TAKE ONE, TWO, THREE: Joan, the Woman

Ingrid Bergman in "Joan of Lorraine" (1946).

If you research any serious to moderately serious actress in the history of the world, you’ll probably uncover her fascination with, desire to play, or personal portrayal of one character above all others: Joan of Arc. The list of actresses who have had the honor of bringing this martyred figure back to life are numerous: Katharine Cornell, Joan Plowright, and Jean Seberg, etc. Jean Arthur played her with an interesting twist, having her Joan listen and respond to God as naturally as if he were standing beside her, whereas most performers had received him in awe with upward glances. Julie Harris performed opposite Boris Karloff (as Bishop Pierre Cauchon) to great acclaim in The Lark. As for Ingrid Bergman, her fascination with the "Maid of Orleans" began in her youth. Identifying with this chosen woman’s otherworldliness and admiring her courage, Ingrid would become determined to portray her both on the screen and on the stage. Her first portrayal was in 1946's "Joan of Lorraine," a play within a play about one actress's voyage of discovery in the role of Joan. This was later adapted for film without the dual story element. She resumed, or rather, refashioned the role on stage in "Joan of Arc at the Stake" in 1953, directed by her then husband, Roberto Rossellini. Marion Cotillard just did a recorded rendering of this oration as well.

But why all the hoop-la? As history becomes mythology after so many centuries have passed, the Passion for Joan of Arc seems a bit strange and outdated. Certainly, modern cynicism prevents audiences from responding to the "voice of God" that plagues poor Joan with the same fascination. The instinct is to mock or raise an eyebrow rather than believe. In addition, perhaps because Joan is a woman-- a girl, really-- her triumph over the British in war-torn Europe is too often presented as more of a macabre fairy tale than a truly inspiring story of heroism. Of course, this has a lot to do with the way she has been portrayed to audiences over the years. It often reads more "cute" than moving that she went out of her way to bring peace to her nation.

Dame Judi Dench in "St. Joan" (1966).

Still, while the varying depictions may age, the story does not. War is war is war, and as is clear from our nightly news broadcasts, we as human beings haven’t evolved much in terms of co-existentialism. People living in fear, people massacred for freedom, the downtrodden, the revolutionists-- they’re all still here. Within the chaos, it is always the pure voice of reason and peace that seems to be sacrificed, not so much for fear of the words, but for fear of the change they may provoke. We are too married to our savage ways; too mistrustful of our brethren to surrender our modest level of power and control for fear that we will be forced to surrender all. Better to trample underfoot than be trampled underfoot. Thus, the “heavenly” voices are silenced and their living vessels become murdered legends, from Jesus to Joan to Martin Luther King, Jr. Thus, Joan's position as a revolutionary makes her story tempting to continuing generations of artists.

Then, there is the woman herself who is appealing. The industry of entertainment is rarely kind to women. In film, the role options are variations of but a few accepted types:  the loyal wife, the slut, the frazzled, backward girl who just wants a boyfriend, or the cold, modern female who is finally reminded that she is just a frazzled, backward girl who needs a boyfriend. Even Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction could be plopped into the ‘frazz’ category. So, imagine the appeal of a strong, independent, willful female character, who is not adherent to any man, but serves only the spirit of man-- an idea of peace and goodness that has no form nor shape but exists only as faith. Imagine the appeal for actresses wanting to give a performance of strength, madness, bravery, fear, betrayal, and all the shades between. This protagonist is much more appealing than the typical gal-Friday. Hallelujah!

What follows will be the analysis of three particular women and what they brought to the role of Joan. The films of Joan the Woman, The Passion of Joan of Arc, and Joan of Arc present generally the same story, but in each adaptation, the audience meets three very different women. Which martyrdom was worth it?

Joan the Woman - Geraldine Farrar

Cecil B. DeMille seems the perfect director in retrospect to interpret the angelic Saint Joan. His own personal devotion to Christianity and his knack for luxurious, historical... re-imaginings shall we say (?), would certainly convince an encroaching viewer that something grandiose awaits on the other side of the "Play" button. Yet, Joan the Woman is far from a "Come to Jesus" cinematic moment. Cecil definitely takes certain liberties, for instance creating a love story within the tragic tale by uniting the stories of the The Hundred Years War and WWI through  a reincarnated soldier (Wallace Reid). Unfortunately, the expected juice is missing from Cecil's usually more tempting fruit.  People often forget that Cecil literally learned directing in the public eye. His first film effort, The Squaw Man (1914 ) was one on which he had a great deal of assistance, and when he made Joan a mere two years later, he had not yet cultivated the sublime craft that would make him a master of cinema.

Joan the Woman falls between The Squaw Man and more impressive future efforts like The King of Kings and The Godless Girl, meaning that he was no longer an infant and not yet a genius in his artistic self-discovery when filming commenced. There are elements of his usual intrigue, and his scene compositions are already cookin’, but the eye struggles with what to follow in the somewhat washed-out world he presents. This would not be an issue, had the film a strong actress to guide the audience through the maze of monochromatic hysteria Cecil delivered. Unfortunately, Geraldine Farrar was not up to snuff.

