"We all...

...go a little mad sometimes."

Whooboy.  Another populist, incredibly familiar film popped up in the queue for the AFI Top 100 (10th Anniversary Edition) that I'm watching and writing about in this format.

I hope I can get this done relatively expeditiously.

By the way, I'm halfway through, and this film was deliberately chosen to represent the tipping point...because that's what it was, and that's how I do things.  I do confess that this being so close to Halloween is an accident, though.

Film 50

50.  "Psycho" (AFI Rank #14)

This one is going to be tough.  This film contains what is unarguably one of the single most famous sequences in film history.  The shower scene has been studied, and re-studied, and studied some more.  Don't believe me?  Try looking up "psycho shower scene" under Google Images.  At the top of the page of results is another tab which takes you to a whole other wing of Google - entitled "Frame by frame."  Yup.  You can access MANY MANY pages of frame by frame analysis of the shower scene.  I'll get to a bit about the scene later, but I'm setting a scene here about what I'm facing while trying to discuss this film.  Mostly, though, I'm whining.

I got to watch one of the greatest pieces of work in the art form known as film last night.  Directed by Sir Alfred Hitchcock, on a shoestring budget, and with a crew of technicians more familiar with television than film, "Psycho" is the kind of "anti-film" that becomes everything film should be.  Having grown dissatisfied with the splashy films he'd been making, replete with major stars, Hitchcock wanted to make a small film, in black and white, to show that a highly profitable film could be made that was also...great.  In lieu of his standard $250,000 salary, Hitch took a 60% share in "Psycho."  He netted $15 Million from the film, or approximately $150M in today's money.

I'm probably not giving away anything by talking about the story.  Marion Crane, a woman who has the temerity to sleep with a man before she's married, is in a relationship with a man who can't marry her because of his debts.  Given the opportunity to deposit $40,000 of a really obnoxious customer's cash in the bank for her employer, she steals the money and heads off to use the money to start a life with Sam, her man.  Along the way, she stops at an out of the way empty motel, run by a very odd young man named Norman Bates.  She hears Norman arguing with his mother, then, following a conversation with the surprisingly innocent/naive guy, she decides that she is going to return the money she stole.  She is then brutally murdered in the shower, stabbed to death with an enormous knife by a shadowy figure.  The balance of the film is spent on the search for what happened to her, by her sister Lila, Sam, and a private investigator named Arbogast.   That's it.

So what is it about this film that makes it so great?  Let's start with talking about all the conventions it defied.  It opens with a long establishing shot of Phoenix, Arizona, letting us know that it is 2:43 p.m. on a Friday afternoon, two weeks before Christmas.  Pssssst.  "Psycho" is a holiday movie.  Except there is NO reference to any Christmas stuff at all.  More to come on that.  When the shot resolves itself, we are escorted into a hotel room, where a couple, in post coital splendor, ON THE SAME BED, discusses the merits of meeting in a seedy hotel, and whether or not they should...GET MARRIED.  The woman is dressed in a white bra and a slip, and the man is shirtless, and decidedly sexy/sexual.  This was shocking material all by itself at the time.  The authority of the film "code" was starting to slip away, and "Psycho" was one of the first films to really exploit the new freedoms.  Showing the sexuality of a young woman in this way was highly uncommon, and showing her in the bed that she had just used...well.  Horrors.  Except the horrors have not even begun.  Later, we are shown, for the first time in film, the inside of a flushing toilet.  We are also shown a graphic killing (or two) with a chef's knife.  We are also shown a mummified female body, in one of the more shocking moments (and perhaps the more famous scream of those in this picture) in film.   Oh, and for good measure, our protagonist for the first portion of the film is killed a third of the way into the story.  This is risky stuff.  It's ballsy.  And it works, if by today's standards it seems a little tame.  And that is precisely the point.  We don't have today's standards without films like this one.

I've discussed the idea that I like to find more obscure still shots from films to use to illustrate these posts.  Try that with "Psycho," especially if you are looking for photos of Janet Leigh as Marion Crane.  Nearly every photo I find feels iconic, and feels like something you've seen a hundred times.  Credit for my lack of ability to find weird stills is because so much of this film is so brilliantly executed visually, that unless a character is in motion, it all feels like the camera has been set up to take an Ansel Adams type photograph.  Close-ups abound, whether the police officer knocking on Marion's window, or Marion's face as she drives from Phoenix to meet her lover, Sam Loomis, with her purloined $40,000.  Every shot feels familiar, and it feels grand.  Gone, for this film, is the Hitchcock soft focus.  Everything is stark, it is intense, it is intimate.  Look at the framing of the camera in the shower scene as "Mrs. Bates" enters the room.  Leigh, small and barely in the frame on our bottom right, the shadowy creature breaking the stark white background, then raising the clearly silhouetted knife, it's terrifying.  It's groundbreaking.

As I watched this film, I watched every slasher film that I've ever seen, and every convention used in them is right here, presented for me, in an "innocent" film from 1960.  Woman sleeps with a man out of wedlock?  She dies, impaled by some blade.  See the character against a background where a door might open behind her without her knowledge?  That door opens.  Twist ending?  Check.  Leaving a body of one of your victims where someone can find it later?  Check.  Blood?  Check. 95% of all slasher films owe their inspiration to this film.  The other 5% are liars.  I'm getting off point.  Perhaps because of the television influence on the film, it just feels so damned...close.  Hollywood was about grandeur.  This is the antithesis.  Hell, check out "North By Northwest," a film whose final scene takes place on MOUNT FREAKING RUSHMORE.  Here, we're in one room of a small stone foundation basement for the big finish.  There's a "Hitchcock vertical shot" in "North...", but it is a huge shot of the United Nations building.  In "Psycho," it's used twice, but it's the top of the Bates' stairs.  "Vertigo" takes us all over San Francisco and portions of Northern California.  This confines us, for the most part, to interiors, except for some road shots, and the exterior of the small, sad little motel right by where the main highway used to go.  Again.  It's "anti-film."

Compelling, deep character work, combined with subtle details abound.  Let's go over a few.

