Movie Review #63

Splendor in the Grass (1961)
Directed by Elia Kazan
Written by William Inge

Rating: 4.75/10.00 or **

The era of filmmaking the teenager as a complex and troubled individual, driven by raw desires and emotions, overwhelmed by domineering parents, and resigned to the passions of sexual desire and first romance, was in full swing by 1961. Many motion pictures were centered on these themes, from Rebel Without a Cause to East of Eden to West Side Story. These films were quite popular and often critically acclaimed for their realistic depiction of adolescence and the growing realizations of a youthfully rebellious culture. Splendor in the Grass continues Natalie Wood's and Elia Kazan's look at this stage of life. The film has won critical acclaim since its daring introduction in the early 1960s. So when I watched the movie for the first time a couple of weeks ago, I was amazed at how bad it actually was.

Splendor in the Grass has a good beginning but takes a turn toward the awful about halfway into the movie. Splendor in the Grass takes place in a small Kansas town in the late 1920s. The first scene of the film finds Bud (Warren Beatty, in his theatrical debut) and Deanie (Natalie Wood) in a car near a waterfall. It is clear that Bud wants to have sex with Deanie, but Deanie refuses. Bud tries even harder, but Deanie's stubbornness prevails. Bud stands up in bitter embarrassment and anger, saying that they better go home. Beatty is completely unconvincing here; his anger is hyperbolic and unrealistic. His face does not portray the emotion he feels; this would be a common observation throughout the length of the movie. Beatty's performance is plastic, detached, and indifferent. Bud is an interesting character, and Beatty just trashes it.

When the two return to their family homes, the theme of parental domination takes hold with brute force. Deanie's mother (played by Audrey Christie) is obsessed with her daughter, constantly reminding her to "not go all the way" with boys. She tries to convince Deanie that "good girls" stay virgins until marriage and that even then, they submit to sex only out of obligation, to "have children". Good girls do not enjoy sex like men do. Deanie is in turmoil due to her growing sexual desires for Bud, and her mother adds to the turmoil with her constant reminders about what "good girls" should do. Christie provides the best performance of the movie; every time she is present, an overwhelming sense of dread is felt. Her obsession with raising Deanie "right", with caring for her "little girl" seems more sinister and menacing than maternal and thoughtful. Her selfish desire to be seen as a good mother and her own sexual frustrations combine to produce a compulsively overbearing mother who is so blinded by her own hopes for her child that she cannot see and refuses to admit to her daughter's troubles. Christie performs this with a stunning combination of innocence and menace.

Meanwhile, Bud returns to a household of similar quality but of substantially different social class. While Deanie's family is poor, Bud's is rich. His father Del (Fred Stewart) is flourishing in the oil industry. Del has high hopes for Bud's future. He wants Bud to take over for him after his death. It is clear that Bud does not, however. When Del wants Bud to go to Yale for four years, Bud is hesitant. Bud wants to go to agricultural college, marry Deanie, and raise a family on one of his father's ranches. Del constantly reminds him of the promise Bud's life has as a rich businessman.

It is clear that Del's hopes for Bud are a defense mechanism for his daughter's "failures". Ginny (Barbara Loden) is a town outcast. She has failed at adult life three times, the last time requiring an abortion and an annulment. Del is clearly disappointed with her, and Ginny is just as upset with his parents. Ginny warns Bud at one point that he will understand his father's oppressive behavior with time. And then, "God help you!"

Bud is torn apart by his sexual desires for Deanie and his desire to make his father happy. He eventually succombs to his father's wishes and agrees to go to Yale. When he tells Deanie of his choice, Deanie ruefully understands and says she will wait forever if she has to.

One of the film's most prevalent themes is Deanie's jealousy over Bud's acquaintances with other women. When she sees Bud talking to Juanita (not a "good little girl"), Deanie quickly admonishes him. Bud rebukes by saying, "I'm not even supposed to know girls like that exist?" Deanie quickly apologizes and then makes it clear that she wants to have sex with Bud, almost as an internal defense mechanism for Bud's desires for other girls. This behavior would only amplify with time. Deanie almost forcefully drives Bud to sex, but Bud becomes more repulsed by Deanie's advances, saying at one point, "You aren't like this."