Not without merit: here we see a touch of the growing DeMille
brilliance. He'd only been at it a couple years, folks...

Naturally, Geraldine seemed like a casting coup when production was initiated. DeMille had worked with her on Carmen (also with Wallace Reid) in 1915 and was hoping that the same mutual appreciation and public response would repeat itself in their reunion. Geraldine herself was a fascinating and vibrant woman-- an opera singer with a conscientious demeanor and the charisma demanded of her craft. Without her legendary voice in the silent Carmen, she still performed very well, conveying the sinister sexuality of the notorious gypsy with an enviable panache. Yet as Joan, her effect was not as superb. 

For starters, Geraldine (left) was 34 when she played the role but looked older. Joan only lived to be approximately 19. The age issue could have been compensated-- though the discrepancy is an instant disappointment-- if Geraldine had been able to portray more innocence and delicacy in the part. In this case, she seems more to be struggling in vain to dilute her usual potency and plays Joan the Statue instead of Joan the Woman. Her piety is also unshakable, which makes her character arc monotonous and uninteresting. Her Joan is so in control and seemingly unafraid that she comes off as somewhat pompous. Had Lillian Gish with her effervescent valiance or Mary Pickford with her vulnerable but selfless carriage assumed the role, it would have been a better fit. Geraldine is far too mature, too cynical, too unyielding, and too bored in the role. In truth, she seems to be laughing at her performance even as she gives it-- which may have been for personal reasons, as her life was a bit chaotic at the time. (She had just wed the interfering and unmanageable Lou Tellegen.)

In any case, the rigidity with which Geraldine approaches the role gives the audience little to relate to. In total contrast to the title, she makes Joan a figurehead and an idol and not a flesh and blood human being. Had Geraldine played a plotting British wench or a mistress/mole in the French monarchy, she and the audience would have been happier.

The Passion of Joan of Arc - Maria Falconetti

The blame for the aforementioned film cannot be laid on its technical inadequacies. The fact that it was a silent film, black and white, etc, are not excuses for its flaws-- though is should be said that the actual film stock didn’t age well and the version available doesn’t exactly belong in the Criterion Collection. Yet, another silent B&W film involving St. Joan does fit into that category, and its brilliance belongs only in small part to the supremacy of its restoration. Directed in 1928 by Carl Theodor Dreyer, this fittingly French adaptation of Joan’s life does not cover her initial recruitment by the voice of God through her eventual execution, but focuses on a snapshot-- or rather, snapshots-- of her life at its darkest. For 82 minutes, the audience is literally absorbed into Joan’s torment, faith, and tormented faith, as she faces the hypocritical judges who accuse her of heresy and eventually burn her at the stake for her refusal to perjure herself. 

What is amazing about the film is the fact that so little happens in such a brief time, but the art and style are so well-crafted and acted that it is not so much a movie as an experience. The phrase “not a dry seat in the house” could definitely be applied. Truly, truly, it is a breathtaking piece of work and a touching and brutally human portrayal of Joan’s story. Film students should have to study this picture alone to be able to understand how intelligent editing with finesse (see shot sequence, left) and creative camera angles can create near perfection. It is far too simple for filmmakers to leave all the directing to the audience, but Dreyer guides the focus so eloquently that this story-- which in lesser hands could have been shot as a static, staged play-- is transcendent. It is violent, threatening, paranoid, painful, heart-breaking, and fluid.

An integral part of its success belongs to Maria Falconetti, who literally carries the film in a series of intense close-ups. I can only remember seeing a full, standing body shot of her twice-- once when walking before her jury, and the other enduring her last moments at the stake. Again, this actress is not the appropriate age, but Maria succeeds where Geraldine failed because she wears the last years of the intensity of war, social scrutiny, and flagging faith so clearly that one could almost refer to her granular performance as corporeal. She is not your prototypical beauty. Indeed, she is rough, weathered, and-- unlike Geraldine-- androgynous. Every emotion, every doubt, every tick, is exhibited in her eyes-- which are wide and psychotic at times and peacefully humbled at others. With the crafty camera work and skillful cuts, viewers never grow tired of her face as it reflects her rapidly dwindling willpower. Even without this technical assistance, every tear that falls down her cheek is somehow unique, as if delivered from a different and very particular, aching place in her soul. One can literally see her nostrils quiver as she struggles to breath and contain her sobs. In simpler terms, her profound despair kicks you in the guts.

Maria Falconetti's devastation is read on her face in its many mutating
and varying degrees from start to finish. Here, she is shamed and
humiliated for her "heretical" stance and for her denial of gender.

Joan's moment of mental weakness is also brilliantly displayed by Maria. We see Joan as she caves in to her human fears, signing a confession that will clear her name, save her life, but defame her God. Yet, as she raises the pen, one feels a rush relief. Her suffering is over. “To Hell with God, Joan! Save yourself!” This makes her final denial and renouncement of the document all the more painful. When she is reaffirmed as a heretic, one feels both pride and horror on her behalf. The moment when she begins to burn is an uncomfortable inspiration, for the audience fully understands the terrors she went through and overcame. Still, her death feels personal. It is a mix of liberation and torture for the viewer. One understands what the flames are killing, having witnessed the woman so closely. Joan is not an archetype or demigod. Though played by a woman, she is just a fragile girl-- a harmless creaturs. The final scenes, the chaos at the execution, the images of her corpse within the flames, omit an aroma that is sensed if not truly scented. These are ugly, violent scenes, for which reason the film was banned/censored upon its release. 