1.  Marion is wearing a white bra and slip in the opening scene.  Later, she steals money.  We see her again in a bra and slip, this time, though, it's black.  She's no longer an innocent, and her racier lingerie certainly implies it.  It should also be noted that she switched from a white purse to a black one.
2.  Look at that smile on Marion's face in the car shot I posted above.  She doesn't regret stealing the money...not in the least.
3.  Right after the decision to return to Phoenix to face her crime, Marion steps into the shower.  Again, look at the joy on her face, as she washes herself clean.  She's chosen to confess, and the shower is washing away the dirt she has upon her.
4.  Norman Bates, despite saying that he was going to share a meal with Marion, never eats real food.  He munches on Kandy Korn throughout the film.  He's a child.  It's subtle, but it's there if you look.  Sure his mother is always with him, but she really isn't, and this detail makes me believe that Norman believes his mother is there, and he certainly bows to her wishes, especially about his sexual feelings...but he has enough grasp on reality to know that she isn't there, so...he gets to eat candy for dinner.
5.  Not so subtle, but rarely discussed, is the shot that I posted above of Norman's bed.  Again, Norman is a child.  It's terrifying, and it's one of the least memorable moments in the film.  It's now one of the more memorable moments for me.
6.  I was listening to the "Mother, blood, BLOOD!" bit after Marion is killed during the film last night.  It felt off.  It turns out that Hitchcock had manipulated the audio to remove all the bass from Anthony Perkins' voice.  So, Hitch, I caught that.
7.  The next thing that happens after Marion's body is disposed of...is a shot of the interior of the Loomis hardware store, and a woman talking about how when things die, it should be painless.  Nothing about Marion's death looked particularly painless.  Perhaps it's not all that subtle.  I liked it, though, even if it feels a touch melodramatic.
8.  The amazing visual shot of Norman staring at the swamp after Arbogast has been killed.  We know what happened to him, and his car.  And we see Norman sinking, too.
9.  For all the talk of not seeing the knife penetrate Marion's skin, there is one shot.  It's brief, but the knife is most assuredly "in" her.  It's here, on the right.
10.  How does the sheriff not go and investigate Norman, and why doesn't Sam Loomis remember the grisly murder/suicide that happened at the Bates Motel in this obviously small town?  I'm not sure this qualifies as a success of the film, but it is worth asking.  Missing woman.  Stopped at the Bates Motel, the site of the only murder/suicide in the town's history.  Missing private investigator.  A simple phone call is all we get?

Acting in this film is great.  Great.  I'm just going to touch on one moment for one actor, as I feel that everyone was spot on, and I'd be talking for hours if I went into all the things I see them do.  First, I'll mention the other actors, and you just think "great job" after I mention them.  Martin Balsam.  Vera Miles.  John Gavin.  Even Simon Oakland, saddled with an exposition speech that might have been unfair, is great.  No, the moment I want to talk about comes after an exquisitely shot sequence.  After Marion's murder, we see the dutiful Norman clean up the room, in graphic and long detail.  We see his shock and horror at the crime, and we see him so carefully dispose of all traces of Marion.  There's no background music, and the cuts are short, and frantic, but there is a deliberateness to them...that makes us wonder why we need to see so much of it...but makes us love seeing so much of it.  I'm getting off track.  Finished with the room, we see Norman pushing the car containing Marion's body in the trunk into the swamp on the Bates property.  As it begins to sink, we see Norman, nervously gnawing on his thumbnail (sucking his thumb?), while occasionally grinning.  Then, the car stops sinking.  The moment I want to talk about is Perkins right then.  We see Norman suddenly put the most wonderfully subtle "Well, what do I do now?" look of panic across his face.  It makes us laugh out loud, and NO PART of us should want to do that.  It's a masterstroke of acting brilliance, and I wish, for everything I've ever done, that I could get just one moment that was one tenth as good as that.

Of course, none of this is nearly as compelling without Bernard Hermann's score.  Devoid of any instruments except strings, this is a score that is so intrinsic to the film, so necessary, that Hitchcock doubled Hermann's salary when he heard the score.  He felt the film would not be what it was without that music.  Hitchcock was right.  That's what's so freaking great about film.  We view it as a visual medium usually, but picture the opening of "Jaws" without that music, or even "Raiders of the Lost Ark" without its triumphant horns blazing.  No, film is an art combining a whole lot of disciplines, and Hermann nailed his portion of this film.

I mentioned Christmas before.  I find it interesting, and believe it to be a deliberate choice, that Christmas is not referenced at any point in this.  The final action of the film takes place on Sunday, December 20th, and in an early shot from that morning, we see Lila and Sam approach the sheriff at a church.  No holly, no boughs, no bows, no nothing on the church. We see the sheriff's house the night before.  No tree, no nothing.  We see the police station after Norman is arrested, and there's no decorations up.  Not a one.  I'm sorry.  I don't believe that's oversight.  I believe that was a choice.  I'm not sure, exactly, why Hitchcock made that choice, but he did.

One other thing I want to touch on.  Simon Oakland's final wrap up speech, in which he sums up a lifetime of mental illness in a long, almost unbelievable monologue.  It's sloppy writing, for sure, but I found it infinitely more forgivable last night for some reason.  It's not nearly as ham-handed as I remembered it, and I think perhaps it gets knocked because so much before it is so masterful.  I thought about what might have been done to fix it.  I think some shots of Norman in his cell might have helped.  But...it wouldn't have.  Because what gets us in the end is that shot of Norman, left alone in a room with his mother.  It's haunting the way it was shot.  So.  I'm going to forgive Hitchcock on this one.  It's not that great, but it's functional.  He chose not to show us Norman until he was ready to show us nothing but Norman.  It's a chilling ending.  I could lose the skull superimposed over Norman's face in the last frame, though.  I'll say that might have been a miscue.

"Psycho" is a huge film, in terms of what it means to film history.  It could be argued that it represents the birth of the films of the 70s, and while it was followed by fits and starts for the next decade (1968's Best Picture Oscar went to "Oliver!"), you cannot help but see gritty Hollywood in it.  It's a game changer.

Watch it again.  It's Halloween.  Go for it.  Try and watch it for the "first" time, without the knowledge of everything that's going to happen.

Julie had some laughs with me last night about my enthusiasm for finding Roger Ebert and myself on the same page.  She finds a great deal of...approval seeking...in it.  Perhaps justification for my thoughts.  Whatever.  She may be right.  I read this after all the rest of this was written.  I submit it here for you.  Roger Ebert on "Psycho."

EDIT:  Dammit.  Something I wanted to discuss, and something I am watching out for the next time I watch this film.  I'm going to look and see if I can see Marion's and Arbogast's reaction to seeing Norman with the knife.  There would be a moment of recognition in that, and I have to see if I can see it.  I'm guessing we don't, but I want to check it out.

Welp...

...one film away from 50!

Part of the ongoing series (nearly daily, no?) about the AFI Top 100 (10th Anniversary Edition).

Comedy time.

Film 49

49.  "Duck Soup" (AFI Rank #60)

The last nine films I've watched ("The Sound of Music," "Modern Times," "The Searchers," "Cabaret," "Intolerance," "The Best Years of Our Lives," "Raiders of the Lost Ark," "The Wizard of Oz," and "Goodfellas") in this quest have been marvels of the visual power of film as an art form.  They expressed things that only film could convey, and they leave us dumbstruck.  The soul of those films could not be expressed any other way.

