  That's wrong.  Yet, that's where we are, in 2015, in this "United" States of America.


I'm veering off track and onto social commentary.  That this film has that wrapped up in a relatively neat little Hollywood package is something that can be criticized, for sure.  Sure "Schindler's List" is terrifying, but ultimately it's got a Hollywood ending.  This film, especially in one scene in which John Savage appears, feels like a "A Different World" version of a black neighborhood.  I'm waiting for Kadeem Hardison to appear with flip up sunglasses and start hassling Whitley.  That doesn't happen, but it feels there.  The film is splashy colorful, it's got one bum (maybe 4), and most of the kids seem to be just trying to get by, without anything really bothering them.  In that way, this film rings perhaps a little hollow.  There isn't a street in Bedford-Stuyvesant that has the color palette featured in this film.  There isn't a DJ sitting in the window, commenting on people walking by, the vocal observer of all that happens on the block.  This stuff doesn't exist.  I read a comment somewhere saying that this film is really a piece of theatre, and may as well be on a stage.  I'll be damned, but that's pretty apt.

Directed by Spike Lee, this film is a 24 hour slice of life from one block in Brooklyn in a summer swelter.  As the day progresses, people's anger gets agitated, and finally, it boils over when someone decides that he has more rights than anyone else.  Spurred on by a character named Buggin Out, played by ITALIAN actor Giancarlo Esposito, the character of Radio Raheem (gargantuan actor Bill Nunn) decides that maybe Sal's Pizza, owned by Sal (Danny Aiello) and his two sons, Pino (John Turturro) and Vito (Richard Edson), should have some African-Americans on the wall (he's probably right about that), and that maybe his oversized, overpowered boom box can be played at any volume he chooses, wherever he chooses.  (He's wrong about that)   Sal, who's actually had a pretty good day, finally snaps, and decides to take matters into his own hands, and after several warnings, smashes Radio Raheem's radio with a baseball bat.  Of course, tempers then flare beyond reason, the word "nigger" is slung about by Sal, and Radio Raheem, a man who is too large to be that angry, is dragged away by police, who then, in the process of trying to get him restrained, kill him.  Well, that's not true.  The policeman clearly has him restrained, he is clearly in distress, and he kills him anyway.  A full blown riot then ensues, sparked - really - by Mookie (Spike Lee), Sal's delivery boy, who throws a garbage can through Sal's Pizzeria's window.

That this only occurs in one store, and is really well contained, speaks to the "Hollywood" version of what would likely happen in a case like this.  We've seen countless events much, much worse than this, but they usually occur AFTER the miscarriage of justice by the courts, or whomever, protecting police.  Yes, I said it.  I don't think deadly force is justifiable in almost every single case.  Choosing to end another human being's life...whatever.  I'm off the movie again.

I called this a great film.  It is.  It calls back to Robert Altman in structure, in that we meet more than a dozen compelling characters, and while their stories, as individuals, are largely unremarkable, their collective energy in the complete picture really makes the ending pay off.  We know who these people are, we understand why the things that happen to them...well...happen to them.  We care about them happening.  Populated with peripheral characters like Smiley, Sweet Dick Willie, Coconut Sid, Mother Sister, and Da Mayor, we see the craft of filmmaking in nearly every shot of this film.  Take Da Mayor's (Ossie Davis) speech as the sun starts to go down.  He's just redeemed himself for the day by saving a young child from being run over, and as he turns and speaks, the dusk happens over his shoulder, then...a single street light illuminates.  It's that kind of attention to detail, that emotional button thrown in there by Lee, that only film can accomplish.  That is but one of a dozen details I could point out, but won't, in the interest of time.  Spike Lee knew what he was doing when he made the film, and he did it well.  He also pays tribute to films like "The Night of the Hunter," pulling one scene almost directly from it, and twisting it for his purposes.  Throw in a device like Mister Señor Love Daddy (Samuel L. Jackson), the DJ up the block who acts as a kind of Greek Chorus, not really advancing the story at all, but always there, always commenting on what is happening.  It is his tribute to Radio Raheem that crushes us in the final moments. How does that happen?  It happens because someone took the time to make us care about the Love Daddy.