One evening, Ginny's troubling behavior comes to light. At a New Year's Eve party, Ginny becomes drunk. Getting more and more fed up with her father and her "good" brother, she gets herself into trouble. Several sex-hungry men take her to a car and are about to have their way with her. Bud finds them and fights them off. Ginny, meanwhile, angrily drives off, nearly running some of the men down. When Deanie discovers a bruised Bud, he quickly takes her home. When Bud drops Deanie off, he says he wants to spend some time apart for a while. Deanie is left alone at her porch, stunned at the sudden change in their relationship.

Up to this point, Splendor in the Grass is fairly convincing. It had a strong premise, seemed to progress logically (if not a little melodramatically). The acting was statued and heartless, but the script and the direction made up for it. The movie was highly complex, engrossing, and intelligent. But the film soom spirals down an unconvincing, over-exaggerated, and highly unreasonable path of which it never escapes. The script becomes pretentious and overly symbolic, the plot becomes contrived and melodramatic, the acting worsens into hyperbolic, almost cartoonish tangents of one-dimensional emotions, and the film's resolution is annoyingly coy and manipulative.

A few weeks have passed. Bud is more confused than ever. He is doing poorly in his classes, unable to concentrate on anything. At a basketball game, he injures himself and soon falls unconscious. In his recovery, he tells his doctor about his feelings for Deanie. He explains his sexual frustrations and his love for Deanie, how they seem to conflict more than coincide. The doctor provides little help, but Bud sees this more as an opportunity to just talk about it for the first time.

We soon see Bud and Juanita fooling around at the waterfall, the same waterfall that seemed so distant from Bud and Deanie at the beginning of the film. Bud has now "let out some steam" with the girls "he wasn't supposed to know about". And if you can't figure out what the waterfall symbolizes, Kazan helps you. As Bud and Juanita shed their clothes, they are now under the waterfall.

Meanwhile, Deanie is approaching despair. Near the beginning of Splendor in the Grass, a literature instructor asks the women of the class if any one of them feels as if they are on a pedestal. We see Deanie smiling, glowing with her love for Bud. Now we see the instructor ask Deanie to interpret a stanza from William Wordsworth:

What though the radiance which was once so bright
Be now forever taken from my sight,
Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower,
We will grieve not, rather find
Strength in what remains behind

Deanie stands up, repeats the stanza, and then proclaims with tears pouring down her cheeks:

Well, I think it has some...Well, when we're young, we look at things very idealistically, I guess, and I think Wordsworth means that when we grow up, that we have to forget the ideals of youth and find strength...

Deanie can't finish the sentence. She runs out of the classroom. Dear Lord, the drama! You can almost feel the manipulation, see the sap crawling down the tree.

Her downfall continues to progress at home, when her mother asks if her behavior has been induced by Bud. In her "questioning", Mrs. Loomis asks Deanie if Bud "spoiled" her. Deanie goes into a rage. She submerges herself in the hot water within the bathtub, screams in anger and despair, and runs to her room. She is soon sent to a psychiatric institution, where she will spend the next two-and-a-half years recovering from her love from Bud, coming to terms with her feelings and her life.

Meanwhile, Bud goes on to Yale, messes around, plays with friends, and meets a girl at a local restaurant. He fails at his classes. This is in conjunction with the stock market crash in October 1929. Many families, including Bud's, are going broke. Bud's father comes to New York to ease his clients' fears and to set Yale straight on his son's potential. When the Dean tells Bud's father that he doesn't want to attend the university, Bud's father becomes enraged, trying to persuade the Dean that he "just isn't applying himself". Bud's father then takes Bud out on the town, trying to encourage him once again to chase his father's dreams. But as Bud's father tries to get him to meet a stage dancer, Bud leaves him out of embarrassment. The life of Bud's father comes crashing down on him, as he has lost his son and his money, and he kills himself. When Bud is asked to identify the body, Bud quietly says, "I'll take him home".

Deanie has met a nice man named Johnny (Charles Robinson). Deanie loves him, but not in the same way as Bud. Deannie still has not recovered. When her parents come to visit after her first six months at the institution, Deanie quickly becomes uncomfortable with her mother's incessant need to be regarded as a good mother and her constant references to her daughter as a "little girl", "perfectly alright".

Deanie eventually does recover and returns to her home. She has matured and has since forgiven her parents for their overbearing protection. Her mother has not changed, however. Mrs. Loomis does not want Deanie to see Bud again, but her father gives away his location, the one time in the whole film where a parent actually seems to have a heart. Deanie kisses him and leaves to see him. Bud has since married the girl he met at Yale (Angelina, played by Zohra Lampert), has a child, and is expecting another one. Their meeting is quiet and bittersweet. Deanie lovingly holds Bud, Jr., converses with Bud a while, and then quietly leaves. As Deanie and her friends drive off, Deanie is asked if she still loves Bud. Her response, in voiceover, is simple:

Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower
We will grieve not, but rather find
Strength in what remains behind.

