A toughie...

...on with the show.  I'm watching the AFI Top 100 (10th Anniversary Edition) in a calendar year and writing my thoughts here in this blog.  I'm now going a little longer form with each film, and publishing quickly.  I'm watching them, from #11 onward, in blocks of 5 I haven't seen before, then 10 I have seen before.  Rules about how I organized the list is here.  Reviews of other films can be found by going to the blog and scrolling around.

I'm on #12.  You can guess from the below photo which film it is.  Sorry, no goofy MST3K photo on this one.

Film 12

12.  "Schindler's List" (AFI Rank #8) 

No.

I'd never seen "Schindler's List."

I have now.

I've been prodded recently to try and make these musings less stream of conscious, and a little polished/edited.  I'm not doing that this time.  I am going to place my thoughts here, then leave them as is.

I watched "Schindler's List" last night.  I have consciously avoided watching the film for over 21 years.  Despite appeals to my nature as someone who tends to take things seriously, or someone who appreciates art, I quietly ignored any pressure to see the film.

I am glad I did so.

I'm probably going to commit a bit of sacrilege.  I'm not sure it's that accurate/complete/decisive a film, largely based on the ending.  It is haunting, no doubt, but I think its ending feels awfully forced, awfully manipulative, and awfully...well...cheesy...at times.  Which is stunning, because there is SO MUCH of it that is anything but...that...when these moments of pure Hollywood appear, they stick out like...well...like a girl in a red coat.

Now, I'm not taking anything away from that particular image.  It's brilliantly used in the film.  Reading about it, Spielberg describes her presence as allegory, mentioning that the Allies knew what was going on with Hitler and the Jews, yet they did nothing to stop the trains, either by bombing the rail lines, or any number of things.  What was happening was as obvious, according to Spielberg, as a girl in a red coat walking down the street.

I may as well get into what I found incongruous, then go into praise.  There is much to praise.

The film is about a list.  So, I'm going to list the things I couldn't forgive.  Things that I find out of place.

1.  Liam Neeson's acting in his final scene, in fact the entire last scene with Neeson's dialogue.  It was ham-handed, bordering on "chick flick" emotionally tugging.  Look, there was a very famous moment in the show "Seinfeld" where Jerry is caught making out during "Schindler's List."  This was funny, as everyone knew what the film was about, whether they'd seen it or not...and it's not exactly a subject that could be construed as an aphrodisiac.  What is less famous about that particular episode is the less obvious call-back to this film when Elaine's boyfriend, played by Judge Reinhold (the Close Talker), laments, as Jerry's parents are leaving, that he could have done more.  "This watch, this watch could have bought them another lunch."  Now, while it was funny on "Seinfeld," it's less funny, as someone watching the film for the first time 21 years later, to see something like that and realize that yeah, that scene in the film deserved to be lampooned...and it is supposed to be the emotional climax of the film.  Schindler may very well have lamented how much more he could have done, and that part rings true.  His regret could have bordered on madness.  However, the scene strayed into the maudlin so deeply that it eventually felt like a parody.  Then...we had the group hug.  I'm sorry, this whole thing missed.  It did for me, anyway.

2.  The very ending of the film, in color, with the survivors visiting Schindler's grave with the actors who portrayed them.  Lose the actors.  The actors, except the kid from the pit toilet and Ben Kingsley, were hardly recognizable in this bit anyway.  Again, this was ham-handed.  I'm OK with the visual of the visiting of the grave by the survivors, but reminding me that I'd just seen a group of actors is the OPPOSITE of what I'd just experienced.  I had been taken into that world, and that illusion was shattered in this.  It really scarred my experience, and really brought the film crashing down.  Don't tell me that it made the experience personal.  It made it exactly the opposite to me.  It looked like a very forced bit of cinema, with some Hollywood people being more important than they really are.  You've told the survivor's/victims story.  Leave it with them.  Show them visiting Schindler's grave.  That's respect.

That's all, I think.  The ending of this film could be trimmed completely or really edited, and you'd have...well...you'd have something that never let up.  Never forgave you for watching it.  Never said, "It's OK, it's just a movie."  EDIT:  Although, I think maybe the longer I ponder this, the more I think the whole movie is "just a movie." 

Now.  The praise.

Holy shit.  Ralph Fiennes' performance is chilling.  I was holding a meeting for a committee in my house right before I watched the film.  One of my friends described his Goeth as "pure evil."

I did not see it that way.  I saw a man who had a job to do, and went about it as coolly as he could.  Yes, as he became desensitized to what he was doing, he eventually is shown to be quite sadistic, but his opening about how hard his job is...I think that's a guy just going about making a living.  The perks of the job, for him, were that he got to kill Jews.  I confess I had seen about 5 minutes of the film previously.  I watched the part where we see Goeth open fire on the labor camp for the first time, killing two women, in what appears to be a rather indiscriminate fashion.  However, if you watch the scene, both women shown executed were not working, but resting.  Goeth, however perverted his vision was, had a job to do.  In the midst of madness, the best way he could find to convince others not to make the mistakes of these workers was to execute them in front of other prisoners.  Did he take pleasure in it?  Probably.  Was that the overwhelming motivation?  I'm not entirely certain that was it.  My defense of this argument is the scene where Goeth grabs the rabbi and sets out to shoot him, only to have his gun jam.  Then, another gun jams.  Goeth pummels the holy man with his pistol...then leaves him alone.  In fact, this rabbi survives the war.  No further harm is visited upon him.  If Goeth is pure evil...he follows through on that, and murders the rabbi.  He didn't.