Acting in this film is subpar, for the most part.  Characters tend to be caricatures, or archetypes.  That's not what makes this film great.  This film is great because of its totality.  Its overwhelming commitment to theme, to style, to story.  I mentioned Sal throwing around the word "nigger."  He'd done a really great job, throughout the film, of convincing his son Pino that the people he served were customers.  That he'd watched them grow up, that he'd always been there for them, and that they'd always been there for him.  He'd made a good living in this neighborhood, and while he wasn't the same as those he served, he knew an opportunity when he saw it.  He genuinely cares for them, or appears to.  Then, one of them finally pisses him off to where he can't take it, and he devolves into a rage filled man, throwing the word "nigger" around like he'd been holding it back for years.  In that moment, all decorum fades, all business sensibility goes out the window, all sentiment is gone.  The radio was too loud, the kid wouldn't listen, and the kids in the shop are screaming.  Now, instead of customers...they're niggers.  It's a powerful scene, and one that I find myself, if I'm honest, too often in myself.  No, I don't use the word "nigger," but I do call women "cows," or "bitch," and I've been known to make harsh judgments based on stereotype, occasionally even uttering them aloud.  Why?  Don't know.  Wish I did.  It's been put there, though, for whatever reason, and reason fades in moments where I'm not thinking.  I'm not alone in this, I know, and I apologize for it, but don't shy from admitting it.  I think, to a certain extent, that is the crux of the moment in the film.  Lee isn't making judgments on that, as he shows Mookie doing the same thing, himself.  Lee's just asking us to acknowledge it.  Well, Mr. Lee.  I do acknowledge it.  I do it.  I know you know it.

I need to talk about the final scene, when Mookie, who THREW A TRASH CAN THROUGH HIS BOSS'S WINDOW, goes to collect his pay.  It's a heartbreaking scene, lacking all sensibility, that makes no judgments.  Mookie, now an unemployed street hustler with a kid, is there just trying to get his from a man that he helped take everything from.  Sal, understanding his own culpability in this disaster, is left with nothing but his pride, or what's left of it.  It's a monster scene, one that could easily be cut from the film, and save a great deal of awkwardness, but one that is so vital to the conclusions (or lack of them) that this film draws, that, again, we're left to wonder at its brilliance.

I'm not going to convince you of this film's greatness until you watch it yourself, with today's events resounding in your ears. I know I wasn't convinced, in 1990, or whenever the hell I first watched it.  I thought it was good, but I didn't see its specialness.  I do now.

You really need to take some time and watch this film.  It's what great filmmaking is all about, and I'm glad...no...really glad...that I gave this one another chance.

It's odd.  I've actually seen a good chunk of Spike Lee's early resume, from "Mo' Better Blues," to "Jungle Fever," to the aforementioned "Malcolm X."  I watched this one first, and was drawn to him so much that I was willing to watch a bunch of his other stuff.  I don't get it.

Bah.

Watch this film.  It's that great.  I didn't even mention Rosie Perez.  That's how great it is.

Ebert is far more eloquent than I, and revisited this film towards the end of his life.  His take is here.

Back at it...

...with one I wrote about last year.

Corruption pervades this stop on the quest to watch the AFI Top 100 (10th Anniversary Edition).

Because of course it does.

Film 65

65.  "On The Waterfront" (AFI Rank #19)

This film was ranked #8 the first time the list of Top 100 films came out, back in 1997.  It, and "The Graduate" were the only two booted from the top 10 in 2007, and both settled in at the bottom of the next 10.  The list shuffled a bit, and "Vertigo" and "Raging Bull" wound up in the top 10.  Of course, none of that means anything, but I feel as if both films that were downgraded suffer because...well...because they've aged a bit. 

Starring Marlon Brando at the height of his powers, and directed by Elia Kazan, this film tells the perhaps over-simplified story of mafia influence on the docks in New Jersey, and the crushing burdens borne by the union longshoremen.  

The film sets its tone immediately, as our protagonist, the well-meaning but relatively street smart Terry Malloy shouts at a buddy of his to meet him on the roof, as Terry has had one of his friend's cherished racing pigeons return to him.  From the street, we can see that there are other people waiting for Joe Doyle on the roof, and in a few moments, Doyle is launched from the roof, crashing dead on the ground.  Later in the film, Terry talks about hawks in the city, and how they wait on the rooftops for pigeons, and we get our first real "ah-ha" moment of symbolism.  Combine that with the multitude shots of Terry in the pigeon coop on the roof, or looking at him from inside the coop, but the ever present chicken wire lets us know that Terry ain't no hawk.