The final analysis of Passion is not so much to promote the good that Joan did for France nor her victories nor her God. Falconetti does not present a legend. She presents a human. In a strange way, this upsets the perfect ghost of Joan’s memory while glorifying it. It is resplendent.

Ingrid Bergman - Joan of Arc

The final version to which I will lend investigation is Victor Fleming’s Joan of Arc. For all that was said of the last film, this one blatantly states the opposite. Fleming, notorious for his sweeping tales and larger-than-life movies-- Gone with the Wind, The Wizard of Oz, Wings-- was clearly not of a mind to tell a story but to build an epic. The tale of Joan’s life from her resolution for conquest and declaration of war to her eventual death is blown a bit out of proportion. It's effect is long-winded and distracting instead of engrossing. Thus, the heart of the story, carried so superbly by Ingrid, struggles to find its way to the surface of the almost threatening color, overwhelming breadth, and transliterated scope of the film. It is, essentially, Joan the Woman overdosing on adrenaline. Fleming adds some brilliant touches, such as implicating the nightly rapes Joan most likely would’ve suffered during her incarceration, but the attempts at decadence, while not entirely unbearable, are out of place. Ingrid and Fleming seem at all times to be telling two different stories. One artist is playing the cello; the other is blowing a trumpet.

Ingrid definitely brought more enthusiasm and physicality to her role as
Joan. She is not just a small young woman who hears voices; she is
a soldier, warrior, and leader, as well as prophet.

I wanted to love the film and prove all the nay-sayers wrong, but I couldn't. The movie was critically panned upon its release, yet Ingrid was such a phenomenon at the time that the public still turned out in droves to see her. This is an example of super-proper casting. To the people of the world, Ingrid Bergman in the early-mid '40s was a saint. She was the angel of Hollywood-- a blessed, untainted, gorgeous soul. Her passion and decency, the persona that the public thrust upon her-- which was not totally untrue-- made her a foregone conclusion for the part. The fact that she had already performed the role on stage only bolstered this theory. Yet, somehow, it doesn’t work. Ingrid is seen too much from afar. The audience is not allowed to get too close, sealing Joan’s identity as an unknowable goddess instead of the mysterious, ethereal but real girl she was.

Despite this, Ingrid herself can be proud of the work she did. Her approach to the role is very much in keeping with her little girl lost identity, and coupled with her rather imposing physique, she makes for quite an interesting heroine (right). In fact, Fleming takes advantage of Ingrid’s length with his long shots, and she dominates the frame with her elegant command and childlike dedication to her quest. Why must we fight? Because... Because, we must! Because, God said so! As such, her over-devotion and wide-eyed responses to the Voice of God come off a bit saccharine at times. However, she is able to neutralize this effect by veering more on the side of immaturity rather than ignorance. Particularly in the scenes where she is questioned by her English partisan judges, her unschooled but honest answers tangle her attackers’ reason and simultaneously hurt their pride: there is nothing worse to them than being outsmarted by an uneducated peasant, not to mention a woman.

Where Ingrid really excels is in her typical simplicity and the honesty with which she communicates her emotion. The most powerful scene is perhaps that where her conscience is tested before the judges. She can uphold her prior testaments that it was God who spoke to her and commanded her to lead the legions of France, but she will be burned at the stake-- a painful death that she has fearfully foreseen. Or she can lie, claim that she acted of her own free will, and spend the rest of her life in jail. The people in the observing crowds, who are already holding her up as their savior and Saint, beg her to sign her confession! She falls to her knees in anguish, and we see only her eyes, filled with wonder and joy, even peace, cascading light and unforced tears down her cheeks. Ingrid signs, the people cheer, and she is safe. When betrayed by her the judges, who keep none of their promises, Joan becomes ashamed at her weakness and recants her faulty testimony. She dies finally understanding the eternal peace that her God had promised her. She goes fearfully but willingly through fire, determined to reach that place.

If the movie were Ingrid as depicted in The Passion of Joan of Arc, the results would have been more commendable. Unfortunately, Fleming is too concerned with winning a wrestling match with himself.

In all versions, one could make an argument as to whether or not Joan was in fact mad. Were her ravings that of a disturbed woman with the kind of "divine" genius that often makes the greatest (Moses) or worst (Hitler) of leaders, or was she truly a woman touched by the hand of some predetermining force of nature that saw calamity and chose in her its warrior? The answer doesn’t matter. In the end, it is not a faith in God that drove any of the women portrayed in these films. It was a profound faith in themselves and the message they felt they must deliver. Their sense of purpose, though shaken under duress and clouded by the usual human uncertainties, is successful. Their effect was to change the shape of the very world.

Boris Karloff as the conspiratorial Bishop questions Julie Harris's
Joan in The Lark (1955).