Now Randy, that's awfully cold.  Yes.  It is.  Goeth is shown as a sadist.  He is shown as evil.  He also...in his mind...was just doing his job.  I think Spielberg  and Fiennes absolutely intend us to understand that.  That's nuanced filmmaking, and that is worthy of heaps of praise.

In the centerpiece of the film is the liquidation of the ghettos of Krakow.  I can't say too much about this, except, it is much less graphic than I thought it would be, based on what I heard about the film.  This was a great relief to me, and an indication as to perhaps why the film is so highly regarded.  There are lots and lots and lots of photographic evidence of the atrocities visited upon the human body by the perpetrators of the Holocaust.  What Spielberg managed to do was convey the terror, more than the fascination with the results.

And that, ultimately, is what is so haunting about the film for me.  Whether it is the scene where the children of the camp are loaded onto trucks and taken to Auschwitz, smiling and waving goodbye to their terrified mothers, or the scene where the women are led to a shower, in which they (and we) are quite certain they will be gassed, Spielberg beautifully tugs at our terror reflex.  The dispassionate way in which the facts are presented, and allowed to hang there, makes that dread/terror that much more palpable.  In that sense, this film borders on masterpiece.  Unfortunately, no one told me that was what was most chilling about the film, and I think that is largely missed.  I didn't want to see the graphic.  I thought that's what the film was, as its most famous imagery (besides the girl in the red coat) is of suffering.  Spielberg doesn't really give us copious amounts of that.  He, instead, focuses on what tertiary responses to suffering are, and that is deeply moving, if not slightly manipulative.  I wish I'd known that 21 years ago.  Hell, I wish someone could have looked inside my brain and said, "Hey, this will appeal to you and those sensibilities you have buried back here, watch this, please."

Couple of other observations.  For a black and white film, this film, unlike "Saving Private Ryan" feels awfully crisp/sharply focused.  There is very little graininess about it, and it does, at times, feel more like watching an old television show, like when it was obvious that "The Twilight Zone" was being filmed in a studio, rather than an old beat up film.  I liked that choice.  I also found the sets to be stunning.  There was no romance to be found anywhere.  It felt dirty, but it felt organized.  I imagine that to be what German camps really looked like.  Yes, death and disregard for humanity were everywhere, but dammit, it wasn't filthy.

So. I'm told by multiple people that they've seen the film, and that they don't have to view it again, which is fine by them.  I can understand that.  I will watch this film again, I believe, but next time, I'm going to try and forgive the ending.  I don't think I can, but I'm going to try.  Beyond that, I know I'm going to watch a powerful, albeit fictional, film. One that hints ever so slightly at the horrors, yet keeps them largely hidden from us.

Kinda like that other film this guy made.  You know, the one about the shark.

Thanks for reading.


EDIT:  Roger Ebert's essay about this film is here.   He and I saw very different films this time.  I don't, not for a minute, believe that Schindler was a failure at business when he had the enamel works.  He made millions, which he then dispersed, toward the end of the film, to save the names on his list.  I think Roger missed a lot in this film.  I also do not believe that Schindler was always altruistic in the film.  That happens in the middle.  He wants to make money.  He does a great job at it.  Then he stops. 


EDIT 2:  This gets at some things I brought up here.  Check this out. 

Round three...and a change...

...I'm changing the rules.  I'm allowed. This is my toy.

I realized, when watching "Taxi Driver" again, that I had more thoughts than could be summed up quickly in a readable blog post.  Let's face it, the last chapter of this quest, by my own admission, was too much to expect anyone to read in one sitting.  If I'm going to write that much, I cannot expect you to read reviews of 5 films at a time.  I understand "Too Long/Didn't Read."  So.  I reserve the right to change, and I am.  There is no waiting on publishing these.  I'm still running the list in groups of 5 films I haven't seen, 10 I have, etc.; but I'm not going to wait until I'm through that many to publish.  I may do it after each, I may do it after 3, 4, 5 or 10.  I'm leaning towards doing each film, but again, I reserve the right to change my mind.   Do you have any idea how hard it's going to be to find another 89 suitable MST3K images?

This review is also lightly edited.  Not thoroughly, but this is not entirely stream of conscience.  (EDIT:  I threw in this sentence, for example)

SO. I'm watching the AFI Top 100 (10th Anniversary Edition) in a calendar year.  I'm writing about my thoughts on them.  You can scroll back to find other installments.  Rules are here.

Film 11

11.  "Sullivan's Travels" (AFI Rank #61)
I watched a really terrific film last night.  It's probably one you haven't heard of, starring a couple of the dimmer glowing stars from Hollywood's past.  Maybe that's not fair.  It's probably one you haven't heard of, starring a couple of movie stars from Hollywood's past who aren't 21st Century household names.  Yeah, that's better.

Released in December 1941, just as the U.S. entered WWII, and right at the tail end of the Great Depression, I cannot imagine how this might have played to an audience still neck deep in what was current to them, but we now regard as major historical events.

The film opens with a dedication:

Directed by Preston Sturges, "Sullivan's Travels" first scene gets us, quite literally, with a bang.  We see two men struggling on the top of a train, fighting and trying desperately to kill each other.  I thought I had signed up for a comedy.  Eventually, we see both men plummet from the train and into a river, just as the words "The End" are superimposed on the picture.  We then realize that we have been watching a preview of a new film by director John L. Sullivan (played by Joel McCrea), our protagonist.  He explains to the studio chiefs watching the film with him that the two struggling humans were representative of Labor and Capital, and that their struggle winds up destroying them both. We are shown a portrait of a director who obviously has a grip on the times, and one who understands the plight of common man.