The principle bad guy in this film is Johnny Friendly, played, in typical fashion, by Lee J. Cobb.  Friendly has been skimming off the top of the union dues, as well as extorting the men for extra protection money for years.  His control over the men is absolute, and they all find themselves so desperate that they will do just about anything to get a button to work that day.  More symbolism...there's a moment when the union buttons are thrown over the workers' heads, and they scramble, pecking at them on the dock....like pigeons.  They claw and scratch at each other, just trying to get a day's pay.  It's haunting imagery.  
Thrown into all of this is the kid sister of Joe Doyle, Edie, played by Eva Marie Saint in her (Oscar Winning) film debut.  Also inserted into the plot is the Father Barry (Karl Malden), the well-meaning local parish priest who sees his flock behaving like beaten men, and exhorts them to rise up and fight the crooks.  He fills their heads with the righteous idea that the laws of the United States can help them, and that if they trust him, he can help them stand up to Friendly's bunch.  

It is funny, at this time, for me, anyway, to know that one of the things that Hollywood wanted this film to portray was the mafioso as communists.  Oligarchs, yes, but communists?  In this day and age, there is nothing about what goes on in this film that feels like anything but runaway, unchecked capitalism.  Thugs with power get more and more power from beating down the workers.  What about that was in "The Communist Manifesto?"  Oh.  I know.  That THOSE kind of people were actually the enemy of the communists.  It is truly terrifying that our political discourse was so weak that no one actually bothered to check, just asked for the shift.  It is more sad that I'd bet a bunch of people today still wouldn't get how misguided thinking the bosses are communists still is.  

Acting in this is ambitious, to say the least, and Brando methods all over the film.  His movements, his business, everything comes from a place of thinking about it, then making it just flow from him.  Kazan called it the greatest male performance on film.  I'd say Kazan is crazy, and that Brando has one better all by himself, not to mention outstanding pieces of film acting like DiCaprio in "What's Eating Gilbert Grape?," or Ed Harris in just about everything he does, or DeNiro in...well....everything DeNiro did before he got too DeNiro-y.  Not even mentioning old masters, those are just the modern ones.  Yes, Brando is great in this.  If I wanted to teach a class, and use an example, though, it wouldn't be this performance.  I'd reference it, but I'd demand my class watch "The Godfather."

The most famous scene in this film is a taxicab ride featuring Terry and his older brother, Charlie, one of Friendly's high ranking officers in his little enterprise.  In this scene, Terry explains to Charlie that his life could have been different if he'd been allowed to fly free.  Instead, he had to take a dive in a fight, because that's what Johnny needed, and Terry was discarded, a tool to be used by Friendly any time he needed him.  Terry, of course, can no longer stomach his life, and under threat from Charlie, does not bend.  Charlie, sympathetic to his kid brother, lets him out of the cab, but then is killed later, for betraying Johnny.  

I'm not going to give away any more, but the ending is a heartwarming, if melancholy moment.  The boy winds up with the girl, he helps break the machine, and things get better, we presume.

Filmed in Black and White when it didn't need to be, Kazan presents us with haunting imagery throughout this film.  Kazan was a master Broadway director, and he brought his ability to paint pictures to his work in film.  This is the second of his films I've watched this year, the first being "A Streetcar Named Desire."  While that felt like a play...so did this one...but not...all at the same time.  There were many intimate moments in this one can't get on a stage, yet there was grandeur at times, especially in a long shot of Edie and Terry as he confesses to her his involvement with her brother's death.  

It's terrific.  

I don't know that this film is on my "MUST WATCH" list for me in the future.  I've seen it a couple of times now.  I am glad I did, and I think you should, but I can maybe be done with this.  I'm not sure how much more I'm going to find the next time.

Thanks for reading.  

Ebert here.  He's got a different spin on the communist thing.  One I hadn't really considered, but yeah, I get it.  

I'm caught up now.  I've been really sick, so I haven't been able to get on with the list, but I'm hoping to knock at least one or two out this weekend.  

Kid's stuff...

...or is it?

An animated stop on the quest to get through the AFI Top 100 (10th Anniversary Edition).

Watched this with the kids.  Don't have any commentary from them, but I watched it with the kids.  Then I watched it again.