So what are the problems with the film's second half? They are infinite, substantial, and crucial to the film's lack of effectiveness.

First, the film's plot becomes increasingly melodramatic. Bud's injury seems more than a little contrived, spawning such obvious scenes as Deanie's prayers for his recovery and Bud's conversation regarding his sexual frustrations to his doctor. Deanie's downfall to "craziness" and despair seems remarkably overdone, to the point of aggravating manipulation. The scene between Deanie and her mother in the bathtub is unbelievably exaggerated. Wood is extremely unconvincing in her outburst due to her overdone portrayal of uncontrollable hysteria. This is a hard scene to act, but Wood's performance here is woefully inadequate.

Second, Kazan and Inge repeat their themes to the point of annoyance. This is especially true with two aspects of the film: the overbearing parents and the submission to sex out of jealousy. The portrayal of Bud's father and Deanie's mother as obsessed parents blind to their children's needs is repeated to the point of numbing irritation. Bud's father Del, in particular, seems to have no point in the film except to be an overwhelming power-hungry father. By his third scene in the film, there is no doubting this fact. Why remind us every time we see him on screen? Can't he have one scene in which he doesn't say, "Hey, you aren't doing what I want you to be doing"? Can't he have one scene in which he just says, "Hello, what's going on?" His character is a one-dimensional stereotype. There are overbearing parents out there, but they are more dimensional than Del is ever made to be. The character of Mrs. Loomis is better since she is given the aspect of latent feelings and emotions; her struggles with her own life are echoed in several scenes with her husband. The performance of Audrey Christie is also an asset; she never overacts through the whole movie. She is the only one in the film not to do so.

The recurring theme of submission to sex out of jealousy is repeated no less than four times in the film. The first time was effective, but the last time was manipulative and unbearable. Kazan is not shy about his motifs, and this is not an asset. His themes lose effectiveness with repeated use. They make otherwise intelligent plot points seem silly and out-of-place, borderline implausible.

Along with Kazan's overuse of motifs is his blatant symbolism. Inge adds to this problem by "clever" dialogue. The waterfall's symbolism of sexual desire and tension is subtle in the beginning of the film, but when Deanie tries to drown herself in the reservoir above the waterfall about two-thirds of the way into the movie, I've had enough. Inge's "clever" dialogue is just as bothersome. The literature instructor happens to be the best example of this "clever" dialogue, which is my way of saying that the dialogue not-so-subtlely brings the writer's/director's points to the surface without actually saying so. I about threw something at the screen when I heard the literature instructor ask if anyone feels like they are on a pedestal. And Deanie just smiles...

The acting is horridly inadequate. Beatty is indifferent and emotionless in a role that should not be. Wood is way too melodramatic and at times off tone entirely. Supporting performances are for the most part average. The only actor to shine is Audrey Christie. Her quieter, much more convincing performance is a bright spot in an otherwise mediocre acting effort.

Finally, the film's ending is almost intolerably manipulative. If you couldn't predict the ending to the film about halfway through Splendor in the Grass...wow. I like how Inge and Kazan just metaphorically slap Bud in the face. How dare you not live with Deanie, whose maturation is majestic and courageous? You had to settle down with a simple girl instead. Look what you lost! This is the final scene's purpose and intent, and it is ridiculous in its predictability and unforgiveable in its arrogance. Subtlety is not Kazan's forte, but his blatancy here is unnecessary and insulting.

It is these numerous and significant flaws that have led me to take Wordsworth's line in a slightly different manner--Nothing can bring back the hour of Splendor in the Grass, of glory in the flower.

Movie Review #62

Unforgiven (1992)
Directed by Clint Eastwood
Written by David Webb Peoples

Rating: 7.25/10.00 or ***

Clint Eastwood's critically acclaimed Unforgiven features a man who is aging with the era he belongs to. The first scene, so aesthetically perfect, shows a setting sun with the black silhouettes of a lone tree, a man, and a tombstone. "She was a comely young woman and not without prospects. Therefore it was heartbreaking to her mother that she would enter into marriage with William Munny, a known thief and murderer, a man of notoriously vicious and intemperate disposition. When she died, it was not at his hands as her mother might have expected, but of smallpox. That was 1878."