The most interesting thing about Joan of Arc for our purposes is how the many different actresses who have played her chose to do so because they saw slivers of themselves in her. It was these cracks, flaws, and lights in her character that they then reflected through their separate interpretations. For all her faults, one could say that Geraldine brought to the role her stubborn resolve. Maria brought pain, and Ingrid brought love. None were wholly true; none were wholly false. In searching for their characterizations, each woman probably thought she heard the voice of Joan guiding her, tried to hear her, or at least hoped to let Joan’s spirit speak through her. Were they really communing with a woman whom they had never met and only admired? Were they mad? Again, it doesn’t matter. They made their statements, martyred themselves before our critical judgment and scrutiny, and now, as Joan's women, they remain mislaid pieces to the continuing mystery of her life, death, and universal hold.

DIDJA KNOW: Didja See?

Spencer Tracy and Irene Dunne play lovers split asunder and 
reunited in a spiritual way in A Guy Named Joe. 

Didja ever notice a glaring similarity between a modern movie and an earlier predecessor? Sometimes, the latter-made films are direct remakes; other times, they just bear a strange plot resemblance to earlier fare. I normally discuss this double-take analysis in my "Take One, Two, Three" articles, but today's offering is less in depth. Instead of re-hashing storylines and how they mutate from film to film, I instead offer up a new game of: If You Liked This, You Should Watch This. Since not all of the following original films were hits, it makes one wonder why studios would decide to reinvest in an already failed clunker; since some of the originals were great box-office successes, it makes one wonder why studios would want to desecrate an already perfect vehicle by re-doing it-- sometimes to disastrous results. In any case, here is the latest conglomeration of my congested, media-soaked head. You be the judge:


Angels in the Airfield

Steven Spielberg's film Always was fairly well received upon its 1989 release. An atypical romance with an otherworldly quality, it told the story of a renegade pilot (Richard Dreyfuss) who squelches forest fires. Due to his risky job, his girlfriend (Holly Hunter) is constantly in emotional turmoil with worry over his safety, and rightly so. He goes on one mission too many, and the cost is his life. However, he returns as a spirit, looking over his grieving love and getting mighty jealous when she starts falling for another guy (Ted Baker). An appearance by Audrey Hepburn as a helpful angel (left) also tipped the scales on this one, making it a well-acted, well-crafted love story for adults. BUT...

Didja see A Guy Named Joe? The plot is practically identical! Released in 1943 and directed by Victor Fleming, this film tells the tale of ace WWII bomber pilot (Spencer Tracy) who loses his life in the line of duty, much to his girlfriend Irene Dunne's despair. He is soon back as a guardian angel, who too is forced to watch his young mentor (Van Johnson) as he rises in the ranks as a pilot and falls for his girl. In both versions, the returning guardian learns with bitterness the love he took for granted in his life, overcomes his overzealous penchant for danger, and coaches the new, younger pilot into a better flier. He too overcomes his own personal envy in pushing his mourning girlfriend toward a love that he was unable to fulfill for her himself in life. The later film is admittedly a remake-- though, as 45 years had passed between pictures, few people know it! (Spence and Irene embrace next to Ward Bond, right). 

Two Little Mermaids

In 1984, the fantastical romantic comedy Splash hit theaters thanks to director Ron Howard. The unconventional tale of a young man (Tom Hanks) who falls in love with a mysterious woman (Daryl Hannah, both left)-- who turns out to be the mermaid who saved him from drowning as a child-- was an unlikely sensation that helped seal Hanks's reputation as the comic leading man of his generation. The mermaid, known as Madison, comes to land, sprouts legs, and hides her tail by avoiding water. As she acclimates to human life, she is forced to keep her true identity a secret from the man she loves, but eventually the truth comes out, and the befuddled (and a little grossed out) suitor is left with a harsh decision to make. With the help of his brother (John Candy), he decides that love is the only answer, and he forsakes his life on the land for an eternal swim with Madison. (It goes without saying that a massive suspension of disbelief is necessary to enjoy said picture). BUT...

Didja see Mr. Peabody and the Mermaid? It was produced in 1948 and directed by Irving Pichel. It too tells the unlikely tale of a girl with a tail. (Haha). This time, William Powell is the surprised recipient of aquatic affection, however, he is aware that the girl of his dreams (Ann Blyth) is a fish from the get-go. To boot, he is middle-aged and unhappily married. Hence, when he accidentally catches a mermaid when out fishing on vacation (right), he is both struck dumb and pierced with Cupid's arrow. He takes his prize home, where he moves her from the bathtub to the outdoor coi pond and tries to keep her existence a secret, though his shenanigans increasingly make him look as mad as a hatter to his friends. Though man and fish fall in love, in this case they admit defeat: their two worlds can never be one, and besides, Powell's character needs to go back to his wife and patch all that matrimonial business up. Because of the differences in plot, this is clearly not a remake, but with such an interesting spin on romance (or should I say, "fin"), you can't help but draw a comparison.

