11 Oscars...

...but not one for writing.

Yup.  That's about right.

This is the latest in the series I'm writing on watching all 100 of the AFI Top 100 (10th Anniversary Edition) in a calendar year.

Film 30

30.  "Ben-Hur" (AFI Rank #100)
This is going to be a tricky piece to write, and then again...not.

I watched, last night, the third of three Best Picture Oscar winners from my version of the list (Rules on that here).  Clocking in at 3 hours and 32 minutes, it's also the longest film I've watched thus far trying to get through this.  I know it's not the longest ("Gone With The Wind"), and LORDY, I have some long films coming down the pike.  I'm looking at you "Intolerance,"  I see you there, mocking me, with your 1916 filmmaking techniques, bad edits, jump cuts from improperly cared for film, and your silence...and your D.W. Griffithiness.  This film is...epic.  That should be like a category of filmmaking.  Oh.  Wait.  Right.

This film also marked the 80th of the top 100 that I've now seen in my lifetime.  That makes me...80% through it, on the lifetime achievement scale.  Math has always been my strong suit.  Hey, I'm also 30% through the list this year...ain't that cool?  It is also the last film I hadn't watched all the way through prior to this year until I get to number 41 on the list.  By then, I'll be 40% through the list.  HA!  Oh yeah, Math.  You're my BITCH!

I'm having fun.  I got less than 4 hours sleep as a result of watching this film, and I'm awfully punchy.  Sue me.

I guess I should get on with it.  I knew I was in for a big show when the first image that planted itself on my television screen was a close up of the fingers of God and Man, taken from Michelangelo's ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.  Over that image?  The word "OVERTURE."  The film had an overture.  Let's just go ahead and get it out of the way.  It had an INTERMISSION and an ENTR'ACTE, also.  I listened to the Overture.  I did neither the Intermission nor the Entr'Acte.  If that makes me less of a completist, then so be it, but it was LATE, and goddammit, I'd be in line at the concession stand or the bathroom if I'd seen this film in the theatre, so forget that.  Besides, without any great theme coming from the music...what the hell was I listening to?  Sure, it was nice, classical music, tinged with hints of middle-eastern style tones/melodies...but I didn't feel myself getting in the mood for what I was to witness.  That's me.  Maybe in a different era, with different expectations from film, I'd see it another way.  Not this day.

As the film began, we are shown the familiar scene of the Romans demanding that the people of Judea return to their homelands to be censused, then taxed.  We see Joseph and Mary of Nazareth, her, in her standard position on the donkey, him leading the way.  We then see a star arise in the night sky, lighting the way for shepherds, kings and others towards a manger, where we see Mother, Father, and Christ Child.  We meet Balthasar, Melchior and Gaspar, whom we know as the three Wise Men.  We are most assuredly watching the story of Jesus.  Then, after this, we get the opening title sequence...which calls this film "BEN-HUR" then proceeds to tell me that it's..."A TALE OF THE CHRIST."  Except...IT'S NOT.

It's actually the story of Judah Ben-Hur (Charlton Heston), a wealthy Jew, whose boyhood friendship with a Roman named Mesalla (Stephen Boyd) lands him a death sentence, chained to the oar of a ship.  Well.  See, what happens is, a new Roman Governor is parading past the Hur house, Judah and his sister are watching him, when some roof tiles give way, gravely wounding the Governor.  Judah is arrested for his treason.  But, really, he is being used to show that Mesalla should be feared, as he is unwilling to bend, even for someone he loves.  Mesalla knows Judah to be innocent, but doesn't care.  Taken along with Judah are his mother, Miriam, and his sister, Tirzah.  Judah, a strong, and strong-willed man, meets a kindly stranger while being escorted to the galley for his sentence...the very same person we instantly recognize to be Jesus (but we don't see his face)...who gives him a drink of water.  Even the Roman guard who was insisting that Judah not be given water, yields when he looks into this stranger's eyes.

And that, my friends, is why I have started to talk about the writing in this.  In a world where "Monty Python's Life of Brian" did not exist, I'm sure that these brief encounters that we have with Jesus would be very powerful.  They are exquisitely filmed, careful never to show Jesus in full face.  We know it's Jesus.  He appears several times in the periphery throughout the film.  And all I can think of is...this was so much FUNNIER when Python did it.  So, what I'm left with, as a film viewer, is a film subtitled "A Tale of the Christ" which is, in fact, a film that should have been subtitled "A Tale In Very Close Proximity to the Christ at Several Key Moments.  You know, Geographically."  "Ben-Hur" has Jesus as a very key figure, but there is nothing about this that is his tale.  It is the tale of Judah, and Judah alone.  Unfortunately, the story ranges all over the place, in part, because of that looming figure of the Christ.  Let's look at it this way.  Without spoiling too much, Judah gains favor for his tenacity with the commander of the boat, a powerful Roman named Quintus Arrius (Jack Hawkins).  Left unchained as the boat is brought into battle, Judah is able to escape the galley as the boat is besieged, then saves the life of Quintus twice, once by spearing a man about to get him, and once when the Roman is knocked into the sea from the ship.  Judah dives in and pulls the man onto some wreckage.  Rescued by a Roman boat a while later, Judah is brought under the care of Arrius, and in fact, is taken to Rome for a year, where he is adopted as Arrius's son, with full rights to his properties, and name.  As this goes on, Judah can think of one thing.  Returning to Judea, and killing Mesalla and rescuing his mother and sister from Mesalla's prison.  I'm doing a lot of synopsis here, but the point was the Christ. The story, "A Tale of the Christ" is really not about Christ at all, but about a man seeking revenge.  And...he gets it.  And never stops thinking about it...until he witnesses the death of Jesus on the cross.  So, I've got a 3 hour and 30 minute film, a full 2 hours of which (probably more), I've watched a man singly focused on getting revenge for a wrong...and seeing him succeed...then he decides, after realizing that Jesus was the man who gave him water...that maybe that whole revenge thing wasn't all that great, and maybe he should live a different way.

EXCEPT IT DOESN'T MATTER BECAUSE THERE'S NO ONE LEFT TO EXACT HIS REVENGE UPON, ANYWAY.

It seems more convenient that Judah is saved, rather than a moment of "I need to stop this festering resentment and forgive the man who wronged me," we get..."Well, shit.  I guess I'll live better...now that my enemy is vanquished."  It doesn't ring true, and is a very weak story, if the healing power of Christ's love is the message.  More spoilers.  Judah sees his mother and sister again.  They are lepers, thrown into a valley away from the rest of the world.  Kept alive by the mercy of others, they beg Esther, Judah's love, to keep Judah away from them, so he would remember them as beautiful.  After killing Mesalla, the leprosy gets worse...get it?  Then, when Jesus' death occurs, BAM, Judah sees the light, his mother and sister are healed, and we get a happy ending.  Except...WHY?!