Munny (played by Clint Eastwood) is a reformed man. After a youth of drunkenness, violence, and villainy, his marriage with Claudia has since "settled" the man. He gave up his youthful ways to raise a family honorably. He insists upon this, almost like a little boy who has done something wrong but refuses to believe it. He now tends to hog farming, struggling to make ends meet for his two children.

Meanwhile, in the town of Big Whiskey, Wyoming, an incident has divided the town in two. One night, two men viciously assault a prostitute, slicing her face with a knife. When Little Bill Daggett (Gene Hackman), the sheriff, only punishes them with a fine and some harsh words, the women of the town (all prostitutes) scrounge up enough change to offer a reward for the killing of the two attackers. With this news, Big Whiskey is a magnet for the aging gunsmen and marksmen of the West. Legendary criminals come to the town to find and kill the two men. One such man, English Bob (Richard Harris), is used as a warning to the others. When Little Bill finds English Bob, he viciously beats him with all the townspeople watching. Little Bill will not have guns in his town, and he will ruthlessly attack anyone who does. English Bob leaves the town battered, Eastwood's ominous foreshadow of things to come.

The Schofield Kid (Jaimz Woolvett) rides up to Munny's abode one day to inform him of the reward. The Schofield Kid tries to convince Munny to join him, using his legendary history as his persuasion. But Munny continues to proclaim his change, saying his wife cured him of his "drink and wickedness". With time, however, Munny is drawn to the reward. He badly needs the money, but we have a sense that more is on his mind than riches. He goes to his old friend Ned Logan (Morgan Freeman). Logan is himself married and reformed, but his loyalty to his friend is strong. They both head out and join the Schofield Kid.

As the film progresses, we see the weaknesses of the three men. The Schofield Kid has poor eyesight and can barely see several yards in front of him. Logan, meanwhile, is good with a gun but does not have the fierce mindset that he used to have. Munny seems haunted by his past and is much less skilled with his age (He has trouble mounting his horse, and he comments to his kids that it is due to his poor treatment of animals in his youth). In an excellent scene, Munny confesses to Logan that he has regrets of his past. He talks about a man he killed, but he can't think of any reason why he deserved to die. Logan tries to comfort him, but Munny remains haunted of his past doings. We sense the same of Logan, and this feeling leads to one of the most heartbreaking scenes of the film. But more on this in a while.

When the three enter the town, they quickly learn of the sheriff's harsh stronghold over Big Whiskey. Munny is cruelly beaten by Little Bill in a local bar because he brings a gun into town. Munny slowly crawls out of the bar, barely clinging to life. The rain pours on him as he slowly comes to rest on the ground outside the tavern. It takes many days for him to recover. I loved this scene for its effective symbolism. Munny's physical state is as low as his mental one. He has reached the lowest point in his life, and it seems as if he will never recover.

But Munny does recover--because he has a job to do, kids to feed, and a fight to settle. With a growing sense of dread, the film reaches its third act...the slow but assured transition of Munny to his criminal ways. Munny, Logan, and the Schofield Kid find one of the prostitute's attackers. In Unforgiven's most heartbreaking and most important scene, Munny shoots him after Logan hesitates to do so, and the man is severely wounded, crawling behind a rock. He yearns for water, and Munny and Logan demand his friends give him water, promising not to shoot anyone. The wounded man eventually dies, sealing the fates of Munny and Logan. Logan cannot go on with the bounty hunting, as he is a permanently changed and reformed man. Logan leaves the party, wanting no more of the violence or the bounty. Eastwood perfectly summarizes the state of the three characters in this scene; this is the most effective sequence in Unforgiven. However, it also points out one of the film's problems, somewhat mediocre acting, which I'll get to shortly.

Munny, meanwhile, continues to transform into his old ways. Munny and the Schofield Kid find the second attacker; the Schofield Kid eventually kills the man. We sense the Schofield Kid's horror right away. Even though he has told of countless stories of his killings of other men, it becomes clear that this was his first actual killing. The Schofield Kid is horrified of what he has done; he vows never to do it again.