Knock Outs

There are a great many films out there surrounding the passion and the pain of athletic combat: Rocky, Cinderella Man, The Fighter, Golden Boy, Warrior, Million Dollar Baby, etc. All of these films have some level of similarity in plot-- the underdog is put through the mill to overcome insurmountable odds and become a champion. Details vary, endings add new interpretations, but they all evoke the emotions of sympathy and aggression in the audience-- hearts with fists-- that makes this genre a continuing, surefire hit-maker at the box-office. The excitement of competition itself is enough to keep audiences coming back for more. Hence, much was made of Darren Aronofsky's recent take on the subject in The Wrestler in 2008. In this film, Mickey Rourke portrays an aging wrestler (left) of the comical yet intense WWF style, who struggles with the decision to give up the ring for a safer, more respectable life. The estranged relationship he shares with his daughter (Evan Rachel Wood) and the complicated and not fully reciprocated attraction he has for a stripper (Marisa Tomei) adds to his personal frustration. At the end, a broken, wreck of a man, he decides that the only place he belongs is in the ring, where he accepts the mask of his caricatured self and faces daily, painful atonement for his sins. The brutally nuanced performance of Rourke brought the film a great deal of attention, and it was hailed as a creative and moving contribution to the genre, BUT...

Didja see Requiem for a Heavyweight? Though this earlier movie by Ralph Nelson (1962) revolves around boxing, the plot is uncannily similar in many ways to The Wrestler. Adapted from a televised production, the film stars Anthony Quinn as the aging boxer Louis "Mountain" Rivera (right) who is clearly on the way out. Battle-worn and suffering from punch-drunk dementia, he too considers surrendering a life of pain in the ring for a more simplistic career-- as a camp counselor. An impossible romance enters his life too with the lovely Grace Miller (Julie Harris), for though her heart goes out to him, she is intimidated by his aggressive presence and too frightened for his safety to truly fall for him. Torn between his manager (Jackie Gleason) and his trainer (Mickey Rooney), Mountain vacillates between his feelings of duty to pay off the former's gambling debts and the latter's concern for his personal safety and support of his retirement. After having his heart broken and humiliating himself in his failed attempts at normal, civilian life, Mountain accepts his fate as a puppet of the ring. He even sacrifices his dignity to do so, sells out, and becomes a gimmicky, cartoon-ish wrestler known as "Big Chief Mountain Rivera." He enters the ring to jeers and laughs, but is too numb to hear them or feel the punches anymore. While different in details, this earlier offering proves that The Wrestler may not have been the super-creative endeavor that we  origianlly assumed.

Re-Count

In 2008, the all-American nice guy Kevin Costner appeared in the film Swing Vote (left) directed by Joshua Michael Stern. In it, he plays Bud Johnson, an immature and under-driven father whose daughter holds the reins of responsibility in their small family. Disappointed by his apathetic approach to life, she tries to vote for him at the latest presidential election in their home state of New Mexico, however, a technological mishap causes his ballot to go uncounted. This minor occurrence causes big waves when it is discovered that NM will hold the deciding vote in the electoral college and-- with a 50/50 tie between the Republican and Democratic candidates-- Bud's un-tallied vote alone will make the national decision. Suddenly swarmed by the media and forced to take a stand for the first time in his life, Bud is politically seduced by both flip-flopping candidates-- played by Kelsey Grammer and Dennis Hopper-- and he finds himself interested and asking questions on behalf of the American people. In the end, he must step up to the plate and make a decision, but the process changes the man he was and makes everyone else question their own political and social stances. Pretty interesting concept. BUT...

Didja see The Great Man Votes of 1939 starring John Barrymore? Directed by Garson Kanin, this film is a nearly identical precursor to Swing Vote. In it, Gregory Vance (Barrymore) is a washed up widower and fallen intellectual who has found solace in alcohol. To his children, he is a sad genius, but to the world, he is a faceless night watchman. His life is turned upside down even further when it is discovered that he is the only registered voter in his district left to solve the latest ballott dilemma. A big mayoral election comes to the fore, and the politicians come calling with their governmental flirtations, trying to win his deciding vote. Just as in the later picture, Vance is forced to remember himself as a man, embrace his duty as a patriot, and emerge as an integral part of his community. He garners a self-respect that has been absent for years, and thus the respect of his children, though their presence in his life is being threatened by un-trusting relatives who want to take them away. Confident for the first time in a long time, Vance fights back the only way he knows how and manipulates the system that is trying to manipulate him, inevitably refusing bribes, turning on the wooing candidates, and making up his own mind. The final victory is a dual one in that he wins back his self respect and his children. Swing Vote (as far as I know) is not an admitted re-make, but the close resemblance of the stories makes it and The Great Man Votes at least fraternal twins.