Or were we shown that?

In the dizzyingly fast paced long-take scene that follows, we get the set up to the rest of the film.  John L. Sullivan wants to make a new picture called "O Brother, Where Art Thou?" (gee, that sounds familiar)  He believes that what people need is to be made aware of the plight of those people who are dying in the streets.  His bosses ask him what he knows about trouble.  They point out that he has been spoiled and coddled his entire adult life, and that he doesn't have any idea what anyone in the street goes through.  Sullivan agrees, and is inspired to go on a quest to find out what real life is all about, and how real people live.  He decides to go to wardrobe, get some hobo clothes, and set off to inspiration.

As Sullivan is about to leave, we have a terrific scene with his butler, in which we get the following exchange:

John L. Sullivan: I'm going out on the road to find out what it's like to be poor and needy and then I'm going to make a picture about it.

Burrows: If you'll permit me to say so, sir, the subject is not an interesting one. The poor know all about poverty and only the morbid rich would find the topic glamorous.

John L. Sullivan: But I'm doing it for the poor. Don't you understand?

Burrows: I doubt if they would appreciate it, sir. They rather resent the invasion of their privacy, I believe quite properly, sir. Also, such excursions can be extremely dangerous, sir. I worked for a gentleman once who likewise, with two friends, accoutered themselves as you have, sir, and then went out for a lark. They have not been heard from since.

It's a great scene, and brilliantly illustrates the theme of the rest of the film.

Just as he is about to leave, Sullivan is again greeted by the studio executives, who tell him, fine, you may go on your little quest, but you are taking a land yacht (really, really well appointed bus) and a group of observers/servants with you, including a doctor.  They will follow you, and you will do as they say.  Otherwise, we're suing you.

So, the righteous John L. Sullivan begins his epic journey to show America just how awful it is to be poor.  He starts walking, dressed in shabby clothes, followed by a bus full of people tasked with taking care of him about 50 feet behind him.  Eventually, Sullivan is able to hitch a ride with a kid in a homemade vehicle, who speeds ahead of the bus, until both vehicles wind up stopped in a field.   Sullivan gets out and asks the followers to give him two weeks, please, and he'll meet them in Las Vegas.  For some reason, all the people on the bus agree to it (still haven't figured THAT out), and Sullivan is left to go on his way.  He shacks up in a widow's home, whose intentions for Sullivan are less than pure. There is some very good comedy with a portrait of the widow's late husband whose expression keeps changing, but our hero escapes.  He hitches a ride in a truck...and winds up back in Hollywood.

Down on his luck (although admittedly in a town where he wields some major influence), he meets a girl (played by Veronica Lake) who offers to buy him a ham and eggs breakfast.  He strikes up conversation with her, and we learn that she is a girl who came to Hollywood seeking fame and fortune, but her fame and fortune hourglass has run out, and she's headed home.  Sullivan, ever the big-hearted person, offers to repay her for the breakfast, and help her get home.  He then goes and grabs his own car, saying that it is a friend's, and starts to drive her to Chicago.  In the course of events, he forgets to leave a note for the staff that he has taken the car, and he is chased down by the police, and thrown in jail for stealing the car.  His dutiful butler and valet show up, identify him, and his ruse is exposed to the girl.

Undeterred, and after a swim, a good meal, and a night in his palatial home, he asks her if she wishes to join him on his quest.  He sets off again, this time riding the rails, and winds up in Las Vegas, right at the diner where he was supposed to arrive and meet his caretakers in the land yacht, right on schedule.  Dude just can't find real life, no matter how hard he tries.

The story progresses from here, the girl and Sullivan finally getting to see some truly down and out people, sleep in shelters, eat in soup kitchens, shack up in shanty towns, etc.  After a bit of this, Sullivan decides he's seen enough, and decides that he will give away $10,000 of his own money to some of the people he's met, $5 at a time.  One of the recipients decides he needs more, so he rolls Sullivan, taking his money and leaving him unconscious in a boxcar.  This man is run over by a train, and many believe, given the money at the scene, along with a piece of identity that the man had on him, and the state of his unidentifiable corpse, that Sullivan has died.

I don't want to give away the last act, and I've written far more exposition than I should, but Sullivan discovers what it truly means to be in trouble.  He is alone, with amnesia, and left in jail.  One night, he and his fellow inmates go to a church, where they are shown a Disney film, and Sullivan learns what the poor really need.  Ready to rejoin society, he devises a rather ingenious plot to get his identity back, and we get a happy ending.

NOW.  I've given away a lot of the story.  I think that is probably because I don't believe a lot of you have seen this film, and I want you to get a firm grip on what you will experience.  I'm trying to sell it.  Maybe I, too, am trying to wrap my head around it.

So.  What are my thoughts?  Preston Sturges is right on, and made this film to show people just how right on he was.  There are any number of people who are capable of holding a mirror to society, without really having any idea what that mirror is actually reflecting, as it is reflecting only an image.  What Sturges was trying to do was say, "Yup. Things suck.  How about escaping that for a little while?  Wouldn't a movie be a great way to do that?"   His pace that he requires his actors to perform their lines could best be described as breakneck.  Early in the film, we get a long take 3 minutes of film (I know, because I had to review it again), in which there isn't a breath taken between the 3 actors delivering their lines.  At one point, the actor playing the head of the studio starts to blow his line, but recovers quickly, and it actually works, character-wise.  You can see Joel McCrea smile when the actor recovers, as  if to say, "GOD HELP ME, we don't HAVE TO DO THIS SCENE AGAIN!!!"  I cannot imagine the rehearsal that went into that, the timing, the choreography/blocking, camera set-up, etc.  It's a wonder to watch.  Sturges is clearly a director with his fingers on the control buttons.  There are some beautiful shots of some exteriors, some really poignant moments with the down and out, and some truly hilarious scenes.  There is one scene, however, that deserves special mention, because of its significant impact.