"Duck Soup" would hardly be classified as a visual feast.  Yet, it is, most assuredly, a piece of art that could only be done on film.  Filled with grand musical numbers, classic sketches, and the unrelenting rapid fire delivery of the "actors," this film seems like it could maybe take place on a stage.  Except it totally couldn't.  Because what helps make this great, I have no doubt, is one thing that is unique to the recorded arts - the ability to cut, use multiple angles, or shoot another take.  Now, I'm not saying that the Marx Brothers couldn't have delivered every moment of this live.  No.  They probably could have.  No, what I'm saying is that this thing is so tight, so well crafted, so exquisitely timed, that it just wouldn't work elsewhere.  And you know what all that makes it?

A great film.

Yes.  It is a great film.  It's not just a great comedy.  It's a great film.

I got my snob out a little bit when I was perusing the Top 100, and I noticed not one, but TWO Marx Brothers films on the list.  I still am not certain, given only 100 to choose from, that I'd pick two films, but now that I'm nearly half way into this, and watching really nothing but great film after great film, I realize that great film is lots of different things.  So.  I stand by my assertion that a film like "Halloween" probably belongs on the list instead of having to have two Marx Brothers films, but I understand why they are here.  And for the record, this is the Marx Brothers film I'd have chosen.

So.  I've grown.

On with the film.

Directed by Leo McCarey, the framework of "Duck Soup" is a story set in the land of Freedonia, bankrupt, and having borrowed a substantial sum of money from its wealthiest citizen, the widow Mrs. Teasdale (Maragret Dumont).  In exchange for more money, Freedonia agrees to install Teasdale favorite Rufus T. Firefly (Groucho Marx) as its new leader.   I said "framework" when discussing the plot, because the plot is really tertiary to what happens in "Duck Soup."  It's a premise around which three geniuses (and one other brother, whose genius was better spent another way) get to romp about, making us laugh any way they can.

Cutting their teeth in vaudeville, the Marx Brothers were an overwhelming force of comedy, combining wit, physical prowess, and well, just plain silliness.  All of those aspects of their talents appear in this film, and they appear in droves.  Beginning with the lavish open to the film, complete with a rapid fire song performed by Groucho and a cast of dozens, this film grabs you and doesn't let you breathe.  Constantly making you think, making you say to yourself, "wait, what did he just say?"  Groucho just takes over any scene in which he appears.  Except when Chico appears.  Or Harpo.  Groucho's the smart one, but Chico's patter is no less rapid fire, if more common, and Harpo is in constant motion, as the mute clown.  It's classic comedy archetype, and these guys play it to the hilt.

Included in all the antics are two exceptional, all time classic physical comedy sequences:  the mirror bit and the hat exchange bit.  I'm just going to say that having seen this film a few times prior, and watching it again...awestruck.  Just awestruck.  The mirror gag is the obvious one, but the hat bit...damn.  Just damn.  I also am the guy who thinks "Make 'Em Laugh" is the best dance sequence in "Singin' in the Rain."   I've got a particular fetish for the lesser known bits, while being, at times, decidedly populist.  If you don't know these sequences, watch this film.  Laugh.  Repeat as necessary.

I put the word "actors" in quotes above.  Yes, comedy is acting.  However, is it the commitment to the character that makes the gags work in this film, or is it the commitment to the gag that makes the character?  I tend towards the latter.  That's why I put the word in quotation marks.  In all of this madness, we see some other actors playing straight man.  Zeppo, the most handsome, and most sacrificing of the brothers, is the straight man in a great deal of this.  As is Magaret Dumont as Mrs. Teasdale.  As is, well, everybody not named Chico, Harpo, or Groucho.  It is their dedication to character that makes the clowns so goddamned funny.  Throw in the alluring Raquel Torres and the wonderfully stiff Louis Calhern, and you've got some great dartboards.  I do need to mention one straight man who actually is a major portion of the hat bit I reference above.  Edgar Kennedy, as the Lemonade vendor, is spot on in this.  Spot on.  His timing is impeccable, his reactions are just what Chico and Harpo need, and...well...damn.

Let's talk about my thoughts on the three clowns.  Groucho is...well...he's unrelenting, as I mentioned above.  Trying to keep up with his barbs, as they continue to pummel us, one after the other, is a task.  It's daunting, it's a great deal of fun...and at times...it's a little much.  And that is the point.   Chico's gift for building empathy is on display in full force here.  His piano bit in "A Night at the Opera" is a sign of this, and his skills of connection to the common, while being exceptional, are a welcome respite from Groucho's constant condescension.  Then, there's Harpo.  I found, on this viewing, to really not like Harpo's Pinky.  He's mean.  He doesn't know any better, but he's mean. He's constantly harming other people's property, be it setting a hat or two on fire, or constantly cutting away people's clothing with scissors, Pinky is a destructive force.  And we laugh.  Despite the fact that we really probably shouldn't.

I should note one other bit.  As Freedonia is approaching battle with neighboring nation Sylvania, we see Harpo take on the role of Paul Revere, riding through the night to call the Freedonians to war.  He is beckoned upstairs by a comely lass, and he and his horse enter the house.  We are then shown three sets of shoes, obviously next to a bed.  One is a woman's, one a man's, and two pairs of...horseshoes.  We then see Harpo sharing a bed with the horse, while the woman is in another bed.  As Hollywood hadn't gotten around to acknowledging that men and women do sleep in the same bed...well...yup.  The woman took on Harpo...and the horse.  Or Harpo took on the woman and the horse.  Or the horse took on the woman and Harpo.  Anyway you shuffle the deck, the joke is that the horse had some sex with some people.  Now THAT is some ballsy comedy.

The film's final sequences, during the war, is shown cleverly to be marking time through the constant costume changes of Rufus T. Firefly.  It's a great bit, and it's a very, very smart way to show us that the events unfolding before us aren't taking place in the 8 minutes or so of film.  That's filmmaking.

And there.  It's a great film.  Truly great.  Watch it, or watch it again, if for nothing else, the sheer grandiosity of it.  You deserve a laugh.  Go get some.

Ebert and I are on the same page again.  I promise you, gentle reader, that I have not read these essays before I write mine.  I really haven't.  Again, he's more eloquent than me, but he talks about the hat bit like I do.  Here's Roger.

Oh, F#%k...

...things don't end well for most of the people in this film.

Yeah, I'm not afraid to use the word "fuck," I just chose not to in the title of this.

Yet another installment in my quest to get through the AFI Top 100 (10th Anniversary Edition) and write my thoughts about them.

I feel like I'm stealing fucking writing about some of these.  This is fucking one of fucking them.  Why should I try and comment on a film like this?  What do I have to add to the discussion?  Fucking nothing.  However, I'm doing this, so I might as well, you know, do it.

Film 48

48.  "Goodfellas" (AFI Rank #92)

See that last thing I wrote?  AFI Rank #92?  False. That's just...fucking wrong.  That films like (just picking one at random) "Tootsie" are ranked significantly higher than this one is just plain wrong.  I'm not saying that this film is necessarily worthy of HEAPS of praise, but it is certainly better than many, many films ranked higher on the list.  Or is it?  Fun part of this stream of conscience writing is that I often question assertions I make as I'm making them.  I might contradict the one I just made.  I'll explore my thoughts on the film, and see what happens...

Based on a true story, and frighteningly more true than most films claiming this, "Goodfellas" is yet another masterpiece from one of America's finest film directors, Martin Scorsese.  Detailing the lives of smaller time members of the mafia, this film shows us the struggles and allure of the average foot soldier in a small company of the cosa nostra.  Whereas a film like "The Godfather" shows us what it's like to be calling the shots, this film shows us who it is that does the shooting.  Populated with colorful, if barbaric characters, "Goodfellas" is really a blue collar story about some guys making some serious cash with nothing but their ambition and a loose set of morals.

Our narrator through this journey is Henry Hill, played as an adult by Ray Liotta.  A small time hood, half Sicilian, half Irish, Henry has no hope of real power in the mob.  What he has, though, is a great time.  He loves what he does.  He loves stealing things.  He loves the limited power he has.   But mostly, Henry loves all the things that ridiculous amounts of money can buy.  As evidence, I cite the third visit to the Copacabana, on "Girlfriend's Night."  Watch all the hoods as they watch Jerry Vale sing "Pretend You Don't See Her."  Yes, these guys are loud, obnoxious criminals, but even they get awestruck by the power of performed live music.  Sitting in the front of the club, looking like a bunch of starstruck teenagers, we see that in spite of the fact that they feel entitled to be there, they still "get it."  Or maybe they realize just how talentless they are.  I don't know.  I know that you can't watch that scene and not notice how completely out of character their reactions are compared to the rest of the film.

Nearly every aspect of this film is tremendous.  Let's start with the soundtrack.  Don't believe that it is important?  Check out the Wikipedia entry about it.  Every one of these uses of music is thought out, it's vital to the scene, and in its context, it makes sense.  The "Layla" sequence is especially magnificent, reminiscent of the montage from "The Godfather," in which we see the graphic results of the war between Barzini and Corleone.  However, unlike that film, we know the characters who are dying in "Goodfellas."  We care about them, and the song culminates with the *SPOILER* execution of Tommy (Joe Pesci), one of the people we've come to love and hate while watching this film.  Scorsese loves music, that much is obvious.  Having spent a portion of the 70s living with Robbie Robertson, the guitarist and principal (credited) songwriter of The Band, Scorsese obviously pulls from a tremendous knowledge of music history for this film.  Unlike a film like "Taxi Driver," which had the music composed for it, Scorsese composed the visual around the audio in this one.  It certainly was not the first film like this, but it's one of the best.

I mentioned visual.  "Goodfellas" doesn't pull out as many tricks as "Taxi Driver," Scorsese's earlier masterpiece.  However, it has its share of close ups, slowed down/sped up film sequences, and freeze frames to remind you just who was in charge on this.  One particularly famous sequence is the 3 minute long Steadicam shot as Henry and his future wife Karen (Lorraine Bracco) enter the Copacabana for the first time.  It's a dizzying, disorienting shot, and it's meant to show us what Karen must be feeling as she is hustled into a life that few can understand.  Also of note is a similar technique used at Karen and Henry's wedding reception, as she meets scads of people whom Henry deals with, and scads of people that wish to show Henry and her tribute in the form of stacks and stacks of cash.  Hell, it's used another time, when we meet all of the guys that Henry knew at the Bamboo Lounge.  Scorsese had mellowed some as a visual artist by the time this film came out, but his hand is seen deftly guiding so many of the film's sequences.

Story is incredibly important in this film.  But here's what's funny.  The biggest thing that happens in this film, and the sequence that would probably be most splashy, is the Lufthansa Heist, which is not even shown.  The planning of it is hinted at, but not shown.  I've read up on it.  It was a really, really complicated event, the kind of shit that Hollywood loves to film....but in this film?  It's handled by watching Henry hearing about it while taking a shower.  See, what matters isn't the what that these guys did, it's the what happened to them as a result.  We see guys start to let more and more go as they get deeper and deeper into the life, to the point where we watch Tommy basically becoming a complete psychotic, with no ramifications for anything he does.  Watch the sequence where Spider dies.  No one blinks, no one, except Henry, cares that Spider died.  No, the thing that matters is that now there's a body to dispose of, and that's a tough thing to do.  A kid with a family just died.  Meh.  "You're gonna dig the hole!"

Of course, as things get less and less consequential, mistakes begin to happen, and people start to indulge in excesses that are riskier and riskier.  Finally, our protagonist is arrested, and is facing some major jail time for drug trafficking.  Of greater consequence, of course, is the death sentence that is likely placed on him as a result of the paranoia of what he might reveal when incarcerated.  Yet, in all of that, we see something else.  We see how insipid the mafia is on the rest of the family.  No, I'm not talking about Karen.  I'm talking about Karen's mom.  Early in the film, she is a shrieking harpy, doing everything she can to admonish Karen for marrying such a man.  When Henry is arrested at the end, however, it is the mother that mortgages her house to bail him out, and she is there, a silent passenger in the car, as Henry is released on that bail.  It's like she's come to accept it, too.  It's frightening.  What we see must have some tremendous appeal, and the "testimonial" of Karen's mom affirms that.

I've always found villains who have the choice about their actions to be the most compelling.  Most mafia films, for that reason, really resonate with me.  What is it that makes a person choose this lack of morals?  I'm not sure this film answers that question.  It sure asks it, though.

Know what?  I haven't even mentioned acting.  Robert DeNiro is his mafia best in this one as Jimmy Conway.  This is one of 5 films on the list in which DeNiro has a major role.  It's no coincidence.  Joe Pesci won an Oscar for his portrayal of Tommy.  His improvised "Do I amuse you?" scene is a classic in the annals of Hollywood.  Liotta, despite limited range, is tremendous.  Watching this time, though, I was struck by two actors.  Lorraine Bracco, while subject to fits of yelling, (hey, remember her mother?) is a dynamo as Karen.  What's weird is that the role seems so subservient.  Yet, picture it in someone else's hands.  I can't imagine anyone else being able to do what Bracco did here.  Edie Falco, no doubt, stole a great deal of Carmela Soprano from this role.  The other actor I noticed this time was Paul Sorvino.  I confess I always found Paulie the least compelling character in this film.  He's a boss(ish), sure, but he's small time.  Yet, this time I watched Sorvino to try and get it.  And I did.  His eyes, especially, are portals into his soul.  I'm often distracted by television and film actors' darting eyes as they look at someone.  Sorvino's gaze in "Goodfellas" is unyielding.  It just fixes on a point, and it stays there.  I found out, through research, that it was a choice.  It showed up.

I also touched on improvisation.  A significant portion of this film is improvised.  Daring, but most scenes really feel alive as a result.  The dinner scene with Tommy's mom (Catherine Scorsese, having no business being in a film) would die a horrible death without the actors so clearly struggling to converse.  Had it been polished, it would have been wrong.  Yet another great scene.

Look.  "Goodfellas" is vulgar.  Did you notice how I fucking hinted at fucking that above?  It's also brilliant.

Watch it.

Ebert wrote a piece on it towards the end of his life.  It's here.  Or, rather, it's above, in what I wrote.  Nailed it.

Uh huh...

...another all time classic.  This is two of America's favorite films in a row.  A little hint.  This bloc of 10 films also includes "Psycho," and "Gone With the Wind."  We're hitting some seriously viewed, iconic films in the nearish future.  Throw in "Goodfellas," and "Blade Runner," and we're looking at some films that have some major fan bases.

Getting close to halfway through the AFI Top 100 (10th Anniversary Edition) in what will be just over 14 months.

This one...now I KNOW you've seen this one.

Film 47

47.  "The Wizard Of Oz" (AFI Rank #10)

Hey, look at that.  Found another film in the top 10.  It is odd, I must confess, to watch films that are such a part of the fabric of our life, then comment on them.  I feel as if I'm cheating a bit.  What does one say about "The Wizard of Oz?"   We're talking about a film that I've seen dozens of times, from as far back as I can remember.  We're talking about a film whose broadcast on television was an event in our home, nearly every damned time it was on.  We're talking about a film that YOU'VE likely seen dozens of times, and probably exactly the way my family watched it.  We're talking about an icon.

Yeah.  We are.

Watching this film the other night, I was struck by how easy it is to take so much of it for granted.  Yet, while watching it, I suddenly stopped all that crap and just sat in wonder about what was created in the days before CGI.  This film...this film is a wonder.  That it continues to so thoroughly entertain audiences 76 years after its release is a testament not only to its story, to its characters, and to its message, it is a testament to its merit as a film.  It's grand cinema.  It's...I hate to say it about something SO populist...but this is art.  Art.  Directed by Victor Fleming, (mostly) this film is an amazing piece of art.  Absolutely amazing.

Let's look at some of the things that are so masterful about this film.  The opening and closing framework to the Oz sequences being shot in sepia tones, dull and lifeless, yet somehow sentimental and warm.  Kansas feels like someplace we don't want to be at first, but by the end, we yearn, like Dorothy does, for the comfort of home.  The sepia tone, combined with the lack of motorized vehicles (betcha didn't notice that), makes the film seem to take place long before 1939.  Indeed, the opening title card reads:

 "For nearly forty years this story has given faithful service to the Young in Heart; and Time has been powerless to put its kindly philosophy out of fashion.  

To those who have been faithful to it in return

...and to the Young in Heart --- we dedicate this picture."  

We also see no electricity.  No phone wires. We're meant to believe that this is in the past.  However, references to the dust bowl, with the "twister," and indeed, the overall depressed nature of the film...well.  Maybe the film is meant to be fantastically timeless.  Modern enough in its opening and closing to make viewers relate, but somehow sentimental enough that those seeing it in 1939 would realize that it's from a time a while ago.  Kinda like "Pulp Fiction," with its cell phones and The Wolf's car somehow contradicting the overall 1970s vibe of the rest of the film.  Damn.  If you'd told me that at any point in my life I'd tie "Pulp Fiction" to "The Wizard of Oz," well.  I damn sure would not have believed you.

Of course, we know that the film is a musical.  And we get that right from the start, with the magnificent performance of "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" by the during-the-time-of-filming then 16 year old Judy Garland.  How that young woman sang like that...well.  I'm going to come out and say it.  That song is usually cited as the best song to come out of film.  Know why?

BECAUSE IT IS.

We want to see Dorothy find a place of her own.   We want her to escape the dreariness of her life in Kansas, and pursue her dreams.  We want to see her grow up and find all the wonder in the world.  We want to see her life somehow transformed into a life that is lived in stunning...technicolor.

And the film satisfies that.  The sets, of course, are amazing.  Yes, you can most assuredly tell that the film is shot on a soundstage for all of its Oz sequences.  Hell, when Dorothy starts on her journey down the Yellow Brick Road, as the Munchkins wave goodbye, you are practically screaming at her to stop before she runs into the matte painting that you can totally see where it meets the "ground."  Know what?  The camera shot cuts before she breaks stride.  So, we buy it.  And that's important.  We're asked to believe that gallons of paint and scads of plastic, along with some really fake tree costumes are somehow a mystical world.  And we do.  We believe it wholeheartedly.  It was fun to watch and try and figure out how many sets were shot from different angles, yet the same path, with maybe with a few small alterations.  It is also odd to think, that in an era when people were struggling to feed their families, that so much time/money was spent on building a pretend world that appeared for so little time.  Weeks were spent on the Munchkin sequence.  Know how long it is?  Like 14 minutes, or about 10% of the film.  That's excess.  That's Hollywood.

Which brings me to another point.  I often try and find photos for use in these essays that are perhaps a little obscure.  Try doing that for "The Wizard of Oz."  Everything about this film feels familiar.  I couldn't find photos that felt obscure.  I especially couldn't find photos like that to talk about another piece of wizardry (see what I did there?) from this film...the makeup.  At no point did I not believe that Ray Bolger's Scarecrow makeup was...makeup.  Same with the Cowardly Lion.  Same with the Tin Man.  Hell, the fucking Munchkins look right.  The makeup is amazing.

This is getting long (that's what she said), and I want to wrap it up, but I've hardly touched on the performances.  Everyone in this is fantastic.  Of course, Ray Bolger, Jack Haley, and Burt Lahr are now indelibly placed in our consciousness.  However, a few performances stood out to me, though.  Margaret Hamilton, while spewing lines that just seem to repeat ad infinitum, is terrifying as the Wicked Witch of the West/Miss Gulch.  You can say what you like to about her as a character in other sources.  In this film, she's bad, and she's bad from jump street, and never changes.  There is no redemption in her, no reason to question why she's so bad.  She just is.  Judy Garland is also spectacular.  Showing a maturity and world weariness far beyond what any 16 year old should possess, Garland plays Dorothy to the hilt.  She's tremendous.

I want to comment on Frank Morgan in a bit more detail.  I just got done directing a show in which I had one woman play 8 roles, even though they were written for different actors.  I did this for several reasons, the first of which was to make the role more appealing...and to make it easier for me to cast.  But, what it afforded me was an opportunity to have that actor, who was playing the protagonist's ex-wife (in flashback) first, make it appear as if every woman our protagonist dated was somehow just a facet of that ex-wife.  Which leads me to Frank Morgan.  He plays all the main characters in Emerald City.  And yet, none of them ever appear in scene together.  I found out, through research, that this was done in an attempt to even out screen time.  However...what if, just what if, Oz is actually dressing himself as all these people?  There are portions of this where Oz's voice and mannerisms appear, especially as the guard at the chamber.  So.  Maybe, just maybe, Oz is keeping tabs on the intruders into his land, by interacting with them.  Want proof?  Oz, as the Wizard, correctly identifies what each pilgrim wants him to deliver to them...but he's never met them before, and he's...he's a sham.  Dammit.  Should I have said *SPOILER*?  So, how did Oz get this knowledge...unless it was him at the doors, or driving the Horse of a Different Color?  I'm going with it.  And now, I love the film that much more.  Because that's what I see.  And isn't that what the film is trying to tell us?  Life is really just all in the way you look at it?

I've rambled on long enough.  You know the film.  You've watched it, and now I just did recently.  Perhaps when you watch it the next time, you can view it as art.  Perhaps you'll get caught up in the fantasy.  Perhaps you won't.  Whatever.  You'll watch it, and it will catch you up in SOMETHING.  And that, my friends, is what makes it great.

Hey.  Roger Ebert and I talk about similar things again!  HOORAY!  His take is here.  I like the fact that I hint at things that Roger explores much more deeply, and I get sad that you read the musings of a far inferior writer when reading this blog.  I'm having fun doing this, but I wish that I could be as eloquent as Roger was.  Maybe he edited his stuff...I don't.

Bah.  Thanks for reading.

Pass the popcorn...

...because I'm onto a bloc of 10 films I've seen before, and some of these are among the films that have shaped my appreciation for this art form.

Bopping on through the list of the AFI Top 100 (10th Anniversary Edition) and came upon an old favorite.

Showed it to the boys for the first time.

Not sad about any of this.

Film 46

46.  "Raiders Of The Lost Ark"  (AFI Rank #66)

Not going to lie.  I'm pretty happy this is on the list.  I was 13 when this film hit theatres. I had had my mind blown by "Star Wars," and its sequel, "The Empire Strikes Back," and then...this hit.  To say that those films were instrumental in my youth is an understatement.  "Star Wars" became the constant theme of play for a few years, and sure, by the time this came out, I was older, but certainly no less thrilled by it.

I saw this the first time the afternoon after a sleepover where my buddy and I never actually slept.  I was exhausted, to say the least, but we went off to Yorktown Mall and watched this one sunny summer afternoon.  And...well...I was a 13 year old white kid from an affluent suburb.  This film was meant for me.  My exhaustion and everything that went along with it was gone while I watched this.  It just disappeared.

However, now, as a 47 year old white guy from a not as affluent suburb, it's still pretty much made for me.  Why?  Because I got to share it with my kids.  My kids, who have grown up with films that are a CGI wonderland, with a terrific, splashy superhero film appearing every 6 months or so, or the incredible work of Pixar, Dreamworks, or the stop motion masterpieces that Laika films put out...my kids were going to see a film that relied on practical special effects, rather than greenscreens.  I've introduced my kids to the world of Indiana Jones.

Know what?

They loved it.  Just like they should.

Why?  Because of what makes the films they've seen, an that I've listed above great.  The story.  The attention to detail.  The joy.  The "how did they do that?"  We love our heroes, especially the fallible ones, and we love when they produce moments of pure fantasy.  Indy makes mistakes.  He looks at the idol at the beginning of the film and miscalculates its weight.  Of course, Indiana may have been way off from the start, but we believe that the one handful of sand that Indy pulled from the bag was the reason the weight sensitive trap was triggered.  Why do we believe that?  Because we just know that's what he did wrong.  Indy fucks up, but finds his way out of it.  He does that throughout the film.

Steven Spielberg directed this film, and it's the third of his five films in the list that I have watched thus far.  Filmed as a kind of homage to the old serials, Spielberg borrowed stunts and situations liberally from the pap that used to entertain kids on weekends.  Like the "Indy slides under the truck stunt?"  It was used in the past, only with a stagecoach.  The rolling boulder was borrowed...from Scrooge McDuck.  There are original ideas in the film, sure, but the bulk of it is a clever mashing of lots and lots of greatness from the past.  So.  If we've seen it...why is it so thrilling?  Spielberg is a big reason.  His attention to detail, his knowledge of how to set a mood with clever camerawork, it's all amazing.  Plus, the dude likes to show us a good time.  He's not afraid to entertain, that's for damned sure.

When I put together the order in which I would watch these films, I broke the list into eras.  This was the first movie of the "Modern" era, but it followed an era which started with "Who's Afraid Of Virginia Woolf?" and ended with "Raging Bull."  This was an era of great experimentation on the part of filmmakers, and an era where the best parts of the 30s-40s (character, plot, story, dialogue) melded with the technical.  "Raiders..." seemed like the natural break between those eras.  It's not the first blockbuster on the list, but it's the first blockbuster after the 70s started without a gritty underbelly.  This is just plain fun.

There are some real mistakes in the film.  For example, the staff that Indy attaches the headpiece to is supposed to be 6 Kadan high...and Indy says, "About 72 inches." So.  A Kadan is a foot.  Then, the old man says, "Take back one Kadan for God."  So.  The staff is supposed to be 5 feet tall.  Take a look at that picture.  Unless Indy is 3'6" tall...you get the point.  There are lots of mistakes like this.  I notice them.  I'm going to forgive them...this time.  But, they are in there, and I notice.

What is it that gives this film its appeal, though, really?  I've heard it said that Indiana Jones is not necessary for the plot.  That is entirely true.  Every single thing in the plot would happen if Indy had not been there.  The Nazis would have discovered the Ark eventually, and they would have died.  However, the story is not necessarily the plot.  The story is that a non-believer gradually rethinks his casual disregard for all things spiritual/religious, especially as they relate to the treasures that he so casually plunders, and by the end of the film, saves himself and his girlfriend, Marion, by his faith in the power of the Ark.  Don't believe me?  What the hell was the opening scene for, then?  He steals a religious artifact because, well, because it's awesome, and he doesn't care about its significance.  Then, in the end, the non-believers win, and the Ark is buried again.  This time, in a desert of crates, rather than a literal desert. This is a story as old as storytelling, itself.

Beyond all that, the stunts are amazing.  The dialogue is witty.  My favorite line has always been, "I don't know.  I'm making this up as I go."  Which, of course, was followed by the one thing we hadn't seen Indy do yet...ride a horse.  Harrison Ford, as Indiana Jones, became a star of the greatest magnitude.  He appears 5 times on the list of Top 100 films, three times as a leading man.  He's a movie star, and this is a movie star's movie.  Karen Allen is also terrific as Marion Ravenwood.  Pretty enough to be attractive, yet with a certain "attainability" because she's not drop dead gorgeous...Marion pulls at us.  But Allen also makes her limited screen time into a believable character.  Yes, she's vulnerable, but she can handle herself quite nicely in most situations, thank you very much.  Marion is the damsel in distress, but she is not always in distress.  She doesn't want to let Jones do things himself.  "I'm your goddamned partner!"  It's a great character.

Look.  "Raiders..." is a thrill ride.  The good guy wins.  The bad guys lose.  Lots of great stuff happens.  So much so that it seems comic, but we eat it all up.  I imagine, if you are reading this, that you have seen it.  Perhaps take a couple of hours and watch it with a kid.  Or watch it as a grown up.

Whatever.  Just watch it again.  Because your inner kid wants to.

Ebert revisited this film towards the end of his life.  His thoughts are here.  Roger talks about Nazis a lot.  He's right, of course.  I didn't.  I suppose if I'd seen this film as an adult first, maybe I'd have caught that.  I knew Nazis were a big deal, but I didn't see it like Roger.  I watch it as a 13 year old.  Still.  Dammit.  However, he and I share thoughts on most everything else.  Huzzah.

Sometimes...

...sometimes...Hollywood has to remind you it's there.  It takes stories that are so wonderfully subtle, so amazingly well-acted...and then it Hollywoods all over them.  I'm not complaining, just setting up this essay.

This is yet another in a series on trying to get through the AFI Top 100 (10th Anniversary Edition) and write about all of them.  I was shooting for a calendar year.  Life lifed on me for 5 months, so I've extended it to 14 months.  That's two uses of words that aren't verbs as verbs thus far.  Let's see if I can get a third in before this is over.

Film 45

45.  "The Best Years Of Our Lives" (AFI Rank #37)

I'd not seen this film before.  I'm just going to start out right away.  THIS is a terrific film.  Heartbreaking, poignant, well crafted, full of human joy, melancholy, ennui, jealousy, and greed.  It also has a storyline wedged into it that needs to be there...and doesn't.  More on that to come.

William Wyler directed this masterpiece, having served in the war himself.  Samuel Goldwyn, who produced it, had decided to do a film based on an article he read in August of 1944 about soldiers struggling upon their return home from the war.  The film was eventually released after the war had been over for more than a year.  Despite Goldwyn knowing the story of soldiers coming home before the end of the war, this film probably would not have the same impact without "everyone" being done with their war service.  I'm digressing.

As I said, this is a terrific film.  Decidedly about character, and about acting and storytelling, Wyler weaves a trio of tales into one, and somehow, we are kept rapt throughout.  Throw in a few cunning camera shots (like above), and you have a masterpiece.  Truly.  As the film opens, we meet our three protagonists:  Al Stephenson (Fredric March), a Sergeant from the 25th Infantry Division, who was a banker before he went to war; Fred Derry (Dana Andrews), a Bombadier who had achieved the rank of Captain, and who had worked as a soda jerk before the war; and Homer Parrish (real life Howard Russell), a Sailor who had worked under the decks of a ship that was sunk, his age is implied to be younger than the other two, as it appears as if he went to war right out of high school.  Homer lost his hands in the sinking of his ship, and he sports two hooks, which he uses with great skill and dexterity.  The three men are stuck in an airport, waiting to catch an army plane (a B-17 bomber) back to Boone City, a fictional biggish city, apparently modeled after Cincinnati.  They wind up catching a ride together, and wind up as fast friends.  Their lives continue to intertwine in the ensuing months, and these three men, from wildly different backgrounds, wind up inexplicably close to each other, to the point where Derry stands up in Homer's wedding, while Stephenson looks on.  There. I've told you how it ends.  Sorry.

What I haven't told you is how wonderful the beginning sequence of this film is.  Whenever these 3 are on screen, we feel a sense of loss.  We feel them feeling like aliens.  The opening shot is Derry trying to catch a plane home.  He's told that he can't book anything for (what must be) at least a couple of weeks.  We then see a guy crowd him out of the ticket desk, armed with his...golf clubs...who is able to get where he wants to go.  He's even told that his luggage is too heavy, and he responds, "That's fine, what's the upcharge."  We feel, right away, the immediate impact of so much frivolity in our own lives.  And that, ultimately, is what makes this film so great.  It makes us feel.  It puts us right in the minds/lives of these guys, and makes us understand their plight, and makes us stand up and account for ourselves.  If that is even possible.

Another brilliant, brilliant scene is also early in the film, as the new friends share a cab on their way...home.  When they arrive at the first home, Homer's house, Homer begs the guys not to make him go home just yet.  The scene repeats after Homer is gone, this time it is Stephenson that asks to stay.  He lives in a swanky tower, with a loving wife at home (Myrna Loy - who received top billing because she was the biggest star of the day).  He also has two children, whom he left as young to mid-teenagers.  There's no reason for him to shy away...yet...none of the guys feel like they can go home.  Not yet.  And that is the point.  When will they ever be "home?"  This pervades nearly every moment that follows in this film.  Nearly.

And that is the flaw in the film.  There is a love story shoe-horned into the plot...that feels entirely too "Hollywood."  Yes, it exists to further the plot and a couple of characters...but it's not really "necessary."  And yet, it is...kinda.  Long story short, Derry falls for Stephenson's daughter.  Trouble is that Derry is married to Marie, played by Virginia Mayo.  Marie fell in love the Derry when he was a soldier, watched him leave, then...maybe...waited for him to return, as she collected his pay...and spent it.  Marie, we know, is a woman of loose morals, because when we first meet her, she's most assuredly not wearing a bra.  Later in the film, we see her sitting in a chair, exposing leg and slip, while talking to another man.  Marie's a gold-digger, and interested in Derry because she thinks he is something.  When it's revealed that civilian life is not going to work out for Derry, as he has no employable skills, she is ready to move on.  So, Derry needs someplace to land, and to force the issue with Marie...and we get Peggy (Teresa Wright), Al's daughter, and love interest to Derry.  Voila.  Necessary.  But not.  Because their relationship, while meant to be real, seems awfully convenient.  So.  Unnecessary.  See?  It's both.  Dammit.

Mini - thoughts:
1.  The soundtrack is abysmal.  It's entirely too upbeat at times, and a near constant presence.  
2.  Hoagy Carmicheal shouldn't act, but the piano sequence with Homer was captivating.
3.  There was a lot to explore with the character of Rob, Al's son, played by Michael Hall.  It wasn't explored.  More to come on this.
4.  That's about all.

Maxi-thoughts:

Howard Russell can't act very well.  But he can manipulate the hooks he has for hands like a champ.  He also does a decent enough job as Homer to make us somewhat believe him.  He plays a man coming to grips (heh) with his own handicap, while not wanting to be a burden to others.  Homer simply can't believe that he might be worthy of the attention that is necessary to be foisted upon him.  He had a girl before he went to war, the girl next door, literally, named Wilma (Cathy O'Donnell).  She still loves Homer, and can't understand why he keeps shutting her out, despite many attempts to draw him out of his shell.  Ultimately, Homer just doesn't think she should have to live with what he has become.  He's dependent on people, and he doesn't want to be.  Ultimately, Wilma breaks through, and Homer marries her at the film's conclusion.  What's not as familiar is that Howard Russell was given an honorary Oscar for "inspiring veterans everywhere," then...he won the competitive Oscar for Best Supporting Actor.  He will likely remain the answer to a trivia question:  Who is the only person to win 2 Academy Awards for the same role in one film?  This guy.

Myrna Loy and Fredric March are wonderful actors who acted well near each other.  I'm not sure that they were "with" each other, but the two of them really did some great work in this.  Whether March's wonderful speech delivered to the bankers, or Loy's desperate desire for him NOT to make that speech, the two are obviously very, very skilled.  March, in particular, shows so much melancholy, so much pain...we just feel for him.  It's a magnificent performance.

That leads me to the biggest maxi-thought.  This film, like most great films, asks questions.  It asks us to fill in the blanks about what is going on between Al and his son...as the two seem so obviously uncomfortable with each other.  It asks us to imagine what these men have gone through, and translate that into what we watch...so that we can feel it.  It asks us to think about what costs war carries, not only in terms of physical injury, but in terms of mental anguish, in terms of loss of time, in terms of estrangement.  We see three men at the start of the film who instantly become friends...yet are scared to go and be with those closest to them.  Why is that?  Have they shared something that we can't understand?  The film asks us to think about that.  War does what it does, it tears human bodies to pieces, but it also tears our relationships to pieces.  That is the true cost of war, the silent, broken spirit of human relationship.  This film, with all its manipulative tricks laid bare, could have been a completely different experience.  Instead, because of its adherence to subtlety, it grabs our attention, shakes us, and says, "Hey, do you get this?"  I did.  I got it.


So.  I guess I liked this one.  I liked it a lot.  This leaves me only 15 films on the list I haven't seen before.  I'm going to get through this, in spite all the time I spent Randying earlier this year.  (told you I'd find a third spot for a verb that isn't a verb)

Roger and I are on the same page.  Hooray!  We saw the same film again!  Although, I didn't mention the aviation graveyard.  I should have.  Roger sums it up pretty well.

This one...

...is going to be INCREDIBLY brief.

Watching AFI Top 100 (10th Anniversary Edition).  I was going to try and complete in a calendar year.  I'm at 44, and have just over 10 weeks to watch 56 films.  I'm not watching 6 movies a week and writing about them.  I'm just not.  I've given myself until my birthday, March 5, to complete this, as I took 5 months off.  I'm giving myself slightly over 2 months for those 5 months.  Sorry.

Like I said, this one is going to be brief.

Film 44

44.  "Intolerance" (AFI Rank #49)

This film is on the list because of its historical significance, and for very little else, I'm guessing.

D.W. Griffith was one of the early pioneers of film, and indeed, most of Hollywood excess can probably be traced to him at its root.  I'm no film historian.  There's lots of information about him available online.  Go find some.  He saw film as a great opportunity to create art, and he used it accordingly.

I am not going to sum up what I watched, as I can't.  "Intolerance" is really 4 stories (and sub-stories), intertwined, some of which seem to go together, most of which don't.  The basic four stories are "The Modern Story," about a group of do-gooders that recruit a rich woman into their midst, then spend all her money, forcing her rich brother to cut workers' wages at his plant, forcing a strike, forcing a couple of people into rough lives in the city.  The other stories are "Judea," which is a very light retelling of the Christ story, "The Fall of Babylon," which really, ultimately is about hubris, and not really intolerance...and "The French Story," about the slaughter of the Huguenots at the hands of Catherine De Medici.  Each segment is tinted a different color (mostly, but there are lots of inconsistencies in the tinting).  As a scene frame, we have the Eternal Mother rocking her baby to let us know that things keep going...

This film is a muddled mess, as a story.  I found myself, at times, quite taken with what was happening, but mostly this felt like a test of my endurance. The word "intolerance" is misused throughout, including one point where prison is labeled "the sometimes house of Intolerance."  Sure.  But, are you suggesting that prisoners are just not tolerated?  Really?  Of course, it doesn't help that DW puts up a card that reads that The Boy is "intolerated for a term."  It's sloppy, at best, with a keen sense of no knowledge of the English language. None.

Beyond that, the title cards change fonts throughout, which is fine, if it's consistent for each story.   It is not.  Again, an inattention to detail that I cannot tolerate.  (See what I did there?)

It's silent film, so there isn't much to say about the acting.  I was particularly drawn to The Friendless One, but I don't think I was supposed to be.

Look.  Here's a summary of the film.  It's long.  Like the film.  You can read this essay, and save yourself watching the film, if you HAVE to see what this is all about.  However, the stories kind of suck, and the film is worth watching for the technical.  So...I don't know.

God, I hate that I had to watch this...and yet...

I'm glad I watched the film, as it is full of elaborate sets, amazing costumes, grandeur, camera tricks, etc.  Hell, there's even nudity.  You can see what Hollywood will become.  I enjoyed watching the technical, for sure.  I am astounded how much this guy was able to accomplish in 1916.  Truly amazing.  It is.  For real.  Sets are astounding.

Beyond that...

...blecch.  I'm glad I watched it.  You don't have to, unless you are insane enough to do something like this, or take some sort of film history class.

Seriously.  Skip this.  I didn't so you could.

Ebert did not write about this film.  I feel bad being so brief.  I probably shouldn't be.  But...I'd need you to watch this to discuss it further, and I'm not sure I can ask that of you.