Several Brides for One Brother

In 1999, Gary Sinyor directed the romantic comedy The Bachelor, (no, not the TV show). In it, Chris O'Donnell plays Jimmie Shannon opposite Renee Zellweger as Anne Arden. Jimmie and Anne have been dating for some time, and while all of their friends get married around them, Jimmie finds it difficult to commit. Begrudgingly, he admits that maybe it is time for him too to settle down, but when he proposes to Anne with the phrase "sh*t or get off the pot," she gives him the heave-ho despite her love for him. Unfortunately, Jimmie discovers immediately afterward that his grandfather has died and left him a $100 million fortune-- wth the slight draw-back that in order to collect, he must be married by 6:05pm on his 30th birthday... which is tomorrow. Jimmie tries to win back Anne, but she's still miffed, so he is forced to go through his little, black book and approach any ex that will have him-- but his proposal skills are so poor that none will. When word gets out that he is to inherit a fortune, suddenly he finds himself attacked by every woman within driving distance and literally chased down the street by thousands of females in wedding dresses (left). Long story short, he and Anne reunite, but not before he has learned that it is she he wants and not the cash, which is thankful, since they have run out of time. At least they have each other and are rich in love. Cute enough, BUT...

Didja see Buster Keaton's classic Seven Chances??? Released in 1925, this hysterical hit of visual mayhem revolves around Buster's James Shannon, who is a struggling broker and romantic underdog. Suddenly, he is alerted to the fact that his grandfather has died, and he will inherit $7 million if he is married by 7pm on his 27th birthday... today! Uh-oh. He quickly proposes to his girl, Ruth Dwyer, but she turns him down when his proposal insinuates that he has to marry any girl he can find and not her in particular. Offended, she leaves him to his typical bad luck, aided only by his partner and the lawyer who initially broke the news. He proposes to every girl in sight, but as he is not exactly the prototypical ladies' man, he is consistently turned down. His pals line up seven girls for him to propose to, but still no luck. While he takes refuge at the church, unbeknown to him, the word of his upcoming fortune is leaked. Awakening from a nap, he is suddenly surrounded by frothing females in wedding gowns (right), but he is too overcome and intimidated to deal with the situation. He runs, the ladies take chase, but he finds salvation in Ruth's arms-- she has forgiven him. The two are married at the stroke of 7:00 and live happily, and richly, ever after. Since Keaton and O'Donnell's characters share the same name, it is pretty clear that the later film is a remake. While both are entertaining, there is no match for Keaton, so if you are going to see either, see Seven Chances!

Lon-a-Thon

Since I start to implode if I don't mention Lon Chaney at least once a month, I have a few past-present film comparisons to go over in relation to his work. For starters: Didja see Ace of Hearts? Produced in 1921 and directed by Wallace Worseley, the plot involves a group of insurgents who, having for various reasons become disenchanted with the court system, take matters of retribution into their own hands in the name of justice. They choose various subjects, whom they deem despicable, and engage in a game of chance in order to decide which member of their tribe should kill the immoral infidel. Another member, Lilith, played by Leatrice Joy, deals from a stack of cards. The man who receives the Ace of Hearts is the chosen assassin (left). In the midst of the latest caper, a love triangle ensues. Lon's Mr. Farrallone is in love with Lilith, but so too is Mr. Forrest (John Bowers), whom she, of course, chooses. Chaos follows, with Lon as per usual sacrificing himself for his beloved, while the obvious questions of right and wrong and the hypocrisy of man are brought to the fore. BUT, you may recognize the storyline in 1983's The Star Chamber, in which Michael Douglas joins a band of fellow judges who are determined to bring justice to the criminals that they were unable to punish in a court of law. They meet secretly, dole out verdicts, and condemn men to death by their own means. Both films beg the question, What is justice?

Didja see Tell It to the Marines? In 1926, George W. Hill directed this masterpiece with Lon starring as the intimidating Sergeant O'Hara (right) who has been tasked with bringing latest enlistee Skeet Burns (William Haines) up to snuff. Hard-boiled, rugged, and self-sacrificing, O'Hara consistently butts heads with Burns over the latter's insubordination and their shared affection for base nurse Norma Dale (Eleanor Boardman). In the end, Skeet overcomes his own selfishness, toughens up, and fights alongside his mentor in a pivotal battle, proving once and for all that he is a man, and thus, a man worthy of Norma's love. After the younger man has served valiantly, O'Hara bids him and Norma adieu, and continues on, training the next chapter of weak enlistees. In this film, Lon forever set the unsurpassed bar on military tough guys that would be frequently repeated in various films, from Full Metal Jacket to Stripes. BUT, you may notice an uncanny similarity between the plot lines of Tell it to the Marines and 1982's An Officer and A Gentleman. Minus the love triangle, they are very similar in that Lou Gosset, Jr's Sergeant has to train and mature the headstrong and crooked new soldier, Zack Mayo (Richard Gere). Both films present the strange, macho love-hate relationship between the superior officer and his trainee and the arduous process the underling must go through to embrace maturation, responsibility, and eventually love, (in the latter film via Debra Winger).

Didja notice how many of Lon's early gangster films centered around Chinatown? In Outside the Law (1920), his dastardly character of Black Mike Sylva cooks up trouble for fellow crooks Dapper Bill Ballard (Wheeler Oakman) and Molly Madden (Priscilla Dean) in this neck of the woods. In addition, Lon makes his first appearance as a Chinaman in a dual role as Ah Wing, thanks to director Tod Browning. ~ In The Shock, Lon portrays Wilse Dilling, a crippled con, again from Chinatown (left), forced to do some undercover work for Queen Ann (Christine Mayo). He switches locales to a small town, where he consequently falls in love with good girl Gertrude Hadley (Virginia Valli) and changes his ways. Turning his back on the criminal life, he returns to the dirty underbelly of Chinatown only to save his beloved's life. ~ In addition, the gang of cons in The Miracle Man were assembled from Chinatown. Lon, of course, plays Frog in this picture, which-- thanks to his abilities of contortion as a salvaged cripple-- would be his big breakthrough. ~ And finally, one of the working titles for Lon's cop drama While the City Sleeps, in addition to "Easy Money," was "Chinatown." ~ BUT, did this influence the eternal movie on this geographical subject, 1974's Chinatown starring Jack Nicholson and Faye Dunaway? Director Roman Polanski's take on the city presents just as many diabolical components as these Lon predecessors, including corruption, violence, and incest. What is it about this place that brings out the worst in people, anyway? Whether in NYC or L.A, early Chinatown comes across as a today's Compton!

See what happens? Ya' go to Chinatown and ya' get Jack'd (aka Nicholson).

STAR OF THE MONTH: James Dean

Hollywood's Favorite Rebel: James Dean

Jimmy, Jimmy, Jimmy... Why'd ya' do it? Over fifty years later, your absence still aches. The whole trouble with legends is that their reputation often eclipses their talent. Just as Marilyn and Elvis tend to disappear behind all of the hullabaloo said about them, so too has Dean become more of a symbol than a human being. I've often been asked, "What's the big deal? Was he really that good?" I reply with a resounding slap and a "You bet your sweet life!" Yes, he was good. My God, was he good. The legacy he left behind is the result of an astounding and almost electric talent, one that set him completely apart from his contemporaries, and history has maintained his power. When he died, many would draw comparisons between his death and that of Rudolph Valentino. The effect was equally profound. As my grandmother Mary Lou put it, "I cried my eyes out." So, to prove my point, ask yourself: What celebrity today would I mourn with a like passion were his life to be suddenly snuffed out? Go ahead, I'm waiting...

Dean woos Julie Harris and the rest of America in his first 

breakthrough role in East of Eden.

You see? James was special. While the eruption of the method actor was spearheaded by the dual force of Marlon Brando and Montgomery Clift, Dean's effect was perhaps even more poignant simply due to his age. It was his youth more than anything else that set him apart. He wasn't that foreign adversary called the "adult"-- someone that kids merely dressed up and pretended to be-- he was the angst ridden young man that they were. He represented their transition: the awkward stage when adolescence strives to become maturity. He was the being we all once were, and whom we had to survive, to reach adulthood. His embodiment of the confusion, rage, and rebellion that was suddenly being awakened in the dormant nuclear family society was one that every teen in American could relate to. He gave adolescence a face and a voice. His performances were both loud and silent, carefully cultivated, yet intensified by sudden bursts of improvisation. While Brando is attributed with creating a physical energy that enveloped the atmosphere, and Clift is the man who more fully brought to the surface the complications of inner emotion, Jimmy was the most adept at using his environment-- becoming a part of it, tangling with it, and moving through it as his own organism. There is not one piece of film where he does not look completely at home, completely attached to his surroundings, even if he is pounding his fists against it. He rests his chin on a wall, rolls on the ground, casually plucks leaves from a tree, or soaks in a burst of oil from the very earth he is rooted to all with equal ease.

Dean and Corey Allen prepare to play a game of chicken, 

because "You gotta do somethin'."

Oddly, in his personal life, Dean seemed to be rooted to nothing and no one except his own mania. His eccentricities were merely a part of what made him so alluring. Just how calculated his manner was remains a topic of controversy. His psyche suffered an early fracture with the premature passing of his mother, whom he adored, when he was but 9-years-old. Just as Gable would endure the ongoing saga of the little boy lost after his own mother's death, so too would James seem to be on a perpetual quest for the severed maternal love for which there is no replacement. Despite the fact that he would mature under the care of his loving aunt and uncle on their Indiana farm, he too would feel the eternal burn of abandonment on the part of his father, who sent him away initially because he was unable to care for him alone and more finitely when he was drafted into the war. Born of this dual loss was the classic Dean penchant for chronic searching. He became a frenetic and curious boy who was fascinated by everything, constantly on the move, competing and excelling at various sports, and raising Hell by speeding around town on his first motorbike. An early and innate gift for mimicry, which kept his peers rolling with laughter, would naturally translate to acting. He never really found within all of these things what he was looking for, but still he continued the hunt.

The classic image of Dean's cool: a car and a cigarette.

His ambidextrous nature would continue into his young adulthood, and while acting became the one thing that he remained solidly faithful to, his insatiable need for information made him thoroughly knowledgeable on a great many subjects: athletics, art, music, foreign languages, etc. He became an unpredictable creature. He would appear at a friend's doorstep with his drums, perform an interlude for a few hours, then abruptly disappear-- usually through the window. He would be full of smiles one moment, joking and laughing, and then become sullen and distant the next. There were two Deans: you either loved him and his idiosyncrasies, or you loathed him and his outlandish tomfoolery. Actually, there were more than two of him... Dean wore so many faces and represented so many different things to his friends that each knew him in a different way. This contributed to the continuing confusion as to just who he really was, including sexually. Friend Martin Landau knew one Dean and swore up and down that "This guy was not gay." College roommate and lifelong friend William Bast knew another Dean and claims that the two had an intermittent sexual relationship over the years. The nature of Dean's relationship with the Rev. James DeWeerd as a child also raises questions, as does the recently released revelation he made to the late Elizabeth Taylor, who claimed he confided to her his molestation by a minister as a youth. On the one hand, you have his deeply romantic love affair with Pier Angeli-- who is popularly recalled as the "one who got away" and whose wedding Dean sat outside, fuming on his motorcycle. On the other, there are the claims of Rogers Brackett-- who acted as a sort of patron for Dean when he was starting out and too claims that the two had a damaging and complicated affair. It is hard to find the clear and definitive line of truth. The theories are as various as the theorizers: he was a homosexual in denial or he was a bisexual that preferred women. People tend to imagine the Dean that they would have preferred. 

One of JD's goals as an actor was to make a Western, a 

hope fulfilled in George Stevens's Giant.

But perhaps this was all part of his plan. In any event, it had no impact on the public's worship. Whatever his sexual nature, he was masculine enough to maintain male respect and adulation, and sensitive and beautiful enough to continue making young girls swoon. His image, the James Dean he created in life and left behind in death, was part truth and part illusion. He tested his audiences in his private life as much as he did on the screen. His crazy shenanigans-- pulling his shirt over his head while he was eating to detract/attract attention, or his casually strolling into a stranger's home to help himself to a sandwich-- were things that he did consciously and unconsciously. He added to his own mystique, later becoming ensnared by the very enigma he had created. He once turned to a friend after being rude to a studio-head and asked, "If you ever figure out why I just did that, tell me will ya'?" Being his friend was, in fact, a challenge. He pulled stunts to push those closest away, trying to see who would remain faithful no matter what he pulled. To this day, no one can say with any certainty who the Hell James Dean was. He remains as the proverbial tree in the woods-- making even those who knew him best sometimes wonder if he even existed at all.

Dean and mechanic Rolf Weutherich prepare for Dean's last drive 

in "Little Bastard."

In the end, it became too complicated for James Dean to be James Dean. His insatiable love for acting, which took him from Los Angeles to New York and back again, had but one foe for the number one place in his heart: racing. Dean loved to drive. Not only did the speed fulfill his craving for pulsating adrenaline and invigorating stimuli, but it gave him escape. Behind the wheel, he was focused, in control, and away from both the madness of the world and his own uncertainties, insecurities, and emotions. It gave him strength, to defy and conquer danger at once. As in all things he tried, he excelled at driving. Many seasoned racers remarked on his "steel hands" and imperturbable focus, but most importantly his total lack of fear. Ironically, he was safer on the fiery and foreboding dirt paths of the racetrack than he was on the open road. A freak accident in 1955 on route 46 claimed the life of a man that fate alone had the power to kill. Herein do we find the popular slogans: "Live fast, die young" and "Too fast to live, too young to die." Dean would have been irked by this legacy. The youths who look up to him, who seek to emulate him by being "complicated," "dark," and "tortured," those who worship his offspring-- Morrison, Cobain, Phoenix-- by mirroring his tragedy, do not understand his passions. Dean hungered for life not death. While he openly admitted an uncanny premonition that he would not make it to thirty, he also was quoted as saying, (when questioned about his daredevil ways), that he would never purposely endanger his life, because he had too much to live for, too much he had yet to do, too much he wanted to learn. Dean was far from "done," and we were not yet finished with him when he was abruptly taken. Sadly, legends can only be born in death. 

Dean became good friends with photographer Dennis Stock, who took this "silly" photo, 

which would become morbidly popular after Jimmy's death.

The legend lives on in the many faces he left behind: the lost puppy you want to nurture, the fidgety rebel who makes you want to defy, and the beam of irrepressible sex appeal that makes you want to do many, many things.

~ ~ ~

In college, one of my professors told me that the scene in which Sal Mineo looks into his locker mirror in Rebel Without A Cause, and sees James Dean's face reflected back at him, is the most written about moment in cinematic history. I believe it. I believe it, because it is perhaps one of the most honest moments ever captured on film. All of us look onto the movie screen waiting to see little pieces of ourselves reflected back, and we look for them in the most beautiful of Hollywood's faces. Since Dean remains one of our most cherished idols, we to this day still look at him and see ourselves. He exteriorized our true demons and yet delivered his performances with a grace, a swagger, and a charm that we too hoped to possess. He was the man of our dreams and the self of our dreams. In trying to become all human beings, he succeeded only in making us want to be like him. He was just cool. Really, damn cool. Had he survived, there's no telling how much further his talent could have taken himself and us. His career, his human interpretation, his voyage had just begun. Oh Jimmy, Jimmy, Jimmy... Why'd ya do it?

James reveals himself as yet another Christ figure, here with 

Elizabeth Taylor in Giant.

Happy May.