The prisoners are shown the Disney film in an African-American church.  The preacher, a man who is truly the leader of his flock, advises his congregation that they will be joined by some very special guests, some who are worse off than them, and that all are equal in the eyes of God.  He then leads them in a chorus of the spiritual "Let My People Go."  Given the usual tone towards black people from Hollywood in the 1940's, this scene was revolutionary.  It was dignified.  Hell, earlier in this film, there is a black chef, complete with the shuffling "Yes, Doc" responses, and his funniest gag is winding up white-faced.  This film shows both the best and worst of race depictions at the time.  I'm glad that the scene that sticks is the dignified one, but if you need a lesson as to how important this scene was, the film shows you the warts in Hollywood earlier.

I can also see the sensibilities of Sturges in the work of the Coen brothers, and the title of their great film "O Brother, Where Art Thou?" is clearly a not so subtle hat tip to Sturges.  This man set the table.  The Coens are feasting upon his meal.

Veronica Lake, whose Hollywood career was, what could at best be described as "troubled," is dynamite.  During filming, she was 6-8 months pregnant with her first child.  Seeing her smoke during that reminds us that things have changed a lot in 70 years, but you never can see her condition.  Rumor has it that Sturges didn't even know, but I find that incredibly hard to believe.  The Girl's name is never mentioned, even in credits.  Lake is funny, fast paced, gorgeous when she needs to be, spitfire energetic when she needs to be, and honest when she needs to be.  It's a great performance.  I have to confess, on yet another film, that seeing her in her hobo clothes, all 5 foot of her, reminded me a lot of a friend of mine.  This is a different friend than I was reminded of during "Sunrise," but I was reminded of a friend.  It was hard not to see her whenever Lake was dressed such.

At center, however, is Joel McCrea.  An actor whose work I was completely ignorant of in advance of this film, his earnest take on John L. Sullivan is inspired.  We see the altruism of this character, yet McRae never lets us lose sight of a guy who is really just play-acting.  Even in his most poignant moments, we still can see the rich guy behind it.  It's a wonderfully subtle performance, full of great choices, great commitments, and great emotions.  My take on Sullivan, and what I see McCrea showing us, is something I've believed for a long, long time.  Actors can recall emotions, and bring them to the scene, but in the end, it's really all just make-believe.  And, if it's not, the actor should probably not be doing that job.

I also noticed the Sherriff from "It's a Wonderful Life" in this.  Finding these obscure actors in these old films and trying to remember where I'd seen them before is a lot of fun.  Got that one pretty quickly.

I've rambled on long enough.  "Sullivan's Travels" is a wonderful film, one that should be watched by a wide audience.  I recommend you watch it and start that widening process.  You won't regret that.  Does it belong in the 100 Greatest American Films?  Yes.  Yes, it does.

And we pick up...

...a little speed.

Part 2 of the quest to watch all 100 of the AFI Top 100 Films (10th Anniversary Edition) in a calendar year, then write my thoughts and feelings about each film, is below.

Thanks for being part of this thus far.  No sense in rehashing too much.  Rules can be found here.  My thoughts on films 1-5 can be found here.   The next five movies are all movies I had seen prior to this year.

Films 6-10

6.  "The Maltese Falcon" (AFI Rank #31)
I watched this film and commented on it last year.  I actually published those comments.  As I got to the list this year, and realized I would be repeating commentary on 25 films I'd watched last year, I wondered if I should just link to the old reviews...and thought...nah.  Go find it, if you wish.  This is the 2015 version of Randy who is commenting.

This is now the second time I've watched "The Maltese Falcon."  This time, rather than being flummoxed by the speed of the patter, the insane twists and incredibly quick resolutions, I'd focus on what was being said.  Ultimately, not a hell of a lot.  So.  The story is a little thin.  What isn't a little thin in this film?  Cool.  Sheer, testosterone-fueled, cool.  This film is Fat Albert in cool.

Bogart is simply incredible in this.  We see an actor really, really working, yet seeming effortless throughout.  His Spade is a character for the ages. Always in control, always with the right answer, always making the next turn before the car is off the straightaway.  I'm not sure another actor could have pulled it off.  I'm not sure another one would want to do it this way.  The voice, the look, everything.  Perfect.

Speaking of...Sydney Greenstreet had never made a film before this?  Really?  Wow.  His Gutman is spot on.  I was listening to his opening speech with Spade.  "I like a man who does __________," followed by the reason.  Then, "I don't like a man who doesn't_____________," followed by the reason.  Seriously.  His whole first speech is categorizing the type of man who has a drink, talks straight, etc.  In less skilled hands, that speech would be awfully boring.  Not so with Greenstreet.  He has such a lyrical style in the way he delivers his lines.  Close your eyes if you listen to him speak.  You can hear the wry smile behind every line.  That's acting, my friends.