Logan is captured by Big Whiskey's law enforcement and is brutally whipped by Little Bill. Munny is soon notified that Logan has died due to his punishment. Furthermore, Logan is "on display" in Big Whiskey to warn outlaws that this is the punishment they will get if they break the laws of the town. Munny returns to Big Whiskey, fully transitioned to his youthful violence. He comes back into the bar. He shoots the owner of the bar for allowing Logan's body to be displayed on the tavern's porch. He then shoots everyone with a gun, invincible to the bullets fired at him. One of them is Little Bill, who very slowly dies.

Little Bill: I don't deserve this. To die like this. I was building a house.
Will: Deserve's got nothin' to do with it.
Little Bill: I'll see you in hell, William Munny.
Will: Yeah.

Munny's transition is now complete. Eastwood directs this with dark, tragic overtones. Munny has avenged his friend's murder with the complete loss of his reformed self. Munny is not a hero, but he is aware of his fate. When Little Bill says that he will see him in hell, Munny quietly and sadly agrees as he shoots him for the final time.

The film's themes are solidly presented and completed with conviction and confidence. Eastwood's direction is humble but assured. Unforgiven feels natural in its progression and is consistent in tone and presentation. This is the mark of a talented director. The film's script is simplistic, perhaps a bit too much, but it is always perfect in tone. The script does not overdramatize. It is instead matter-of-fact, realistic, and truthful.

Unforgiven is marred by two things, however. The acting is somewhat bland (probably an artifact of the script), and the film is somewhat disjointed in its character transitions. Eastwood makes his character quiet, almost painfully so. At times, he seems emotionless. Munny struggles to hold his troubles underneath the surface, but when he boils, Eastwood does not pull it off as well as he could have. His performance is too mundane for his character's transformation. Freeman's performance is equally bland. He could have done more with his part, I think, but he instead chooses the same quietness that Eastwood evokes. Having two characters on screen like this is a bit tiresome to watch with time.

On the other hand, Gene Hackman sizzles in his role. He performs with an energy that the rest of the actors fail to evoke. Although this makes Little Bill seem especially villainous, it at the same time provides a void the rest of the cast fails to fill. Scenes without Hackman seem slow and tiresome.

Probably a result of the combination of simplistic dialogue and "soft" acting, the film's character transitions at times seem unconvincing. This was especially the case with Logan, when his scene of realization feels sudden and a bit surprising even with hints of it in the scene between Munny and Logan anguishing over their regretful past. Munny's transition seems a bit more plausible but is also presented in what feels like bursts of transition rather than a more realistic smooth transformation. Unforgiven seems strangely unfulfilling in these character transitions, which could have been improved upon with a bit more screen time. The film is two hours long, but it could have used another fifteen minutes.

All of this aside, however, Unforgiven is presented with an accurate tone. The themes of the film, from the characterization of "western personalities" to the role of women in westerns to the "nameless" western persona to the incoming doom of civilization, are all presented with assured genius. Eastwood provides a somber touch to these themes, as if all of them were dying with the western itself. This is Unforgiven's overall motif: the western's end is dying with the aging characters, the new houses being built (a motif with the Little Bill character), and the "reform" of the impetuous exploration of each character's youth. Unforgiven is a coda on the western, one last glimpse of a dying era.

The film's conclusion puts the finishing touches on the overall theme. We see the same things as the film's beginning (the lone tree, the tombstone, and the old man). The film ends with these lines, a most appropriate summary:

Some years later, Mrs. Ansonia Feathers made the arduous journey to Hodgeman County to visit the last resting place of her only daughter.

William Munny had long since disappeared with the children...some said to San Francisco where it was rumored he prospered in dry goods.

And there was nothing on the marker to explain to Mrs. Feathers why her only daughter had married a known thief and murderer, a man of notoriously vicious and intemperate disposition.

Guest Review #2

Platoon (1986)
Written and Directed by Oliver Stone

Chad's Rating: 7.50/10.00 or ***
Phil's Rating: 6.00/10.00 or ** 1/2
Emily's Rating: 9.00/10.00 or ****
Darin's Rating: 5.00/10.00 or **
The Movie Club's Average Rating: 7.75/10.00 or *** 1/2

While watching Platoon, one gets a sense of chaos. Oliver Stone has filmed the Vietnam War from a soldier's viewpoint. You can't see anything when it's dark, and you can't understand anything when it's light. War brings out the primitive instincts, the basic human thoughts and emotions. Anger turns to violence, and fear turns to an incessant obsession to survive. Stone's personal take on the war is shown without hesitance; the war is what it is when you are surrounded by it. There are no politics but constant casualties. Vietnam is the end of the world, an endless jungle with an undefined and hidden enemy without purpose. The goal is to kill without being killed. Plain and simple.

Platoon has to be admired for its presentation. There is probably no more accurate representation of the conflict than what is shown in this film. The soldiers are represented with stinging accuracy, their emotions even more so. And there is no plan of attack other than to survive vicious scuffles. The battles are around the soldiers, not in front of them. Gunfire comes from all directions, and friendly fire is just as menacing as enemy fire. There is no safe spot in this place.

Platoon stars Charlie Sheen as Chris Taylor, a college dropout who comes to the war out of a sense of duty. Why should all the rich kids stay at home? He mentions this to his fellow soldiers at one point. Some respond with disdain, but after the initially apprehensive start, Taylor is accepted by most of the other people in his platoon.

Generally, the story of Platoon is Taylor's stint in Vietnam. From humble and uncomfortable beginnings to the harsh reality of battle to the meltdown of his fellow troops to the final battle that would send him home. Platoon bombards the viewer with the most terrifying aspect of war: the loss of humanity. This is seen, to varying degrees, with almost every soldier seen in the film. Take Sergeant Barnes (Tom Berenger), a deeply scarred individual. He has seen infinite brutalities of war, and he has succombed to many of them. Raw emotion drives his action. Vengeance turns to inhumanity as he is seen killing unarmed Vietnamese civilians. He nearly kills an innocent child were it not for Sergeant Grodin's (Willem Dafoe) intervention. War has rendered Barnes insanely indifferent, unflinchingly mad, instinctively violent. Barnes is a brutal man who will stop at nothing to survive and to punish all others against him; he is very nearly inhuman.

Grodin, meanwhile, maintains human feelings and emotions, but he is a fierce and skilled soldier. He kills when necessary and without second thought. One can't help but wonder if he clings to his human characteristics with a slipping grasp. Strangely, the film represents these two sergeants as opposing personalities, but it seems more realistic to believe that these two people are at varying stages of the same decline.

Barnes and Grodin are at conflict with each other, and this leads to division of the platoon and later a dramatically conclusive scene. Probably the most famous scene of the film is Grodin's death at the hands of Barnes's neglect and contempt. Although the scene is appropriately dramatic and undeniably powerful, this is Stone's most pretentious shot. This is the only point in the film where Stone's touch is too strong, where the film embellishes rather than portrays one of the character's deaths. Stone returns to the realism he had previously developed for the rest of the film, and the result is effective. Platoon's final act is exceptional filmmaking.

Here are some individual thoughts on the film from some members of the movie club:

Phil: Platoon is a cold film in many ways. It is unflinching; it almost has the feel of an emotionless witness. We see event after event with such unrestrained honesty that it's almost difficult to feel anything at all. All you can do is watch and react. Strangely, the film's impact on the viewer is to make you a soldier, too, and although that is chilling in many ways, it reduces the emotional impact of the film's presentation. In a way, the film's very style is its own undoing.

Emily: Platoon's defining moment occurs right at the end. Chris is in the helicopter, flying away from the dreaded jungle. He observes the ground below, almost with an omnipresence. He sees injured soldiers, screaming men, dying troops. He sees the survivors with their crazed looks and fearful eyes. He understands, but for the first time he also feels it. He weeps. He doesn't do so in the jungles of Vietnam; he only realizes the true horrors of the war when he's away from it. He lost his humanity in Vietnam, but he regains it as soon as he is free from it.

Darin: I never quite felt right about the conflict between Barnes and Grodin. I will not deny that there were conflicts among leading officers in the Vietnam War, much less any war. But I think it takes a lot of focus out of the film's supposed intent. Why provide predictable and contrived character angst when the backdrop is the real story? The film seems to think that two characters can have such an impact on the rest of the platoon. Why, yes, the platoon does lose purpose and morale when the leaders are at odds. But they didn't seem to have any to begin with. Why add this unnecessary plot device when the conflict itself is the real instigator to human action and reaction? Honestly, I doubt that most of the soldiers would care about what sides to take when two sergeants were at odds with each other. My guess is they cared about the one thing they should have: survival.

Some final thoughts: Samuel Barber's Adagio for Strings is heard often through the film. It gives the film a quiet sense of sadness and an even more powerful sense of urgency. The decision to use this piece is an effective one. It is simple, dramatic, powerful. Simply put, it is the musical equivalent of the movie.

Acting performances are terrific. