And then there were...

...two.

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

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

Film 99

99.  "Casablanca" (AFI Rank #3)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You know...

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

Still.  This was a mistake.

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

Film 98

98.  "City Lights" (AFI Rank #11)

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

How do I know that, personally?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

End of an era...

...for a different reason.

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

Film 97

97.  "Jaws" (AFI Rank #56)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The problem with seasonal films...

...is when you put them on a list to watch, and then watch them in the wrong season.

No matter.  I preferred this, because I watched this without the veil of sentimentality.  Yeah, sure I did.

Very familiar stop on the AFI Top 100 (10th Anniversary Edition)...one that I HAVE to believe you've seen before.

I'm hoping I can do justice to this...

Film 96

96.  "It's A Wonderful Life" (AFI Rank #20)

It would be easy for me to just go grab a bunch of trivia about this film, and wow you with all of that.  Except you might know a lot of that, and I'd be giving you information you already had.  You've seen this film, and you've probably seen it because there was a mistake made with renewing the copyright, and it fell into the public domain, and every television station showed it on Christmas Eve, because it was cheap programming.  There.  That's the trivia portion of this.

I was one of those who watched the movie over and over again on Christmas Eve.  Why?  Because of its overwhelming message of hope, in both humanity and an individual human being.  Something about George Bailey is so universally able to connect with our own lives that it's nigh impossible not to see ourselves in him.  Have we all become what we thought we would?  Not likely.  I don't recall sitting around dreaming about writing (for free) on a computer about steak, or films, or anything else.  I certainly didn't think that I'd wind up the father of two doing theatre/performance as a hobby.  And I wouldn't trade a lick of it for any other life.  That is the message of the film, that wonder and joy can be found anywhere.  Even in the shabby offices of a broken down building and loan.  Even those that realize their wildest dreams pine for things.  We see that expressed in films like "Citizen Kane."

And that's what makes this film's appeal.   Jimmy Stewart created one of the iconic roles in film history because somewhere, inside of him, he understood George Bailey's dilemma.  Here's a guy on top of the world, revered by all, the "All American" film star, just back from fighting in World War II, and he's nailing the portrayal of a guy who hasn't realized his dreams.  One can't imagine Stewart was wracked with regrets.  However, as this passage (one of my absolute favorites) so eloquently puts it in "My Favorite Year:"

Alan Swann: Those are movies, damn you! Look at me! I'm flesh and blood, life-size, no larger! I'm not that silly God-damned hero! I never was!

Benjy Stone: To *me* you were! Whoever you were in those movies, those silly goddamn heroes meant a lot to *me*! What does it matter if it was an illusion? It worked! So don't tell me this is you life-size. I can't use you life-size. I need Alan Swanns as big as I can get them! And let me tell you something: you couldn't have convinced me the way you did unless somewhere in you you *had* that courage! Nobody's that good an actor! You *are* that silly goddamn hero!

"Nobody's that good an actor."  Indeed.  Jimmy Stewart becomes George Bailey because George Bailey is in all of us.  His disappointments, his triumphs, his heroism, his rudeness, his grace, all of it.  It's all of us, all over. And I dast say that I cannot think of a character in film that so eloquently does it.  We need to look into characters to find ourselves in most films we watch, but George Bailey accomplishes the feat of making that search less about us, and more about our dreams, etc.  I once lived with a woman who viewed this film as a tragedy, as George Bailey never gets to do what he wants.  I'm still curious as to how we got along as well as we did for as long as we did, with that serious philosophical divide.  No, this is not a story of what is lost, but one of what is gained by gaining perspective.


I've prattled on and haven't discussed my particular experience with viewing this film this time.  Look, having watched so many great films in a short stretch has focused my vision a bit.  This time through, I watched the film as a piece of art.  Know something?  This silly, manipulative, sentimental story is the driving force behind an amazing film.  Frank Capra has a reputation for wild sentiment, and rightly so.  Watching this film again, however, I was entranced by the skill of the filmmaker.  Watch the background of every scene.  It's stuffed with details, with choices of background items, and how they relate to the scene.  Mr. Potter's manservant?  He dresses identical to his boss every time we see him.  Mr. Potter is in his home at one point, and there's a bust of Napoleon in the scene; later, we see the same bust in Potter's office, staring at George as Potter offers him a job.  Potter has an ornate metal skull on his desk.  Newspaper headlines flash occasionally, and relate to the period, and usually discuss political events.  Cousin Tilly in George's office?  That's Matilda Bailey, and so says the name plate we see in one shot.  Details.  The film is stuffed with them.  That's art.  Even the opening sequence, before we get to the somewhat cheesy shot of some flashing galaxies, is a work of art.  We see establishing shots of Bedford Falls, and hear the plaintiff prayers for the man we are about to meet, our protagonist, George Bailey.  It's stellar filmmaking.  Just stellar.

I want to mention one other moment as testimony to the detail/not so necessarily subtle stuff.  There is a scene as George is about to leave for his trip around the world when we first meet him as an adult.  He is talking with Ernie, the cab driver, and Bert, the cop.  Violet Bick walks by, sumptuous to behold, and following dialogue takes place:

CLOSE SHOT – GEORGE AND BERT AT CAB

               Ernie sticks his head out form the driver's seat.

                                     ERNIE
                         How would you like...

                                     GEORGE
                              (as he enters cab)
                         Yes...

                                     ERNIE
                         Want to come along, Bert?  We'll 
                         show you the town!

               Bert looks at his watch, then takes another look at Violet's 
               retreating figure.

                                     BERT
                         No, thanks. Think I'll go home and 
                         see what the wife's doing.

                                     ERNIE
                         Family man.

                                                               DISSOLVE TO:

               INT. BAILEY DINING ROOM – NIGHT

This scene is not "takes another look at Violet's retreating figure."  It's a salacious, long look at Violet's overt sexuality, and a lingering shot of her ass as she walks away.  It's effective, to say the least.  Further, the next shot is not a simple dissolve to the interior of the Bailey dining room.  It's a dissolve to the interior of the Bailey dining room, except the lamp is shaking because of activity in the bedroom upstairs.  Not so subtle there, Mr. Capra, and I caught it.  Yup. We're meant to believe that Bert's home getting some.  In the middle of the afternoon.  Grown up stuff.

My take when it was all said and done this time is that I have short-changed this film for decades because I was so wrapped up in the story.  It's so fantastical, so amazing, that it's easy to do, but I missed so much looking for details in that story that I missed what was happening around the story.

Acting is amazing in this film top to bottom.  I'm just going to name characters, and I want you to think about them, and think about how rich the portrayals are.  Clarence Oddbody, Mary Hatch, Uncle Billy, Henry Potter, Peter Bailey, Violet Bick, Ma Bailey, Mr. Gower, Bert, Ernie, Harry Bailey, Annie, Young George Bailey, and of course, Jimmy Stewart's tour de force with adult George.  Here are some scenes to watch, if you want to see masterful acting.  First, I'll mention the wonderful work Henry Travers does as Clarence in Nick's bar when he is ordering a drink.  His ease of manner, his patter with George, it's acting at its finest.  Next we have the work Donna Reed did in the scene where she and George are walking home from the school dance.  It's a wonderfully natural moment, and most importantly...it feels REAL.  If George is our Everyman, Mary is his perfect partner, and Reed infuses that into her entire performance.  Thomas Mitchell played Uncle Billy, and this is the 4th film he's appeared in on the list.  Again, wonderful.  Lionel Barrymore created a man of no sympathy in Henry Potter, yet we see so much in him, so much held back at times...again...wow.  Potter is an iconic bad guy.  By the way, name one thing that Potter says that isn't arguably true.  Except for the bit about stealing the $8K from Uncle Billy, everything Potter does is honest, and true to his beliefs, no matter how twisted they may seem at times.  Samuel Hinds and Beulah Bondi are earnest in their roles as the Bailey parents.  Gloria Grahame oozes sexual desirability from every pore whenever she is on the screen, even in defeat.  I could go on.  I suppose I have to, if briefly.

Jimmy Stewart is nothing short of magnificent in his performance.  His scene where he prays to God for help is just one example of the commitment he makes.  My personal favorite moment is when he lets inhibition go away during the walk home, and he's left with Mary's robe.  "This is a very interesting situation!" he yells, but it's his wonderful face in that moment that seals it.  He's not afraid to be a fool at that moment, and it works so damned well because he lets us see him vulnerable.  Stewart appears on the list 5 times, all of them in leading roles.  Why?  Because he's America's ideal leading man.  Strong when he needs to be, confused when he needs to be, but always...always honest and accessible.  He was an amazingly vulnerable actor, and this film is his masterpiece.  If I wanted to teach an acting course on how a male actor can carry a play/film, and I wasn't teaching so much as showing how to do things based on other performances, I'd grab this film, "Yankee Doodle Dandy," "It Happened One Night," "The Apartment," "Raging Bull," "City Lights," "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest," and "The Godfather."  I don't think I'd miss a trick by doing that.  Then, when I was done with that, I'd grab any Meryl Streep film and show my class the best actor I've ever seen.


I want to mention something else.  Like "Forrest Gump," this film takes great care in establishing an arc between young George Bailey and his adult version.  Bobbie Anderson is barely in the film, but a couple of things stand out.  Of course we get the wishing on the lighter bit later, which is great, but what I caught this time was the "Help you down?!" that George hits young Violet with in the drug store.  It, and the attitude with which it is presented, is repeated throughout the film.  It's character arc, and it's just perfect.  Again, this is a film taking great care to be great.

Finally, let's talk about the sequence that really makes this film...the penultimate portion of the film, when George Bailey is given the gift of seeing what life would be like if he never existed.  I don't think we truly grasp how short a portion of the film this is, but without it, this film is not the masterpiece it is.  I do find it odd that George is actually affecting the weather pattern, and that his presence on the Earth is causing snow on Christmas Eve.  The sequence for me, this time, was a challenge to try and find errors.  I couldn't.  Pottersville, overrun with bars, is right on.  Don't buy it?  Go to Wedron, IL, a depressed area, and check out the downtown.  Know what they have lots of?  Bars.  Like that's the only business in town kinda lots of.  I suppose that's what happens when an area falters.  We see it in Pottersville.

Couple of other things.  I watched this with Julie, and we delighted in checking the composition of all the shots.  We also cringed at the casual racism, and sexual harrassment present in the Bailey household and their treatment of Annie.

And...

...Julie and I had a long argument once where I mostly lost my damned mind because I couldn't get her to see that no matter what we think of the fantasy of the moment, Toto still has a pending death sentence at the end of "The Wizard of Oz."

As we watched the conclusion of this film, when the sherriff tore up the warrant for George's arrest, Julie joked, "Oh yeah, like that doesn't exist any more..."  Things get a might odd, the longer you live.  That's all I have to say.

And yes, no matter how many times I see this, I always cry when Harry makes his toast.  Every single time.  This viewing was no exception.

Ebert's take on this is decidedly factual.  I skipped that.  I'm more concerned this time on what I feel...and what I notice.  Roger didn't do that as much.  His review is here.

Four left to go.  Next up...a battle with a big shark.  Or is it?  Thanks again so much for reading.  I'm almost home.

EDIT:  Dammit.  I forgot to mention something.  I hate the ending of the "lassoing of the moon" speech after Mary asks, "Then what?"  I hate that swallowing/moonbeam crap.  It was perfect at "I'll give you the moon, Mary."  "I'll take it."  End moment.  That's beautiful.  Swallowing the moon and magical moonbeams gets a little, nay, a LOT weird.  You had the moment, and you took it one step too far.  There.  Something I don't like in the film.  

"That is, I heard...

...a good deal about a ring, and a Dark Lord, and something about the end of the world, but..."

This is the most recently made film in the AFI Top 100 (10th Anniversary Edition), and it's in my last 10 on the quest to watch them all and write about them here.

Film 95

95.  "The Lord Of The Rings:  The Fellowship Of The Ring" (AFI Rank #50)

Confession time.  I've never read the book(s).  No interest.  I love the film(s), but I've yet to sit and commit to the trilogy that starts with this book.  And that's a fun starting point to this essay.  There are 100 films on the list, one of which is a sequel, so we'll take it away.  Of the 99 left, only 14 got a sequel made utilizing the same characters.  They are (this time I'm not putting a bunch of links in...you can find all these films on IMDB if you wish):  "The Godfather," "Rocky," "American Graffiti," "The French Connection," "Toy Story," "Jaws," "2001:  A Space Odyssey," "Chinatown," "Raiders of the Lost Ark," "The Silence of the Lambs," "Psycho," "The Last Picture Show," "Star Wars," and this film.  Most of these sequels are bad, some are OK, a couple are transcendent, and then, there's this one.  See...the other two films in this series aren't really sequels.  They're just chapters from the same story.  Which makes this an odd film.  Every one of the films I've listed above ended in a relatively satisfying way, and didn't NEED a sequel to continue the story, yet often one was created to cash in on the success of the film.  This film, however, is utterly dependent on the other two films in the series for its closure.  Even "The Godfather: Part II" had a sequel, but you can't tell me that things weren't wrapped up at the end of "...Part II."  That makes this one a little weird to talk about, and makes it a little weird that this one was singled out from this story.  I only watched this film, but I think if I were being honest to the intent of the voters on the AFI list, that this film is on the list because of the magnitude of the achievement of the trilogy, and they just picked this one rather than clogging up the list.  I think they expect that I'll use my knowledge of this being on the list to spur me on to watch the rest, and thus fulfill their desire to have this trilogy recognized.  I believe that to be the case.  In fact, the third portion of this trilogy was given the Best Picture Oscar, and I believe that was more an award for the scope of the trilogy rather than the quality of that particular film.  It's nearly impossible to discuss one of these films as its own entity.

I've seen the other two films, multiple times.  Own them, in fact.  I'm going to try to talk about this film exclusively, I hope.  I may mention things from the other films, but I'm going to try and limit it to just this film.  And THAT is going to be difficult. I should also mention that my DVD collection is of the extended versions of the films, so I'm going to be reviewing a film that wasn't released in theatres.  Meh.  I like the version I own.

I can't stall this any longer.  I have to start writing.  Inspired by the masterworks of fantasy fiction written decades ago by J.R.R. Tolkein, Peter Jackson was able to convince New Line Cinema to invest $300 million into the film adaptation of one of the 20th Century's great literary achievements.  The project had been bandied about for decades, with such diverse people as the Beatles, John Boorman, and Stanley Kubrick rumored to have been interested in producing it.  An animated version of the story was made in the 1970s by Ralph Bakshi, but that was just over 2 hours, and included all three books.  For Jackson's tale, New Line insisted on three films, filmed simultaneously, which, when viewed in their extended versions, took up over 11 hours of a viewer's time to watch.   What's great about that math is that while I think the films do  bog down a bit at times (especially in the bog), it doesn't feel as if there are many wasted moments presented.   This film, however, is taut, from start to finish, with very little time given to the viewer to catch a breath.  As a viewer with no knowledge of the books, I can tell you that the first time I watched the films, it took time for me to process all the information that was being given me.  Watching this film again, I tried to view it through that lens, and I found that the exposition phase of the film was actually pretty damned thorough, but still relied on a previous knowledge of future events to take it all in.


Unlike other films I've raved about recently, notably "Star Wars," and "Citizen Kane," and commenting on how modern CGI just cannot accomplish what tangible, in camera effects can, I have to say this film is an exception to that thought.  Part of that has to do with the fact that Peter Jackson tried to make as much of this film on tangible, real sets as he could, he utilized prosthetics rather than megapixels for a great deal of the creatures in the film, and as a result of that, there is real depth to them.  He could have rendered the Urak-Hai, but they are much more terrifying as humans in makeup.  Then, we see the magic that CGI can accomplish by rendering these imaginary worlds into real places.  Rivendell is gorgeous, Mordor looks ominous, the Shire is mostly real, but the mines of Moria are almost completely rendered on a computer, except on the smaller sets.  Beyond the set construction, it's because so much of the film is "flesh and blood" that creatures like the Watcher and the Balrog seem so damned real.  I'll posit that this film really couldn't have worked until animators were able to bring realistic looking creatures/sets in contact with human beings/animals.  Like the Marvel films, too much of this depends on fantasy and abilities that humans don't have, and puppets, etc. might have ruined the film, or made it seem cheesy.  Yes, Yoda is really, really great when Frank Oz is manipulating him as a puppet...but he has so much more expression in his CGI iteration.  That's what I'm getting at.

So, as I said, I think CGI in this film is what helps make it so great.  And that is a contradiction to my views on past films, and I don't care.


Opening with an extended prologue, read with incredible vocal dexterity by Cate Blanchett as Galadriel, the film takes us to different worlds, and to an amazing battle sequence featuring thousands of elves/humans/orcs, and one great big bad ass bad guy named Sauron.  I could rehash the story, but what's the point?  I'm more interested in telling you that this film knows how to grab your attention, and to really convey the depth of the prologue of the events we are going to witness.  One of the great things about the film is the way it then shifts mood into the idyllic Shire, followed by a journey to Bree, where humans and hobbits mingle a bit, in a land awash in a driving rainfall.  The mood has shifted from when the hobbits have left the Shire, and as the journey continues, we see the ruins of the centuries-old past.  I suppose I could keep describing this.  Let's leave it as...the further from home the characters in our drama roam, the harder things become for them.  Yes, there are pleasant places to visit along the way, but the journey reveals dark truths and terrifying and proud history.  Kinda like any journey one takes.

Stuffed, and I mean STUFFED, with compelling images, this film is a visual wonder, but it is not the only thing it has going for it.  The visual just happens to be the easiest to spot.  Not so easy to spot is sound design.  What do the Nazgul sound like?  How about an orc, or a goblin?  What kind of songs do the elves sing?  All of these questions are answered in this film, and problems are solved in consistently baffling fashion.  The shrieking of the Nazgul feels like fingernails on a chalkboard, but tell me that isn't exactly what they should sound like.  Of course, as they are fictional, they could sound like anything the crew decided upon, and we'd have no real frame of reference.  Yet, the sound we are presented makes sense, inspires dread, and sets a tone.  Even the befuddled cave troll sounds right.  Beyond the simple effects, the soundtrack score only helps to enhance the film.  The triumphant theme of the Fellowship brings grandeur to their quest, when really, it's just 9 (kinda) people trudging across the landscape.

I don't think I'm really worthy to comment on the storytelling happening in the film.  For a film with so much exposition, it is kinda crazy how much story gets crammed into this opening chapter.  Whether it is the beginnings of the Saruman/Gandalf feud, or the hobbits' encounter with the Nazgul in Bree and at Weathertop, the entire Moria sequence, or the final battle with the Urak-hai, the story rolls right along in this film, and really captures our attention.  We meet a mysterious stranger who should be king, a feisty dwarf, a mystical elf, the delightful hobbits, a pile of creatures, etc.  It's epic style stuff.  We even get a very brief introduction to one of the most important characters, the creature Gollum, in the mines.  Battle sequences in Moria, on Weathertop, and the finale are exciting, filmed exquisitely, and full of drama.  If one does not know the story, watching Frodo getting impaled in the mines of Moria is a disheartening blow, and Gandalf's death shortly thereafter is not much better.  See.  That's how I saw the films.  I didn't know what was going to happen next.  And I applaud Peter Jackson for his filmmaking prowess in keeping the suspense just where it belongs - as suspense.

Acting - well.  Ian McKellen, Viggo Mortensen, Sean Bean, Christopher Lee, Cate Blanchett, Ian Holm, and John Rhys-Davies are all veterans of countless British and other amazing films.  Their inclusion into this film adds weight and gravitas to a fantastical story.  Throw in the wide-eyed innocence of Elijah Wood, Sean Astin as Samwise Gamgee, played with ferocity and loyalty; Billy Boyd and Dominic Monaghan as the hobbits Pippin and Merry, respectively, who are comic relief but oh, so much more (although, admittedly, not until films 2 and 3).  Orlando Bloom IS friggin' Legolas.  Impossibly handsome, invariably suave, Bloom is a wonder.  I must say, though, that given the burden he has to carry, Elijah Wood really was the eye opener in this film.  His honesty, his soul just pours out in every scene in which he appears, and we love him for it.  It is a hell of a thing, having to carry a film, surrounded by greatness, and Wood is decidedly up to the task.

Look.  This film represents the greatness that modern cinema can portray.  It's a fantastic ride that compels one to watch the next two films, for sure, but we also see all the best that CGI and modern filmmaking techniques can offer.  And, God bless him, Peter Jackson decided to keep a lot of old school stuff in there, also.  Hobbits are 3-4' tall...and Jackson, rather than manipulating every image with the computer, used forced perspectives on lots of shots.  I guess that makes for the difference between acting to a green tennis ball in a green studio and acting with a real person, in costume, sitting a few feet away from you, but close enough to connect.  It was a brilliant choice.
There you have it.  This is film is grandiose, to say the least.  It is among the most ambitious projects ever undertaken in cinema, because it was attempting to film something so untrue, yet so familiar to so many millions of people that there was a small margin of error.  I'm not so certain there are many.  A few, I guess, but, damn.  Try filming a battle sequence involving thousands of orcs, elves, and humans, and making it all feel real.  Amazing, amazing stuff.

This film series will, and should, be remembered for decades to come as films continue to become more sophisticated.  I doubt, however, that any will be able to capture the right blend that this one did, because of...well...maybe timing...maybe passion...whatever.  It's a tremendous film, and while the newest, cracked the top 50 all time.  Monumental stuff.  Truly.

Ebert had read the books, and his take is less kind.  It's here, if you wish to read it.

Sometimes a hero...

...is one of us.

Yet another stop I've already made, but am remaking for this year's (and then some) quest to watch all the AFI Top 100 (10th Anniversary Edition) in 12 months.  I took 5 months off, so I'm still on pace, and were I not saving some of these to experience with others, I'd be through this.  Bah.  I'm almost there.

I'm down to 6 after this one, and as I've said ad nauseum, I've seen all of these remaining films before, and I saved these 10 for specific reasons, and to keep me motivated towards the finish line.

Film 94

94.  "12 Angry Men" (AFI Rank #87)

Every once in a while, while doing this task, I feel like I'm the luckiest guy on earth that people might actually want to know what I have to say about a film.  Then, I get to write about experiences that I have with some of the bigger films of my life.  The last essay was like that.  This one, however, is pretty damned personal, and this essay is going to explore a lot of that, but also this film.  I've got stories to tell about this story, and since you stopped in to see me, I'm going to tell them.

I was in maybe 7th grade when I was first introduced to the story "12 Angry Men."  I'm pretty sure it was in our English textbook, towards the back, in the sections that the teacher never really gets to, as the school year usually ran out before the textbook did.  I remember that it was a play, and I remember being mesmerized by its story, especially the moment in which the protagonist, Juror 8, first lays down the idea of doubt about the murder weapon by producing an identical switchblade to the "very unique knife" the prosecution had used in its case.  I've used the photo from that moment above.

As you may know, I spend my evenings doing theatre as a glorified hobby.  Know what I wasn't doing in 7th grade?  Theatre.  I had never been in a play, except the 3rd grade Thanksgiving play at school, in which I played Miles Standish, mostly, I think, because of my red hair. I was,in 7th grade, singing in a prestigious children's chorus, and that spring I sang in Carnegie Hall, and performed on a Grammy-winning album.  So, performing was part of my life, but I hadn't yet discovered the magic of walking around (on stage) in someone else's clothes, pretending to be them.  So, what did this 7th grader do when reading this beautiful script by Reginald Rose?  Did he think about playing one of the roles?  No.  He thought about directing it, and nothing else.  What kind of weirdo kid who gravitates towards the spotlight thinks of getting behind the scenes on a 12 man show, set around a table?  Me.  That's the weirdo.  In 2003, I finally got to realize that vision, and I directed this show as my first foray into directing.  I've since gotten to tackle some huge projects, like "Amadeus," and I am currently directing "One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest."    All of that work that I've done, all of that passion, all of those hours spent learning my craft, and failing, and succeeding, and everything else involved with it, it all comes from this one script, tucked in the back of an English textbook that I read on my own.

All of the above is a qualifier on why I should probably recuse myself from discussing this film.  I'm pretty partial.  Pretty biased.  Pretty much everything a juror shouldn't be.  I'm not alone, though.  This film rests at #87 on the AFI Top 100, but currently ranks 6th on IMDB's user polls.  4 of the other 5 are in the Top 100, and "The Dark Knight" was released the year AFTER the list was made (not that I think it would crack the list anyway).  This film is a populist hit, but it's also an artistic achievement for any number of reasons.

Directed by rookie (hey, that sounds familiar) filmmaker Sidney Lumet, who adeptly sucks us in to the amazing script, this film appeared in 1957, and featured some real heavyweights in Hollywood, including Lee J. Cobb as Juror #3, Ed Begley as #10, and Henry Fonda as #8, our protagonist.  Filling out the cast are amazing character actors familiar to us from other places, such as: Martin Balsam (Foreman); E.G. Marshall (Juror #4); Jack Klugman (#5); Edward Binns (#6); and Jack Warden (#7).  In doing research about the film, I discovered that Lumet had made the men rehearse their lines extensively, in one room, with no cameras rolling, so as to really get the idea of how everything flowed, and to heighten the drama within.  When shooting a film, one might get to a page of dialogue in a day, one might rip off dozens of pages, but you're not doing a story in its entirety.  Lumet rehearsed it as a play, and it absolutely shows in the performances.  It was a brilliant idea, and Lumet deserves major credit for it.

Beyond that, composition of shots in this film is important.  The pictured knife moment is a big one, for sure, but watch the camera work in this film.  It starts out from the perspective (often with long(ish) shots) of above the jurors' heads, then, by the end of the film, shots are from eye-level or below, and we get a series of close-ups.  Periphery disappears, as each man is put on the spot, and he is left alone in the frame.  It's his thoughts against someone else's, and it's fucking brilliant.  Shot in black and white in an era that could have used color, the art of this film is as important as anything in what makes it great.  Yes, it's a small, one room set (there are a couple of moments shot in the restroom), but it doesn't feel that way.  Lumet and his crew made that one room feel cramped, sure, but they explored the room from all angles.  There was nothing left to the imagination.  So, in spite of its tiny size, this film feels big.

I've already talked about Reginald Rose.  That, I think, is the key to this film.  The writing is so compelling, so subtle, yet so in your face at times, that I am always left thinking, "Boy, that guy got all of it.  He didn't miss a trick."  And the script doesn't.  I've gassed on about male acting/male dynamics in film.  Here is its centerpiece.  This film centers around one thing, and that is men "measuring" against other men.  Note the number of times that a man in this film calls into question another man's bravery, or machismo, or anything else, then count the number of times that they have to apologize.  We see men being their manliest, puffing out their chests, then realizing that they are humans, and apologizing for their animalistic behavior.  This is especially true of Juror #3, a man driven by passions that reveal themselves as the play goes on, but a man who can't shut his damned mouth, because he can't listen.  You know the story, right?  A kid is on trial for murdering his father.  It appears to be an open and shut case, and the 12 men of the jury are sent in to a steamy jury room to decide his fate.  On the initial vote, 11 jurors vote guilty and 1 (Juror #8) votes not guilty.  Over the course of the film, a reasonable doubt is brought into each and every juror's mind, and by the end, the verdict of "not guilty" is decided upon, unanimously.  Along the way, we hear prejudice, ageism, a little sexism, vacuousness, and people who can't be troubled with inconvenience.  It's a fascinating tale.  Oh, and it's stuffed with "YEAH BUDDY" moments, like the knives in the table, an "I'm going to kill him" moment, and all kinds of other "EUREKA!" moments that make courtroom dramas so damned appealing.  The other great thing?  Rose never actually tells us whether or not the kid committed the murder.  It doesn't matter.

Well.  We've got a terrific director, making his debut, and pouring his soul into his first project, we've got a screenplay that is absolutely dynamite, and we've got actors.  And my God, what performances they turn in.  I should start with the "supporting players."  I've mentioned several names, but I'm going to single every one of them out now.  Martin Balsam embodies the foreman, a man not necessarily excited about his duties, but one who executes them to the best of his ability.  To his left is John Fieldler (the voice of Piglet) as Juror #2, a wonderful performance as a mouse-ish bank teller.  His "I'm waiting for the second hand to get to 12" is inspired.  Lee J. Cobb is our principal antagonist, as Juror #3, the man who wants the kid to burn for reasons all his own.  Full of bombastic energy, Cobb's performance ranges from reasonable businessman, to enraged tough guy, to broken estranged father.  It's spectacular.  E.G. Marshall's Juror #4 is all the character should be, decidedly beholden to logic at all costs.  He only sweats when logic fails him.  Jack Klugman takes the small role of Juror #5 and gives him real weight.  Edward Binns as Juror #6, an even smaller role, is dynamite, especially when defending the old man, Juror #9.  Jack Warden nails the impatience of Juror #7, and his stammering explanation of why he's changed his vote is one of the finer moments in the film.  Joseph Sweeney, while a bit creepy at times, is perfect as Juror #9.  I'm not quite certain that my nose was ever sensitive to the touch during a summer cold, but Ed Begley puts us on edge with his Juror #10.  His final pleas are heartbreaking, as the man realizes that he's alone with his stupidity.  George Voskovec hits all the right notes with his "foreigner watch maker" Juror #11.  I think part of what makes Jack Warden so good when he changes his vote is Voskovec's performance challenging him.  Finally, we get Robert Webber as the hopelessly befuddled Juror #12.  He's so wonderfully vacuous, so absent, that he actually pulls something out and drops it on the room that he says others do unconsciously.  Or is it conscious?  See...I'm not sure.  That's how much I buy Webber.

I've left out Juror #8.

Listed as the #28 "Hero" from the AFI Heroes and Villains list, Juror #8 is a terrifically important patriotic character.  He represents all that America is supposed to be.  Clothed in white, and standing out from the other men in the room almost from the start, Henry Fonda is the perfect selection to portray this wonderful role.  There is a weariness to Fonda that lends itself to the proceedings, a tone in his voice, that just says, "I don't know any better than you, but I sure as hell am not dumb enough to think that I do."   His relentlessness when after an adversary is chilling, and that's not all in the writing.  Fonda has a way of piercing right through the eyes of the opponent (often us, in the camera line) that is beyond off-putting.  It's downright frightening at times.  Watch Fonda's interactions with Cobb and with Marshall especially.  The actors are having a duel, and each one of them is feeding into each other into amazing moments.  Lots and lots of them.

I can't speak enough accolades about this film.  I love it.  I saved it for now because I knew I loved it, and I was so glad to get to watch it for the umpteenth time while doing this.  It's an important film, both as a film and as a story about democracy, and especially our judicial system.

SHIT.  There was one detail I wanted to mention, one that I'd missed every time I'd seen it before now.  As the film opens, we are taken around the courthouse in New York City before we settle into the trial room where the jurors are.  The first thing we see is a man, clutching an expanding wallet-style file folder, slightly sniffling as he comes out of a courtroom.  Know what happened there?  Divorce.  We then see some other results of other courtrooms.  It's a brilliant sequence, and one that helps fill out a rich tapestry.  Especially as we're about to disappear into a jury room and never come out.
I love this film.  I want you to love it, too.

Roger talked more about the reasonable doubt aspect of the film. Other than that...surprise, surprise, I'm with him again.  His "Great Movie" essay about this film is here.