Peter Lorre.  Whenever I see Peter Lorre, I feel the need to shower.  I watched his performance this time, to try and get past that.  He has some truly remarkable subtle moments, some spurred by the director, no doubt, but wonderful.  And...I missed Joel Cairo being gay the first time I watched the film.  It's not so subtle on second viewing, but I missed it the first time.  Sometimes, I miss things.  Not often.  That one I missed.

Mary Astor did the best she could.  As far as femme fatales go, however, her motives and lies were too obvious right from the start.  I would have liked a little more cool (she was close, I admit) when she finally let down her guard.  I would have liked the impression that she was really in control.  A foil for Sam, if you will.  She never quite got there.

Finally.  John Huston.  Like Greenstreet, this was his first job as a director.  Damn.  Sure, kid.  Make one for the ages.  You can see his fingerprints all over this, see choices that only a director could have made (I assume Lorre putting the cane up to his mouth on first meeting with Bogart was a director's choice, if not, I would imagine he said, "YES!  Let's run with that!"  By the way, Phillip Seymour Hoffman does a similar move in "Boogie Nights.")  Anyway, I'm getting off point.  Huston deftly moves us through Sam's world.  And basically set the precedent for film noir.  This is considered the first film noir in movie history.  The rules Huston established are simple:  make sure the entire story happens with your leading man in every scene (except the 5 seconds when Archer gets shot), make sure that a lot of the film is shot from his perspective, make sure that he never, ever, loses his cool.   Truly a gift to future filmmakers.

Damn.  This is long.  I loved this on second viewing.  Just loved it.  Can't wait to watch some more that I'm not as familiar with, like this.

7.  "The General" (AFI Rank #18)
I haven't been using links on any of these reviews thus far.  I'm using them now. I may retrofit some into the older reviews, but I doubt it.  The links are jokes, or information I think you should investigate.  Click them if you like.  They are content, but not necessary.

I wrote about my experience watching "The General" for the first time last year.  The post exists if you want to go find it.

Watching these films and talking about them gets a little weird.  I'm writing this one AFTER the tome I wrote below about "The Shawshank Redemption," though  I watched them in the order presented.  I just hadn't gotten to writing my thoughts...yet.  Anyway, I've noticed that I'm expecting the reader to have watched these films.  I don't know if that's an assumption I should be making.  I may have to alter these missives.  We'll see.  I'll try and do a little better job of talking about the plots.  Maybe.  You know Roger Ebert did a series of essays towards the end of his life and called them "Great Movies."  I read these AFTER I write these thought, if the films happen to be part of the series.  My point is, Ebert doesn't spend a lot of time discussing plot in those essays.  He talks about why the movie is great, and what appeals to him about them.  He basically did what I'm doing, only WAY better, WAY more knowledgeable, and usually, WAY more intelligently.

All of that has NOTHING to do with "The General."

My thoughts watching this film again this year are similar to those from last year.  What a treasure Buster Keaton was.  What a daring, brave performer.  What a gifted comedian.  What an amazing director.  And...did I mention his BALLS?  Just amazing.

Keaton is not as famous, internationally, as Charlie Chaplin.  Never was.  His style of comedy, while similar, was decidedly less emotionally manipulative, relying upon sheer shock/awe in lieu of something emotionally poignant.

This is certainly the case with "The General."  Like "The Gold Rush," (previously reviewed by this observer) we are presented with a man who just wants to be part of something great, but just can't make it work.  Or can he?  For reasons that are not made clear to him, but clear to the audience, Keaton's character, Johnnie Gray, is not allowed to enlist in the Confederate Army following the attack on Fort Sumter.  We are told in the film that he has two great loves.  His engine and his girl.  His girl will only love him if he's in uniform.  Since Johnnie can't be in uniform, he is spurned by her.  He is relegated to only one great love, his engine.  The war rages on, and very little changes for Johnnie.  We see the girl's brother discussing his and their father's wounds with her, while Johnnie looks on forlornly in the background.

Shortly afterwards, Johnnie's train is stolen by spies from the North.  Johnnie, fiercely protective, chases after his train, eventually finding another engine, and what follows is a long, very funny, very thrilling train chase.  Yes.  A train chase.  There's not a lot of room on the tracks for a train chase...but it works.  It just does.  Lots of impossible-to-believe stunts happen...yet we know they were done for real because there's no trickery evident.  Nope, Buster Keaton really held two train cars between his two legs.  They really fire a cannonball at another train at exactly the right moment.  They really...well.  I still, a year later, cannot give away the final stunt.  It's spectacular.  Truly.  The stuff screen legends should be made of - perhaps someday "The General" will be viewed like Chaplin was.  Doubtful.  But, here's to hoping.

Someone in the AFI understood that, and this film found its way into the top 20.  Orson Welles called it not only the "best silent movie ever, it was the best Civil War movie, and possibly the greatest movie ever made."  That's pretty high praise.  It, while hyperbolic, is pretty accurate.  "The General" is a tremendous film.  It is full of grandeur, which is hard to imagine in a silent slapstick, but the thing has scale.  It has small, gut-splitting moments, too, and it is a joy to watch.  Even 90 years later.  Keaton's comedy needs to be watched.  This film needs to be watched.

I'm burying the lede a bit here.  I watched this film with my sons, Barrett and Brady and some other guests, who had not seen the film prior.  My boys and I had seen the film before, so I wanted to get their perspectives.  After it was over, I recorded the youngsters' thoughts.  I said I'd present them here.  So, I am.  These are verbatim transcripts.

Brady first.

Me:  "Tell me your favorite part of "The General""
Brady:  "I liked the part where he rode on the wheel." (my son likes one of the most dangerous stunts ever filmed, of course.)

Barrett was next.

"I liked it because...because it was funny."  (this son is a master of distilling his thoughts to a generalization - think about what I just said, folks)

Well.  These thoughts weren't as earth shattering as I hoped they would be.  The boys enjoyed the hell out of the movie, though, and the other friends we introduced the film to that night spent the next day watching other Keaton films...and "The Gold Rush."  There is no better thing for a performer than to have an audience member come back.  Keaton got return customers.  90 years later.

Watch "The General."  Please.  It streams on Netflix.  I told you to watch it last year.  I'm telling, again, you should do so.  It's a great film.  Great.

8.  "The Shawshank Redemption" (AFI Rank #72)
I admit that I, like a great number of people in the world, skipped "The Shawshank Redemption" when it was released in 1994.  A few years ago, having caught glimpses of it on various cable channels, and having listened to people rave about it for years, I decided maybe I'd watch it from start to finish one time.  I've now watched it from start to finish 3 times, and caught many, many chunks of it on cable.  The reason?  It's a great film.  Great.  This film is at the top of IMDB's user-generated Top 250 list.  Now, it's not the best film ever.  But, it is great.

On the surface, it is a film rife with cliches.  Prison rape.  Sadistic guards.  Corrupt warden.  Prison black market, with gambling done with cigarettes.  A fat guy can't hack it and dies.  Wrongly convicted protagonist.  An old codger with a bird.  And in the end...a tunnel to freedom.  On the surface, "The Shawshank Redemption" would fade into film oblivion, another flop with a talented cast, directed by a first time director with more ambition than skill.  A director, I might add, whose principle employment in the film/television industry was as a writer on horror movies and television.  What did that guy know about drama?  Frank Darabont doesn't have the kind or resume before this film that makes one think, "well, that's gonna be a masterpiece."  Yet, that is precisely what he delivered.  Well, him, the voice of Morgan Freeman, and the rest of the cast, that is.

So, watching this film and wanting to write about it afterwards, I pay a lot more attention, and I found a lot of mistakes.  A LOT of them.  I'm just going to mention one.  I can live with the poster over the tunnel, because it is used as a drama building piece.  It makes for great cinema.  Eventually, had the poster been lying on the floor, the tunnel to freedom still would have existed, we just wouldn't have had the warden yelling so much.  THAT was the most important thing in that scene - that Andy escaped - the poster made us cheer, and made the segue into the visualization of his escape very smooth and thrilling.  That is OK with me.  No, the thing that bothered me was Andy's taking a cashier's check for the Warden's ill gotten funds at a dozen banks.  Why not just take the cash?  Where is he going to cash $300K in cashier's checks that he couldn't have just taken as cash right then and there?  And we know he cashed them before he headed for the border, because he left Red the money in Buxton.  Never mind.  That one bugs me.

So.  Why is this film so great, with all these mistakes, cliches, etc.?  Because of a couple of things, frankly.  Because while the characters are cliche, there's an honesty in all the performances that shines through.  I counted at the end.  There were 7 other guys that were sitting around at the chow table swapping stories about Andy at the end of the film. Add to that the characters of Brooks and Williams, and you've got 9 prisoners that Andy deals with quite a bit.  Some don't have many lines, some have a few more...but we find ourselves connected with all 8 of them who aren't Morgan Freeman.  We watch time pass.  We see that, as Red talks about in voice over - the routine.  These guys do the same things every day, on a schedule, for 20 years of story time.  Darabont and his actors did a masterful job of showing that without having to drive the point home in an obtuse manner.  It was like Buster Keaton.  He could have over romanticized it, but he kept it stone faced...and subtle.  And, like Keaton, it conveys the message without beating us with it.  Ultimately, aren't we all a bit like the prisoners?  Routine.  The same thing over and over again.  Very few dramatic moments, but lots and lots of routine.  Hell, doing dishes, cooking, showering or brushing teeth spends a  great deal of time, if we add it up.  And those are things we do just to maintain the machine our souls walk around in...I digress.

The other thing?  Morgan Freeman.  I have for years, called Ed Harris my favorite white actor.  That's because my favorite actor is Morgan Freeman.  I don't fetishize his films.  I'm not obsessed with seeing everything he did.  I still haven't seen either "Driving Miss Daisy" or "Million Dollar Baby."  But, when I watch a film with Morgan Freeman, I see an actor totally devoid of the appearance of work.  I see a guy just being the guy he's supposed to be.  And, as cliche as it has become now, his voiceover work in this film is stunning.  The opening speech, with Freeman's tired, yet measured tone...well...it's goosebump worthy.  But it's not just his work with his voice that makes his performance in "The Shawshank Redemption" brilliant.  Red is given so much time to show his cards...yet he never does.  He plays everything close to the vest, steps in line, doesn't ruffle feathers, and just does his thing.  It's brilliant.  And then he does voiceover, too.

Another thing that I must mention.  I have, for a long time, disliked Tim Robbins, despite REALLY liking a few of his films: this one; "Bull Durham;" "The Player;" and the film he basically made up out of whole cloth, "Bob Roberts."  I'm possibly OK with Mr. Robbins now.  Not sure, but I don't dislike him any more after this viewing.  I still think that his face has the emotional range of a roller rink, but damn...a huge range may not be that necessary all the time.  Well done, sir.  I finally get why he is respected.  And I forgive him for appearing in "Top Gun."

Other things I like:  I like Viking from "Bad Boys" (WAIT!  He's Mr. Krabs?!  Wow.) appearing as the evil prison guard.  I like the inclusion (and breathtaking use) of Mozart.  I like Stephen King being involved.  I admit I don't know the source material.  I hope a lot of the truly great lines that Freeman delivers in voiceover are taken from King's story, and not made up by Darabont.

Anyway, I've rambled on.  "The Shawshank Redemption" is a terrific film.  It is the highest ranked of the troika of films from 1994 that made the list.  It was good year for film  Watch this one again and understand why.

Bonus:  I've been poking around the trivia section of this film on IMDB.  Picture Morgan Freeman delivering this paragraph, in voiceover, and tell me it doesn't sound EXACTLY like something from the film:

Andy and Red's opening chat in the prison yard - in which Red is pitching a baseball - took 9 hours to shoot. Morgan Freeman pitched that baseball for the entire 9 hours without a word of complaint. He showed up for work the next day with his arm in a sling.

9.  "Some Like It Hot" (AFI Rank #22)
Watched this one the other night for the second time.  I watched it the first time last year, while attempting this task.  This one was also viewed with Julie, though she fell asleep towards the middle of the film.

This film, as I discovered while poking around for trivia, was quite controversial, even banned at the time it opened.  Kansas wasn't allowed to see it.  The state of Kansas.  Whooboy.  I'm glad we don't live in times like that.  Wait.  Well.

It's kind of hard to imagine how Billy Wilder ever got this made.  I picture this scene:

"OK.  We start the film with a fictionalized telling of The St. Valentine's Day Massacre, yet we show two witnesses to the brutality, who then have to hide themselves, so as not to be killed.  The men are musicians, and discover that an all-girl band needs, conveniently, a sax player and a bass player; which are the two instruments our protagonists play.  The guys decide to hide out by dressing themselves in drag, and go with the band to sunny Florida.  On the way, they meet the gorgeous Marilyn Monroe, playing Marilyn Monroe, but called Sugar Kane, and they both are smitten with her.  One of the two men decides to woo Sugar, armed with the knowledge of what she wants in a man because Sugar confessed to her bandmate, Josephine, who is the guy now trying to seduce her, but was in drag when she was talking to him.  Lots of subterfuge, lots of wacky misidentity, and lots of screwball comedy ensues.  Then, at the end, we get ANOTHER shootout, and the two men are again on the run, this time from different members of the mafia who want them dead for witnessing the second shootout, which killed the perpetrators of the FIRST shootout.  Then, we get a classic final line, as Jack Lemmon goes to live as the spouse of a daft MALE millionaire."

*pause*

"Outta my office, kid!"

And:  scene.

Yet, somehow, all of that works.  And it works exceedingly well.  The combination of Jack Lemmon, Billy Wilder, Tony Curtis, and most importantly, Marilyn Monroe, just seems to work well.  Despite the fact that Marilyn didn't work well with anyone.

Few things.  The body count in this is 12.  That's pretty heavy shit for a comedy.  Also heavy is the fact that the poor bastard who ran the garage at the beginning of the film was one of those bodies.  Dude was just pumping some gas.  Anyway.   Also, Sweet Sue is the WORST bandleader.  Her rhythms make no sense, and who the hell wants a band of blonde women under age 25?  Wait.  Well.  OK.  That I could understand.  Never mind.  

Jack Lemmon is priceless in this.  No moments of real drama with him, and the man knew how to get a laugh.  Tony Curtis imitating Cary Grant...well.  It worked.  Billy Wilder's direction is tight.  His attention to detail is great, and his ability to manipulate a scene towards the comedy is masterful.

Then, we have Marilyn.  I suppose this, in what has long been called her best film, is a tragic thing to watch.  Her talent was tremendous.  Her singing was great.  Her looks were amazing.  Her breasts...well.  They costumed her well in this.  Really well.  Yet, watching this, and finding out how excruciating a process it was to get her to the set, then get her to actually deliver when on set...well...it makes it sad to watch.  So much there to offer.  So little ability to do so, for whatever reasons.  Marilyn was a star.  She was no actor, but she was a star.  She lights up the screen whenever she's on it.  She becomes the one and only thing on the screen that we care about watching.  How great that we have this record of her having existed...and how sad to know how much greater this might have been.

Anyway, those were my thoughts as I watched this film.  And that's what this is supposed to be.  My feelings/thoughts while watching these great films.  Now you got 'em.  Well some of them, anyway.

Watch this, if you haven't yet.  Watch it again if you have.

10.  "Taxi Driver" (AFI Rank #52)
The photo above is from what is probably the least haunting scene in "Taxi Driver."  There is an intensity in this scene with Travis Bickle, to be sure, but this scene is actually fairly pleasant.

And that, friends, is as happy as it gets.  I've seen "Taxi Driver" once before.  Like most films that I experience for the first time, I watched it for story, context, acting, etc., but not critically.  This time I watched it...well...to write about it.

I've been poking around on the interwebs for helpful tips/facts about this film.  The two things I found that I liked the most were simple, yet amazing.  Paul Schrader, the screenwriter, put forth the idea that the end of the film could be spliced with the beginning of the film and you wouldn't notice it.  Yes. True.  The second was that Ebert called the film a "hell."  Yes.  True.  (Post writing add in:  In fact, I read this after writing this entry, but I highly recommend reading Ebert's essay on this.  I'm amazed how many of the things  I saw and describe below...he saw...hooray for me!)