This film is #100 on the list.  Here's the long and short of it.   Were it not for the dreadful problems with the writing, I could EASILY see this film in the top 20, maybe even top 10.  The acting leaves a lot to be desired, especially from Heston, but he won an Oscar for Best Actor in this...maybe because it was his best work, by far.  He's actually pretty capable in this, showing a large (for him) range of emotion.  I'm getting off course.  This is a grandiose film, with lavish sets, gorgeous costumes, incredible cinematography.  I'm telling you right now, I'm not a Christian.  I think this treatment of Jesus' crucifixion is the most moving I've seen on film.  There is real weight to the moment, and the shots of the blood in the puddles of water are actually fairly subtle moments that carry the momentum of a sledgehammer.  William Wyler made a film that should be lauded in the annals of history.  His work, especially, was tremendous.  Never showing Jesus' face, even when hanging on the cross, was a phenomenal choice.  The composition of every shot in the frame...it's a wonder to behold.  And then it's got that fucking ping pong story.  GODDAMMIT.  Truly, though, Wyler's work is something that should be studied, then imitated, then redone, then made into a shrine of "Holy Crap, THAT'S how you do that."

I need to comment on the Chariot Race, the most famous sequence in the film.  Did you know there's no music during that scene?  Did you know that at most times, you can see Charlton Heston and Stephen Boyd ACTUALLY riding the chariots?  Did you know that that scene is breathtaking?   You might have known all this.  I didn't.  I've been watching clips from the scene all my life, and lots and LOTS of films have references to it.  I realize this film is actually a remake, but damn.  That is an amazing piece of film.  If you were to watch only that portion of "Ben-Hur," you'd still see an incredible film.  I cannot say enough about it.  But, I think I have.

Acting was touched on, so let's have at it.  Heston is really capable in this, but still Charlton Heston.  Stephen Boyd was given the correct subtext for his character's relationship with Judah, that they were, as younger men, lovers.  You can see that in his performance, and it's a great bit of character.  Heston was not told this until long after, and protested it vehemently.  Too bad.  It adds so much to their story.  Boyd's death was also very well performed, and quite...graphic.  It's a very good performance.   Hugh Griffith won an Oscar for his performance as Sheik Ilderim, and it was worthy of such an honor.  Like "West Side Story," I could have done with a little less of the dark makeup, but I guess that's where Hollywood was.  Also of note are Jack Hawkins as Quintus, Haya Harareet as Esther..but especially Frank Thring as Pontius Pilate.  Pilate, as shown in this, is a cool pragmatist, with a wisdom to understand what is good in the land of Judea, while still administering a land far from his home.  It's a really subtle bit of acting, but the guy nails it.  He's wonderful.

To wrap this up...as it may take you 3 and a half hours to read this if I continue..."Ben-Hur" is a tremendous film burdened by a lack of focus.  It is absolutely worthy of your time to watch it...but dammit, try and remember that the story sucks.  Just absorb the film...because it is a wonder.

No Ebert this time.  Doing a Google search...most of the snippets of links I'm seeing talk about the scatteredness of this film.  Voila.  I'm not the only one.

They call me...

...impressed.

Watching the AFI Top 100 Films (10th Anniversary Edition) in a calendar year and recording my thoughts here.  Getting there.

Film 29

29.  "In The Heat Of The Night" (AFI Rank #75)
Pride is such a recurring theme in drama...it should perhaps be classified as the single most built upon theme.  Some cute catch phrase about it coming before a fall should exist.  What?  Wait.  Shit.

"In the Heat of the Night" is a film entirely built upon pride, and its ability to sway the actions of all that it affects.

This is the second film of three that won the Best Picture Oscar I will have watched in a row.  It is odd that I seemed to distribute these films so tightly bunched, as there are only 27 of the 100 that earned that distinction.  Released in 1967, it tells the tale of a murder that happens in the southern town of Sparta, Mississippi.  Filmed in the actual town of Sparta, Illinois, because lead actor Sidney Poitier refused to shoot below the Mason-Dixon line, the film is about, at its core, ignorance, prejudice and pride.  Pride.  Pride.

I'm not going to go into a synopsis.  Watch the film to get the story.  I'm also likely to spoil a few things, so if you haven't watched it, stop reading, watch it, then come back.

The first thing I wish to discuss is the cinematography of the film.  From the opening sequence, we realize that we are watching a film that is going to challenge us, and tell its story, visually.  Focusing on a person getting off a train, neatly dressed, we see only his legs, and then see him reach his African American colored hand down to pick up a suitcase, and head into the depot.  It's night, we know the setting is Sparta, Mississippi, and we know it's current.  Everything we need to know is there, but it is shot in such a way that we are required to use our brains, and to fill in the details from the clues presented us.  The shots are tight, well thought out, and visually compelling.  This stylized filming is present throughout.  My personal favorite shot in the film was a scene in which Chief Gillespie (Rod Steiger) has arrested Virgil Tibbs (Poitier) in a fit of anger over the uppity man (but clearly superior intellect) refusing to share evidence with him.  Tibbs is sitting in jail, and Gillespie asks his deputy to hand through a waiver for false arrest for Tibbs to sign.  They never show Tibbs, only his hands reaching through the cell bars, signing the form, then handing it back directly to the Chief.  It's a tremendous piece of camerawork and tells a story all by itself.  The impact of that choice is immediate and intelligent.  Great work.

Also of note is the score.  Written by Quincy Jones, it is rooted in jazz, but has tinges of blues.  One can feel the south in the music.  Alternatively funky, then subtle, but always something that grabs our focus, Jones did a masterful job scoring the film.  It was, at the time, a revolutionary thing to use music of the south for a southern film, and the film would suffer without it.

Norman Jewison was the director of "In the Heat of the Night," and it is interesting to note that his career includes such African-American-centric films as "A Soldier's Story," and "The Hurricane."  Jewison has a firm grasp on the conditions of the black man in the south in the late 1960's.  When we visit the black portions of town, the yards are strewn with garbage, the people in them watch the white people with a suspicious eye, and we see the systemized racism expressed.  Don't believe me?  I think it is no accident that the person that Tibbs is entrusted to is a mechanic, working at his home, kids everywhere, in a dilapidated building with a hand painted sign announcing his profession.  Contrast that with the mayor of the town, a farm implement salesman, with a clean shop, filled with white people working in really nice conditions.  Like I said...I think we may not be meant to notice that, but I think it's there on purpose.  Jewison is saying something in most shots we get.  Another not so subtle one is when Tibbs and Gillespie visit the home of Endicott, the plantation owner who is the richest man in town.  We see Gillespie put his hand on the completely offensive lawn jockey in Endicott's front yard.  Yes, Gillespie is perfectly content keeping the black man in his place.  Ultimately, thought, Gillespie represents all the good in people, blinded by pride.  I'm getting off track.  Jewison knew what he was doing, and every frame of this film seems to have purpose.  It's incredibly economic filmmaking, and while he lost the Oscar to the amazing work of Mike Nichols' direction of "The Graduate," one could make a case for Jewison, and not feel one was stretching.

Supporting performances are very good at times, especially Lee Grant as the widow of the murder victim.  Her moment where she asks, "What's wrong with you people?" is a great moment that gives us so much story...it's great.  Also of note are the performances of Scott Wilson as Harvey Oberst and Warren Oates as Sam Wood.  Both actors get a lot of time with Poitier as Tibbs, and both show the affects of the presence of this intelligent man very deftly.

Ultimately, however, this film earns its place on this list because of the performances of its two lead actors.  I'll discuss Poitier first.  Brimming with a volcanic intensity that always seems ready to blow, Poitier plays pride the right way.  And then again, not.  Tibbs is a stranger in a land where he is unwelcome, but Poitier's performance, and his steady hand, immediately affects those around him, when they give him a chance.  Tibbs is a proud man, intelligent, experienced, and nuanced, he is the anchor.  What I found fascinating, however, was how this man of great reason allowed himself to, at times, allow pride to overtake him.  He's got something to prove, and he lets that cloud his judgment on several occasions.  It is telling that one of those ways he lets it cloud him is with his own safety.  He is a hunted man, and KNOWS it, but still puts himself in harm's way...to prove that he can't be beaten.  There's a lot there, and Poitier lets us see all of it.  He does explode a couple of times, and his rage at ignorance boils over in ways that we don't expect.  His famous line, "They call me Mr. Tibbs!" is one such occurrence, as is the moment where Tibbs slaps a very powerful white man.  When that man cries over it, saying that there was a time when he could have Tibbs shot for such an offense, we realize just how powerful Poitier's hold is on those around him, and how out of touch this world is with what is happening in the rest of it.  It takes a special acting performance to bring these things out for our inspection.  Poitier's performance is special.

The role, and the Oscar for Best Actor which it brought, in the film is that of Chief Gillespie, played by Rod Steiger.  When the way you chew gum becomes part of your performance, you know you've done something right.  Steiger is so brutally honest in this film, it is no wonder that my mother, for as long as I've been aware, always talks about how great he was.  Gillespie is a complex character, one who always seems to be in the right place at the right time, yet one who doesn't really know why he is.  He's all instinct, prone to quick conclusions, and always sure of himself.  The film constantly hints at his being an unpopular figure in town.  Like Tibbs, Gillespie is an outsider.  Take the scene previously mentioned where he drops Tibbs off at the African-American's garage.  Gillespie is familiar with the place, in fact, all the police cars are service there.  Contrasted against all the other white characters we meet who are part of the town, we see why he is an outsider.  How did he find this garage, and why do the police trust this black man with their vehicles?  Because Gillespie knew he was the best.  Steiger carries our conscious in the film.  It is his ability to warm to Tibbs that makes us want to continue on the path.  Let's face one thing about this film....as a whodunnit, it is LANGUIDLY paced, and really quite silly.  People are always guilty until Tibbs proves why they are not, so what compels us to want to continue?  Gillespie, relying on those who are smarter than him, makes us watch.  We want to see him change.  It grinds at times, but we see him shift his attitudes.  He feels like an opportunist, but we ultimately believe he believes in justice, in fairness, and in the law.  He has sacrificed everything for it, including a hinted at romance from long ago.  It's a historic performance, and I enjoyed it thoroughly.  One other thing.  There is a character named Courtney in the film.  He has a brother who also works at the police station.  We see both brother and Courtney in the film, but Steiger, either mistakenly, or on purpose, calls the brother Courtney in a scene where he is left alone briefly with Steiger.  I don't know whose choice that was, but it's fucking brilliant.  I'm hoping it was Steiger.  It is a big, big window into the character.

One bit that I'm not sure I noticed correctly.  At the end of the film, we see Tibbs on the train, headed away from town, with a satisfied look on his face, having solved the crime, and gained the respect/trust of those he helped...behind him, we see a white woman, and you can almost hear her saying, with her attitude that she shows, "what is this black boy doing so close to me?"  Tibbs just saved the day, made some people wake up, and yet, there he is.  Still just a black boy on a train.  I need to watch again to see if I imagined that, but I think I'm right.

"In the Heat of the Night" is a great film. I was thoroughly entertained, and mesmerized by the performances.  Check it out.

No Ebert this time.  Sorry.

EDIT:  Courtney is the guy's last name!  Ha!  Me and my stupidity, always looking for the deeper meaning.

If only...

...our gangs today could find a way to compete/mark their "turf" using the wonder of DANCE!

That's a ridiculous statement, to be sure.  But, this is kind of a ridiculous film...kind of.

I'm watching the AFI Top 100 (10th Anniversary Edition) and commenting on all of them, in ONE CALENDAR YEAR.  THAT'S A LOT OF MOVIES, PEOPLE.

Film 28

28.  "West Side Story" (AFI Rank #51)
I'm in theatre.  I've been in musical theatre quite a bit.  NO.  I've never before, to my recollection, watched "West Side Story" all the way through.  If I have to turn in whatever credibility card I'm supposed to have, so be it.  I've seen it on stage a few times, if that helps.

And, my friend who pointed out that I had neglected to mention the soundtrack of "E.T. The Extra-Terrestrial," I will be discussing the music in this one.  OBVIOUSLY.

"West Side Story" won the Oscar for Best Picture for 1961, beating out such heavyweights as "Judgment at Nuremburg," and "The Hustler."  Splashy colorful (at times a bit TOO colorful - more to come), the film is a visual delight.  Directed by Jerome Robbins and Robert Wise, the film has lots of theatricality in its composition, with glorious sets, and stunning visual imagery.  The scene where Tony is singing "Something's Coming," set in an alley with clothes hanging on drying lines between buildings is particularly sumptuous.  Julie was watching it with me, and she said, "What the hell is that hanging from the line?"  To which I could only reply, "Set dressings."  No, what we see isn't real.  There is nowhere in New York where every shade of pastel sheer robe is hanging to dry, but when we see it, we are left with a distinct image.

One of the shots that I think is probably overlooked, (in fact, Julie, whose DVD we were watching, did not remember it) is the very opening sequence, shot by helicopter, as we fly over the island of Manhattan.  It's a beautiful view, but brings the story home.  This is one little piece of this great big city.  How many other places have something going on JUST LIKE THIS?  Hey.  I think that's the point of universally themed stories.

Musicals were a huge portion of film history.  They continue to dazzle us ("Frozen" is a musical.  It's just animated, that's all) when we see them.  So, what separates "West Side Story" from the dozens of other films of musicals available to us?

Let's start with the score.  Written by Leonard Bernstein, the combination of funky, dissonant jazz with gorgeous vocal pieces, is a trend setter.  Stephen Sondheim wrote the lyrics (complete with WAY TOO MUCH INTERNAL RHYMING), and you can hear him in "West Side Story," even though he didn't write the score.  Sondheim became the standard for modern musical theatre, but "West Side Story" is its root.  As you listen to such beautifully lyrical songs as "Tonight," and "Maria," it's hard to believe that the same composer gives us a number like "Cool" in the same two and a half hours.  It calls to mind a song like "Johanna," with its gorgeous moments, landing in the same place as "God, That's Good," in Sondheim's "Sweeney Todd..."  Stuffed with singable music, and one show-stopping comedy number, "Gee, Officer Krupke,"  the score is a wonder.  Of course, that is not unique to the film, but all I'm commenting on is that.

I've already mentioned the direction of Robbins and Wise, but Robbins was also the choreographer.  The dance sequences in this film are visually stunning, incredibly complicated, and burst with joy.  The idea of these gang members expressing themselves through dance is...well...it's ludicrous.  Yet, it works.  The opening sequence, in particular, seems out of place with the violence that it represents...but damn me,  I get the story that's being told, even if it's not graphic in nature.  At times confrontational, at other times timid, the opening of the film sets the scene, non-verbally, for the battles we are going to witness. Other numbers, like "America," equally erupt with passion and skill that is a marvel to behold.  And "Cool?"  That's a fucking brilliant number, and probably the least famous.

The story, the bastardized tale of "Romeo and Juliet" set in Manhattan during the mid-twentieth century really revolves around the two star-crossed lovers, Tony (Richard Beymer) and Maria (Natalie Wood).  Struck by each other at a dance (party in "Romeo and Juliet"), the two begin a love affair that is highly inadvisable, given that Tony is a former leader in the gang the Jets, now led by Riff (Russ Tamblyn), and that Maria is the sister of Bernardo (George Chakiris) the leader of the rival gang the Sharks.  Throw in a friend of Maria's, Anita (Rita Moreno), a character not unlike the Nurse from Verona.  Riff is Mercutio, Bernardo is Tybalt, Doc is Friar Laurence, Schrank is Paris, etc.  The characters are all there.  The story is as old as time.   So, what about this interpretation of a classic tale makes it special?  I'm not really sure.  Part of it has to be that we see it with the emotions that are uniquely evoked by music.  Part of it is the modernity.  Part of it is the actors, especially Moreno, Chakiris and Tamblyn.

I'm not feeling like I'm spoiling anything by saying that Riff, Bernardo and Tony all die.  Tony's death, like that of Romeo and Juliet, serves to end the feud between the Sharks and the Jets, as members of both gangs escort his lifeless body from the scene.  Like all classic tragedies, we are left wondering what part of us would wind up behaving the way these people do.  Like all classic tragedies, we should find it. How much can pride destroy?  In this film, it is literally lives.  In our lives, what do those lives represent?  Past loves?  Parents?  Siblings?  Friends gone by?  We may not have killed them, literally, but have we killed that part of them that was good for us?  Was it worth it?  Great stories beg these questions.

I mentioned something about skin tone.  It is unfortunate that so much dark makeup was used to make sure that we knew the Sharks were Puerto Rican.  It looks like dirt smudged on their faces, especially Moreno's and Chakiris's.  It was an unfortunate choice, and I'd be willing to bet that given the opportunity to correct it, the producers, today, would.

Beyond that I feel I need to talk about how great Moreno is in this.  One of twelve people to win all 4 competitive major performing awards (Emmy, Grammy, Oscar, and Tony), the EGOT recipient got her Oscar for her Anita.  It's a wonderful performance that stands head and shoulders above everyone else in the film.  Yes, Tamblyn can dance. Chakiris won an Oscar as well, and is threatening, and WAY cool, but Moreno is a phenomenon.  Her singing (one of the few people in the film actually DOING their singing) is great, her dancing is great, but her subtle moments as an actor, especially in the scenes in Doc's and when she agrees to help Maria, despite Tony being her lover's killer, are tremendous.  They show a depth that often is missing in movie musicals, and I loved it. Just loved it.  Anita is no simple character.  She's got real feelings, real conflict, and real compassion.  Wonderful.

It was fun, having just talked about the TERRIBLE ending of "Psycho," only a few days prior, to see Simon Oakland, the unfortunate actor who had to deliver that terrible summation monologue, in a different film.  Mostly it was synchronicity, because I thought he was pretty bad here, too.  Also fun to see John Astin.  And it was fun to see Natalie Wood's legs.  That's awfully prurient, though.

Last thing before I wrap this up.  I have sung some romantic duets in my life, while performing on stage.  It is a difficult task to find that emotion without feeling ridiculous at times, and that's when I was the one performing it, live.  I cannot imagine how difficult a task it would be to lip-sync to someone else's singing, let alone to try and evoke emotion while doing that.  The actors that did that the most, Wood and Beymer, were really, really good at it.  I never once believed that they weren't singing, even though I knew they weren't.  That deserves mention.  Because their performances are largely unremarkable otherwise.

"West Side Story" is an important film, one that is not simply defined as a musical, but one that is most assuredly that.  Watch it.

Ebert and I are in sync again!  Roger.  Roger.

I didn't ever want to...

...have to watch this movie.  Now I have.

I'm watching the AFI Top 100 Films (10th Anniversary Edition) in a calendar year and writing about them.

Film 27

27. "Sophie's Choice" (AFI Rank #91)
I was 14 years old when this film premiered.  I remember, distinctly, clips showing three people, one of which was Kevin Kline, one who was Meryl Streep, and one was a no-name.  They wore funny 20s-style clothing, and appeared to be a bunch of bohemians caught up in some sort of love triangle.  It appeared to be a film about a woman who needed to choose between a couple of lovers.

I was at least somewhat, partially right.

This film is 33 years old.  *SPOILER ALERT*

The now famous choice that is really referred to is the choice placed on Sophie (Streep), when her character arrived at Auschwitz, during WWII.  She was forced to choose between which of her two children she would be allowed to bring into the camp, her daughter or her son.  The other was going to "go over there."  Threatened with the loss of both, she chooses her son...and her daughter is taken away, screaming hysterically, by a faceless Nazi, to be killed.  More on this to come.

Directed by Alan J. Pakula, "Sophie's Choice" is really a film about characters, more than overwhelming plot.  Not a whole lot happens to the characters in present time that makes us feel any compelling need to continue to watch their stories.  We are tugged into this film because we feel overwhelming connection to the actors inhabiting these damaged people, and we are told the stories of why two of them got to be that way.

Save a really gorgeous scene with Kline directing Beethoven's "Symphony No. 9" in a phalanx of bay windows, the cinematography of the film is hardly that technical.  It's sumptuous, but there aren't a bunch of breathtaking moments where we see a technician at his/her finest.  Yet, because of the way that the acting performances are captured, we can't help but stare at the pictures on the screen.  The haunting image of Streep's face shown above is one example.

And that's the reason we watch this film.  The actors.  I admit that while watching this for the first time last night...I was not certain that it's a film that needs inclusion on this list.  EXCEPT IT IS, because it captures arguably the finest film actor in what may be her finest performance.  But she didn't do it alone, and I don't know if we credit her for lifting everyone up, or we credit Pakula for drawing these performances out of his actors, or we credit the supporting actors for making Streep so unbelievably believable.

Our first contact with the film is through a character named Stingo, a writer from the South who is moving to Brooklyn to write his great American novel.  Played by Peter MacNicol, an actor whose other great success was on the television show "Ally McBeal," Stingo is meant to be the eyes through which we observe the other characters, Nathan and Sophie.  Stingo, while perhaps a little naive, has pain in his life, and is trying to process the death of his mother through his novel.  However, we realize that Stingo's story that he actually writes is really the story of Sophie and Nathan, two lovers he meets at the boarding house he moves into, as there are several voice-over narrations...read as if they were being read from a novel...none of which are voiced by MacNicol.  Stingo blows into town with a heart full of angst, and meets two people so wounded that he is taken out of himself, and tells their tale instead.  We watch Stingo go from awkward alien in a world that he doesn't really inhabit, into a confident, if misguided, young man with a purpose.  Even if that purpose is really not his own.  MacNicol hits all the right chords, and provides a fascinating foil for Streep and Kline.  A character without a lot of extreme emotions, Stingo is the anchor of the film, the thing that keeps us from dismissing the other two as just flakes.  No, they recognize that he's a real guy, and treat him with the respect that a real guy deserves, while allowing themselves their flights of fancy.

Sophie's lover, Nathan, portrayed by Kevin Kline, is an unstrung genius.  Claiming to be a Harvard graduate, with a degree in Biology, Nathan is everything we expect from the intellectual elite.  He works for Pfizer Pharmaceuticals.  He quotes Emily Dickinson, dresses in odd period clothing every Sunday, plays the piano like a wiz, and berates those close to him, for seemingly no reason, but in a manner that shreds their every fiber.  Our first physical encounter with Nathan is him screaming at Sophie that she is all manners of disease...until he arrives at death.  "You are DEATH!"  He then meets Stingo, whom he mocks with a Southern yokel accent, and storms out of the building, only to return, deeply apologetic, a few hours later.  The next morning, Nathan, as sweet and kind as can be, re-introduces himself to Stingo, and proposes a day at Coney Island.  As time goes on, we learn that Nathan is working on a project that will likely earn the Nobel Prize, and probably cure polio.  We also learn that he's a paranoid schizophrenic, who was incapable of attending college, does indeed work at Pfizer, as a librarian; and that he is addicted to cocaine.  It explains the violent mood swings that Nathan displays...and that others seem so willing to forgive, because he's just so...capable...when he's not that person.  Stingo is the only person entrusted with Nathan's secret, and his learning of this information barely registers a reaction from him.  We are left to wonder about those around us, and the levels of bullshit/shield that we receive from them on a daily basis.  Kline is masterful in the role.  You see the suave intelligence and oozing charisma that he displays in most roles he plays, but you also see the impish side that earned him an Oscar for "A Fish Called Wanda."  Kline earned his chops on stage on Broadway.  You can see the theatre written all over his performance here, but also see a talented film actor, with subtle tics and movements that make us buy him as a real human.  He may be a leading man, but he's got real features, and he's comfortable to us.  It's a terrific performance.

Legendary, of course, is Streep's Oscar-winning performance as Sophie, a Polish refugee.  Achingly beautiful, Sophie is so fragile, yet so confident; so wounded, yet so healthy; so fractured; yet so whole.  She displays an intelligence, borne of her upbringing as the child of a renowned university professor, that makes us want to talk with her, and hear what she has to say.  We learn that she speaks several languages, not the least of which is German.  As the film progresses, however, we realize that so much of what Sophie says is half-truth, minimized statements that hide the past that we eventually are shown in the finale.  Sophie, we learn early in the film, was in a concentration camp in WWII, put there because her father was a resistance fighter, and that she joined him in the struggle. Not much more is said about it.  Eventually, after she and Nathan disappear, Stingo goes looking for her, only to discover a Polish professor who knew not only her, but her father.  He gets the straight story, finally, that her father was not a force for good, but a Nazi sympathizer, and a raging anti-semite, who was captured when the Nazis purged the intellectuals.  Confronted with this truth, Sophie starts to tell her story, including a long set piece in which she describes how she was treated in Auschwitz.  We learn that her daughter was killed, and that she was given a job as secretary to the Commandant, Rudolf Hoess, because of her knowledge of German, and her stunning Aryan good looks.  Told in flashback, the conclusion of this piece is the fate of Sophie's son, who was at the camp with her.  Never flinching from Streep when we see her in the present, the camera feels like a window into her soul.  Only an actor capable of allowing us in can achieve that intimacy.  And yet...we are hoodwinked.  Again.

The scene that made me want to avoid this film, and the scene which will haunt me, and probably every viewer of this film, is the scene that serves as the climax to the film.  In it, we learn what the title means.  I've discussed it briefly above, in terms of content, but I haven't described its emotional impact.  Streep claims it was filmed in one take.  Everyone else remembers it differently, and that there were actually 13 takes of the most awful moment in it...the moment when Sophie's daughter is ripped from her mother's arms.  So convincingly played, not only by Streep, but by the 4 year old who was playing her daughter, the scene hits us in places we'd rather not be hit.  The Holocaust is a horrific event, one that most of us can't wrap our heads around, no matter how we try, without the dramatic moments that we've seen on film.  What moments like that do, however, is bring that pain to a place that makes us wonder what would cause a human to do that.  Not only once, but countless times.  The Nazis were not robots.  They may have been inhuman...but they were humans.  What place in us contains that part, the part that would view another human, especially a child, as a pox that needed to be eliminated?  We all have it in us, somewhere, I think.  I'm getting off track.  Streep's silent scream...is chilling.  I shan't forget it.

And there it is.  The reason why this film matters, besides this amazing sequence, is because of the treasure that Meryl Streep is.  Her accent in this never wavers, never flinches, her moments of beauty are gorgeous, her commitment to the less attractive physical moments, and her total commitment to the piece...how privileged we are to get to see her.  Hell, the woman made Kurt Russell looked like he could act in "Silkwood."  What more need we say?  I'm going to go so far as to say that I've not seen a finer performance on film than Streep's Sophie.  It needs to be shown in classes, not as a film about a great story, but as a study in how to perform, and how much power acting can have to tell a story.

I need to shut up.  "Sophie's Choice" is a great film.  Watch it.

Ebert's original review is here.  Once again...Roger and I are watching the same movie.  He didn't rewrite an essay on this towards the end of his life, but his original review is available.

Come back...

 ...I did.

On to the next phase of watching the AFI Top 100 (10th Anniversary Edition) in a calendar year.  

I've gotten through 25 of the 100 thus far, but my total for the list in my life is now at 75.

Make that 76.  These next 5 are all films I've not seen before, for whatever reason.

Film 26

26.  "Shane" (AFI Rank #45)
I confess, I find the Western to be my least favorite film genre.   The moral code exhibited is often too black and white, too archetypical for me.  I also am reminded, when watching a Western from the 50s, of Sunday dinners at my Grandmother's house in Geneva, when Disney came on at 6, or of rainy Saturday afternoons when there was nothing else to do, and "Family Classics" or whatever was showing a film that I wasn't really all that interested in.  "Shane" certainly falls into a lot of these categories.  And then again, it doesn't.  I watched it on a Saturday afternoon, when I was incredibly sick, but had already slept 17 hours, so I was just going to be awake...

Lavishly beautiful, the setting of "Shane" is a wonder to behold.  George Stevens and his crew did an outstanding job scouting locations for the film, because every time one sees the landscape, one gets a real sense of why so many were willing to brave so much to settle it.  Shot in glorious color, I did find the vistas, etc. comforting, and familiar...and somehow immature.  This film is from 60+ years ago, but it looked, as I have alluded to above, like an old episode of the Disney show of the early 70s that I'd watch at Grandma and Grandpa's house.  Those, it seemed, were always some kind of western, or nature film, or whatever.  At least, that's the way I recall it.  As such, I often found myself less enthralled by the set than I should have been...until the repeated trips to Grafton's broke that for me.  That particular set piece felt so authentic, that the rest of my complaints went by the wayside after the second trip to the location.

I should probably watch these films I've not seen before twice before commenting on them.  I find my lens focuses on different things once I know the story.  I don't have time for that (this is TWO MOVIES A WEEK, ALL YEAR), so my thoughts on unfamiliar films are going to be not nearly as symbolic/etc. as the ones on films I've seen before.

Well, Randy, you've expressed a disdain for Westerns, said that the film looks like an old episode of Disney, and hinted at greater depth.  So, let's hear it.

"Shane's" story is pretty simple, an obviously talented gunfighter, whom we know only as Shane (Alan Ladd) wishes to hang up his six-shooter and change his life.  He arrives at the home of the Starrett family in Wyoming, where he is given a warm welcome by the father, Joe (Van Heflin), and treated to a meal cooked by the mother (Jean Arthur), and shelter for the night.  He awakes the next day, greeted by the son, Joey, (Brandon De Wilde) and begins work chopping at a stump that Joe has been trying to remove from his property for two years.  Hired by the Starretts to help them with their smallish farm, Shane goes into town to buy some fence wire and work clothes.  While there, he decides to treat little Joey to a soda pop, against the wishes of his mother.  Having begun his business in Grafton's general store, he concludes it in the back room, Grafton's bar, populated with rough cowboys who have no love for the farmers building fences, as they built them right across their cattle ranges (recognize that?).  Shane is confronted by the chief hothead, Chris Calloway, who insults him by throwing a drink in his chest, and telling him never to come back.  Shane doesn't do a thing, and just takes the humiliation.

What we learn over the course of the next bit of film is that there is a cattle rancher named Ryker (Emile Meyer), who believes that the farmers are staking claim to land that is his, and that he intends to do whatever it takes to drive them from the land.  The farmers, unwilling to be afraid, travel into town for supplies together one day, where Shane joins them.  This time, Shane walks into the bar and delivers a beating to Chris.  Outnumbered, Shane is then forced to fight his way through all the cowboys in the bar once Chris is subdued.  Unable to let Shane fight his battles, Joe joins the fray, and he and Shane do a number on Ryker's gang.  Ryker determines that the farmers won't be bullied out of their land, so it's time to start scaring them.  He hires a gunfighter out of Cheyenne, named Jack Wilson (Jack Palance), to start dispatching the farmers as they resist.  Lots of ol' timey Western action follows, and Shane eventually realizes he has to take up his six-shooter again, and finish the business with the Ryker gang once, and for all.  He does what the hero is supposed to do, and rides off into the sunset.  The end.

My understanding of the list of 100 films is that amongst the qualifications are "historical significance," and I think that is why we find this film so near the top of the list, while a far more compelling (storywise, anyway) Western like "Unforgiven" finds itself in the bottom half of the list.  The acting in this film is not overwhelmingly expert.  Even Jean Arthur, whom I enjoyed so much in "Mr. Smith Goes to Washington," is nothing short of a whiner with a voice that just grates on me.  And don't get me started on the kid.  He's brutal. But, he's a kid.  No, the acting chops in this film are carried by two people - Van Heflin and the guy who played Chris (Ben Johnson).  The rest of the characters, even Ladd's tortured, self-reflective Shane, are played with rather little depth.  I probably need to watch Ladd again, for the subtle, but first viewing fell flat for me.  Palance, of course, is exactly as he should be, menacing and evil, and Ryker is played by a man much younger than the one he is portraying, so kudos for that.

So.  Why did I actually enjoy the film?  The Grafton's set feels like exactly what it should be, an isolated hub for all the people so far spread out to gather in and conduct business.  It felt real.  The cinematography, for the most part, is stunning.  The layers of stories presented are fairly sophisticated, if not particularly well acted.  I also, frankly, love Ryker's speech about what he and his fellow ranchers went through to tame the land.  "Cowman and the farmer should be friends," indeed.  It fleshed out the character, and took him from fairly easy to box in evil guy to a guy that you actually understood.  And that's why I liked the film.  The archetypes, no matter which way they leaned, were muddied with gray.  Sure, we like Shane, like we're supposed to, but who was he before?  We see a wedding ring on his finger.  Where's his wife?  What has he lost?  He's not really a good guy.  The only guy not fleshed out is the man in the black hat, Wilson.  I realize I may sound contradictory in describing the acting as shallow, while describing the characters as deep.  I think that contradiction is right.  The script has the depth.  The actors don't.  We have real, symbolic characters, flawed as they are...being portrayed by actors out of their depth...it appeared to me...
on this viewing.

I need to comment on one other thing.  Recognizing him as the guy with the assignment of roughing up Sam Spade in "The Maltese Falcon," Elisha Cook, Jr. does some nice work as the hotheaded southern settler "Stonewall" Torrey.  It is his death that leads to the inevitable conclusion of the film.  His death, so expertly choreographed, is chilling and heartbreaking.  It feels real.  So many Westerns feel like "well, guys just died in gunfights, and that's the way it was."  This death has weight, and feels like a loss of a human life.  It's a real moment.

I look forward to watching this film again sometime, probably with my sons.  I'd like to see the subtle things I missed, so that I may better understand just how great this film is.  As of now, I don't see it, I think, like I should.

I see the roots of "Unforgiven" in this film.  And if that is the logical conclusion of a film like this, then, well done.  I think my thoughts on this are a little scattered.  I think I'd like to do another draft of this piece. I'm not going to, however, as that isn't my style.

HOLY SHIT.  I swear, I never read Ebert's stuff before I write these.  FUCK ME, I nailed it.  I skipped the sexual tension (it was obvious, but I so disliked Arthur's voice, I couldn't comment on it).  Dammit, Roger.  I see it like you...

Caught up...

...finally.

This is the quarter post.  I've made it through 25, and I watched this one on March 30.  I've got a pretty terrible cold, so I'm reasonably certain I will be through 27 by the end of the weekend.  This is the first major milestone on the quest to watch all 100 of the films in the AFI Top 100 Films (10th Anniversary Edition) in a calendar year.

I'm getting there...

Film 25

25.  "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest" (AFI Rank #33)
I'd seen this film when I was a much, much younger man, but I've seen the play a couple of times since.  This is a story I know pretty well.  Julie participated in the viewing of this one, so, again, I'm watching it not only through my eyes.

"...Cuckoo's Nest," at its core, is a fairly simple story.  A con who has always flouted the system, and continually causes harm to those around him, is sent to a mental hospital to be evaluated for mental illness.  While there, he meets a group of patients with varying degrees of illness, and a tyrannical nurse.  He continues to be just whom he has always been, and creates chaos, until the system crushes him.

Now, that seems pretty simple.  And were that what Milos Forman and the production team chose to focus on, we'd be bored senseless.  Instead, what we get is an incredibly nuanced film with stirring performances by everyone on screen.  Every single person on screen.  This may go long, because this is a "heavy" film, with universal themes and symbolism to spare.  I apologize in advance. Hell, even the soundtrack, with its use of the MUSICAL SAW, is just right.

Randall P. McMurphy, played by Jack Nicholson, in what has to be his finest performace, may seem like just an anti-social demon.  There is a lot of that in him.  What he becomes, however, is an almost Christ-like figure to the men of the ward.  When McMurphy arrives, he blows in like a freight train, hooping and hollering, decidedly different from everyone there.  The first activity we see him particpate in is a group meeting, in which the patients are discussing, in sheepish, beaten tones, a fellow patient's sexuality.  Nurse Ratched (Louise Fletcher), the sickeningly calm head nurse of the ward is leading the discussion.  As we sit with the scene, and with McMurphy for a minute or two, we are left to wonder just what the hell ever gets solved around this place, and just what the hell a woman so detached from the moment, yet in control of the situation, is doing leading any sort of therapy.  As the film progresses, we see the changes that McMurphy starts to instill in the patients, their confidence, their emotions being shared, etc.  McMurphy may be a demon to those in charge, but to the nuts, he's a savior.  Eventually, a session erupts when a patient, overwhelmed with want for his confiscated and rationed cigarettes (and buoyed by McMurphy's rebellion), loses control.  McMurphy, tired of Ratched's ridiculously dogmatic approach, does the sane thing...which is to give the guy his fucking cigarettes.   A fight ensues between the patient missing the smokes, McMurphy, a gigantic Indian named "Chief" and the orderlies.  Finally gaining control, Ratched and the staff deal with this open rebellion in a sadistic, unnecessary way, by subjecting the already calmed down Chief and McMurphy to electroshock therapy.  This isn't a prison, but the staff is making an example of the rebels.


Of course, it fails, and McMurphy's triumphant return to the ward makes things far worse for the staff than they were before.  Instead of a warning, McMurphy has become a martyr.  He's the men's hero.  But, for McMurphy, that comes at a terrific price.  When he returns, he is surprised to learn that he is one of the only men in the ward who has been committed by the state, and that he cannot leave until the staff says he's ready.  Suddenly, his revolution has no end-game, as he could wind up a prisoner of Ratched in perpetuity.  This beats on him.  Of course, McMurphy's crazy side eventually cannot be quelled, and in a final gesture of brazen "Fuck-youedness" he turns the ward into a Bacchanlia for Christmas, complete with booze, women and free medication.  Horrific consequences are visited upon not only McMurphy, but Nurse Ratched, and fellow patient Billy Bibbit (Brad Dourif). *SPOILER*   Billy kills himself, Nurse Ratched is nearly strangled by McMurphy, resulting in a considerably weakened voice and a still being worn neckbrace when we see her several months later, and McMurphy is given a lobotomy as punishment.  The savior is crushed.  Yet, even in his moment of absolute weakness, McMurphy's lessons continue, as the Chief, seeing his fallen friend, smothers him, and utilizing a massive structure McMurphy had once tried, unsuccessfully, to move, crashes through the window, and to freedom.

Nicholson, who has become caricature as time has gone on, is nothing short of brilliant here.  Sure, we see his simmering-rage-boiled-over guy that he has become, but we also see tremendous sadness, conflict, and genuine caring about another human being in McMurphy.  The range and depth that Nicholson displays are easy to miss, as that maniacal smile crosses his visage, but McMurphy is a tragic figure, mostly of his own doing.  Isn't that what classic tragic heroes usually are?  I'm not necessarily that into ranking performances, but I'd be hard pressed to argue against Nicholson's performance here as one of cinema's greatest.  There isn't much to like about McMurphy, as he just makes things really tough for everyone he's trying to help, but dammit if Nicholson doesn't make us like him.  It's genius.


Forman's film is filled with details that may be hard to see, but are there, nonetheless.  When we see McMurphy first appear on the ward, he is dressed in normal street clothes, which are jeans, a green t-shirt, a blue denim workshirt, a leather jacket, and a black knit hat.  As the film wears on, we see pieces of that armor slowly chipped away.  First, the jacket goes, then the workshirt, then the workshirt reappears, this time covered by hospital clothes, then the workshirt underneath goes, then as McMurphy prepares to escape, on the night of the party, he's fully dressed again...but after the lobotomy, McMurphy appears in only hospital clothes.  No armor left.  These changes are subtle, but they're there, and I caught them.

I've glossed over a lot so far, and I don't mean to, but there is so much here, it's proving hard to distill my thoughts.  The character of the Chief (Will Sampson) has much more to do with the story in other forms of this story.  I can't comment on those, as I'm choosing to focus on the film.  Sampson's Chief is so instantly likeable, so true, it's hard to believe that the guy was cast just because he "fit the suit."  The subtle humor between Nicholson and him when McMurphy realizes that the Chief, thought to be deaf and dumb, is neither, is a real, honest moment.  It's the kind of filmmaking that the 70s really specialized in, and I was smiling watching it.  Chief, at the end of the film, is McMurphy's great success.  His spirit is freed by McMurphy, and his escape (flight) from the Cuckoo's Nest is hopeful allegory.  In fact, everyone in the film is so convincingly played, I feel badly not singling any of them out, but we'd be here all day.  Look up the actors who played the patients of the ward.  Assume I'm talking about all of them when I say that I believed every moment that they appeared in.  How Forman was able to do this, I'm not sure.  The source material is there, sure, but it takes a special director to capture those performances.


I alluded to the Chief being McMurphy's great success.  If that is the case, then Billy Bibbit is McMurphy's great failure...kinda.  Billy is a hopelessly lost little boy in a man's body, whose mother is a friend of Nurse Ratched's.  Shamed as often as possible by Ratched, Billy stutters and stammers when he tries to speak.  As the film progresses, we see Billy find a mentor in McMurphy, and we see him become braver and braver.  It culminates on the night of the party, when Billy, having danced the night away with McMurphy's friend Candy, is sent into a room with her, with the intent being...well...getting laid.  The next morning, when Ratched arrives to the destroyed ward, Billy is discovered, still naked, lying in bed with Candy.  When Ratched confronts him, there is no stutter, no stammer.  Billy is "cured." For about 5 seconds.  It takes the insidious nurse only a simple "I'm going to have to tell your mother" to undo all that McMurphy has done for Billy.  He starts stuttering again, and flies into a fear-filled tirade.  He is dragged from the scene, and taken to a doctor's office, along with Orderly Washington, to isolate him.  McMurphy, incensed by this, starts yet another fight, and Orderly Washington abandons Billy in the office.  Billy, left alone with his fear and shame, does exactly what you'd expect him to do, which is break some glass, and slice his throat.  McMurphy's great triumph turns to soul-crushing loss at the hands of Ratched.  Taking that loss into his own hands, he tries to kill her, but fails.  We weep for Billy, but realize he is nothing more than the embodiment of McMurphy's spirit, and it has lost its battle for control of his mind/soul.  It's a devastating scene, expertly performed by Dourif.

We've talked a lot about Nurse Ratched, but I want to talk about how brilliant Louise Fletcher is in the role.  She's crappy, really crappy, to everyone on the ward, and again, that's allegory more than reality.  What Fletcher brings to the role, though, is a sense of duty, of repression that she just cannot allow herself to get past, for whatever reason.  I tend not to look for archetypes, and Ratched can be one of those, but the acting moments, the moments that flesh out the character, are moments of seeing Ratched leaving the ward after her work day, and her pained/forced "have a good night" to a fellow worker.  This woman is trapped in her dogma, and I don't believe she's necessarily that big a fan of it.  She has a job to do, and she utilizes a very small toolbox to do it.  I think she wishes she had a wrench, but every time she goes to grab it, she finds only a hammer.  Also of note is her reaction when she arrives to work the morning after the debauchery.  She is amazingly calm, considering what she walks into, and just goes about her business.  Even in her interaction with Billy, she never allows a moment of overt rage to show, except in her words.  Never in her tone.  Also, note her ever so subtle crushed spirit when she is given her soiled nurse's cap. She feels, but cannot allow it out.  Not, I don't believe, because of the patients, but because she is incapable.  I cannot imagine how difficult it must have been for her to do this for the period of filming, but her Oscar won for this performance is well earned.

In fact, there's some trivia.  This is one of 3 films in Oscar history to sweep the "Big 5" awards:  Best Screenplay; Best Actor; Best Actress; Best Director and Best Picture.  The other two are the previously discussed on this blog "The Silence of the Lambs," and the eventually to be discussed (but discussed last year) "It Happened One Night."  This is a tremendous film, made in an era stuffed with tremendous films, that holds its head high in comparison to those.  Consider this.  Between 1970-1982, 26 films from the top 100 were made.  This list does not include such heavy hitters as "Patton," "The Sting," "Manhattan," "The Empire Strikes Back," "Gandhi," "Ordinary People," "Mean Streets," "Dog Day Afternoon," "The Shining," "Alien," and "Halloween.(yeah, I'll make a case for this film's greatness/importance anytime you want me to)"  It was probably Hollywood's most golden era, and a time of great change in the way films were made.  I miss some of this now.  I'm glad they saw fit to put these films on film, however, so we could enjoy them as long as they remain in print.

Watch this one.  Watch it again.  And again.  See what great filmmaking is. This, I'm going to say, despite not wanting to do so, is ranked far too low on the list.  This may be one of the 10 best films ever made.  Yes, I feel that strongly about it.  It's amazing.  Hell, I didn't even discuss two of the great scenes in the film, the imagined World Series broadcast, and the fishing sequence, and I don't feel I need to...this, this is a great, great film.

Hmmmmph.  Ebert and I are in lockstep again.  I must be getting attuned to looking for stuff.  Watching 25 great movies in 3 months can do that, I guess.  (Although I missed a pantload in "Vertigo," so I'm not too proud of myself, yet.)

EDIT:  Turns out that, although I watched it last year, and indeed wrote about it, I never published my thoughts on "It Happened One Night," as it got stuck in draft form.  So.  I was wrong.