Film 64

64.  "Snow White And The Seven Dwarfs" (AFI Rank #34)

Why "Snow White...?"  Why, when there are so many (arguably better) films from the genre of animation is this on the AFI Top 100, while a great number of other films are not?

History.

This film, released in 1938, was the first full-length American animated film.  Produced by Walt Disney and directed by a cadre of sequence directors, this was an ambitious gamble for Walt and his fledgling production company.  Currently occupying the number 10 spot all time for highest grossing films (adjusted for inflation), the gamble paid off, and paid off in a big way, vaulting Walt Disney into the magnate that he became.  All of that which we know as "Disney" can likely be traced back to this film, and its run-away success.  That's a history.  What about the film?

A light(ish) re-telling of the Brothers Grimm fairy tale, Disney's "Snow White..." is an engaging film, with enough grown-up stuff to keep adults interested, and enough kid's stuff to entertain the little ones.  Let's consider the characters.  Snow White is a sickeningly sweet character, with a trill, closed off voice.  The Wicked Queen, her step-mother, is a tremendously sexy character, worthy of adult desire.  Her eyes are especially alluring, seducing us in their half-open state into the evil envy that causes her to act in an inhuman fashion.  Then, we have the Prince, who appears briefly at the beginning of the film, declaring his love for Snow White, then disappears until the final scene.  He's a typical pretty boy with a great big voice who probably shouldn't be singing so sweetly to a 14 year old girl, and he's...well...he's just a tool.  And by "tool," I mean a device used for assisting with work.  We need the Prince to undo a spell at the end of the film, but beyond that, he's largely superfluous.  Sure, Snow White sings a great song about him, but he doesn't really advance the story at all.

I was struck, while watching this, at the attention to details visible in every frame.  The animated cels are rarely without scads and scads of intricate background, and that is pretty amazing.  Take a look at the carvings around the Magic Mirror, or the Queen's peacock throne, or the wonderful wood-carvings of the Dwarfs' home.  Every frame feels thought out, feels like someone asked questions about what was necessary and what wasn't, and what remained was put there on purpose.  That's craftsmanship.  

The scene-stealers, of course, are the seven dwarfs, Doc, Happy, Grumpy, Sneezy, Sleepy, Bashful, and Dopey.  Hilariously comedic at times, each of these characters has a well-defined place in the film.  Wanna have some fun?  Watch how the dwarfs who are not talking react, etc. when in any scene.  It's acting, even if performed by a group of animators, and it's the kind of stuff that I love.  They all are in character at all times, they all move with purpose, speak with purpose, and are more than mere background noise, even when they are not talking.  That's great stuff.  

There are a few technical marvels I wish to discuss.  The Magic Mirror is an amazing effect.  The transformation of the Wicked Queen into the old beggar woman is stirring film making, and horrific all at once.  I also dare you not to see the skull form on the poisoned apple and not get a momentary gasp.  It's great stuff.

For me, though, the real "one of a kind" moment in this film is the Queen's death.  It is odd, especially, that so many "children's films" that Disney made end with the death of the principal villain.  This particular death, however, is my favorite one they ever filmed.  Standing at the top of a precipice, trying to use a lever to release a boulder onto the seven dwarfs charging from below, the perch on which the queen stands gives way, and she falls (we assume) hundreds of feet to her death.  That part is not shown, however.  We see the perch give way, but then we are taken to a different perch, where two vultures obviously watch the Queen's plunge.  We even see the moment of impact.  They then, in a truly happy moment, fly from their perch and start forming a familiar soaring circle, heading to the fresh carrion below.   We didn't see the Queen die, but everything we need to know about what just happened to her is shown in those few moments.  That's the kind of moment that other directors (most notably David Lean - who almost borrowed this exactly for "The Bridge On The River Kwai") wish that they could get in a film.  Can't do it.  Animation can humanize animals in a way that no other medium can, and that moment can only exist in a film like this.  I love it.  Is that obvious?

I don't have too much more to say about this one.  It's a film we've all seen, it's a film that deserves to be watched for its artistry.  Just, you know, put in earplugs when Snow White sings.  My, how voices have changed.  I've been brief on this one, because there isn't more I can add.  This is about as important a film as you'll ever see.  There is nothing in animated films (and indeed, a great number of other films) that you see that you can't find in this film.  This one started it, and that...well...that's amazing.  

Ebert did write about this one in his "Great Movies" series.  You may recognize some themes running through his comments if you've read mine.