That's what this film is, hell.  It's an often very uncomfortable assault on the senses:  visual; audio; taste; smell; touch...and the sense of sanity.  We watch, through Martin Scorsese's absolutely inspired visual work, our lead actor plummet into madness.  Like "The Shawshank Redemption," we see the boring routine of Travis Bickle's days.  Green traffic lights whiz by in a dizzying sequence, punctuated by a funky jazz score composed by Bernard Herrmann, the guy responsible for the music in "Citizen Kane," and the main theme for season 1, and many, many episodes of "The Twilight Zone."  In fact, Herrmann's score is such a large portion of the movie, it's hard not to talk about it.  The jazz often feels a little too happy, but that, I think is its genius.  Behind it is this lurking pulse, a darkness that we can hear, but that is in the background, simmering.

Like Mr. Bickle.

The story for "Taxi Driver" is familiar(ish).  A war (Vietnam) veteran cannot deal with life, he begins to see all around him as scum, and he takes a job driving a taxi on the night shift just to try and numb his mind.  He then meets and proceeds to repel, through a series of disturbingly anti-social behaviors, a beautiful woman.  Spurned by the world, and increasingly isolated, he loses his mind, and in a final coup de grace, (after an aborted assassination plan on a presidential candidate) he "rescues" (Edit:  I had this in quotes before I saw Ebert use the same thing - HOORAY FOR ME!!!)  a teenage prostitute he has sought fit to shelter (Holden Caulfield much?) by killing those who are holding her leash in a bloody, ultra-violent execution.  In the end, he is hailed (hailed, HA.) as a hero, and his life proceeds as it had before.

And that is it.  Except it's not.

I need to spend a while on Robert DeNiro.  A young, handsome DeNiro, who hadn't fallen into a series of "type" movies in which he plays, well, Robert DeNiro, is a wonder in this.  He has a smile that, when unleashed, reveals a softness and vulnerability that makes him incredibly welcoming.  Yet, behind that smile, in this film, is a smoldering intensity that says, "yeah, you make me laugh/happy, but I could rip your fucking throat out for it."   DeNiro's most famous scene in this is the "You talkin' to me?" scene he improvised into the mirror.  That scene, all by itself, is worth watching.  But, without the rest of the film, that scene would fall flat.  My personal scene that defines Travis Bickle is the scene with Wizard (Peter Boyle), in which Travis tries desperately to say "I'm going to kill some people who deserve it, real soon," but is advised to "take it easy," and little else.  DeNiro is masterful in his approach in this scene, we know exactly what he's saying, and we beg for him to be able to tell Boyle, but he can't.  He's just not capable of opening, despite his overwhelming desire to do so.  DeNiro's tortured face, his resigned communication/speech pattern, it's...fucking painful.  And yet, I can't look away.  This scene alone paves the way for a whole series of well acted film killers to come, most notably (to me, anyway) Christian Bale's Patrick Bateman in "American Psycho."   Tinted with the never mentioned, but alluded to often, backstory of a Vietnam veteran who has perhaps seen too much (we do see a rather garish scar on his back during one scene), it's hard to find any choice DeNiro made that wasn't right on.  In fact, I couldn't find any.

Jodie Foster deserves mention, too.  Her screen time is relatively limited, but she plays streetwise so well...and yet we still see innocence in her when she is sharing a meal with Travis.  It is hard to imagine that she was only 13 at the time.  She seems so very, very grown up.

I suppose I need to discuss Martin Scorsese.  I'm not a institutional film student.  I'm a casual observer, with a fair amount of experience in acting and directing, and someone who considers himself artistic.  Scorsese's hand can be seen touching several moments in "Taxi Driver," whether with the out of time framework of Iris's john's death, the color saturation/graininess of the film, or with several closeup shots of the moving taxi with the background blurred behind it.  However, those are all tricks.  The true greatness of any director is the moments that we can't see their fingerprints.  The crushing loneliness that pervades Travis, shown not through cinematic tomfoolery, but through small moments of just normal interior shots in his apartment.  Hell, I think the opening scene, which is about as normal a scene as it gets, is a combination of the genius of Scorsese and DeNiro, but, for Scorsese's part in it,  we never see Travis say the words, "I don't sleep."  We watch the Personnel Guy at the taxi company's reaction, instead.  That's small, but that's effective.  It's disconnection.  We see the world as it reacts to Travis in those moments, rather than just his face.  Damn.  Well.  That's a perspective that only a film can give us.  The camera shows us where to focus.  Except when it doesn't.  This is high art.  This is the first of three Scorsese films on the list that I will be watching.  There are only 9 filmmakers on the list who directed more than two entries, and one of those had a sequel to his earlier masterpiece make the list.  "Taxi Driver" is a testament as to why Scorsese is part of those 9.

And that, ultimately, leads me to my main theme.  This film is great because of its totality.  Without any of the key elements, DeNiro, Scorsese, Foster, or Herrmann, this film would not be what it is.  Yet here it is.  A film that ties together all its elements into a riveting, powerful piece of art.  Is it for the squeamish?  No.  If you don't like tension, stay away.  If you want a hero who is actually a hero, and not just a man consumed by solitude taking out his vengeance on people who have done nothing to deserve his wrath, skip this.  If you, however, can stomach a ride that is at times harrowing, at times joyous, at times dull, and ultimately, deeply disturbing, exposing humanity's brutal, seedy underbelly, then I highly recommend it.  It is a masterpiece.

Gee.  Know what all that sounds like?  Driving a taxi in New York in the 70's on the night shift.  How about that?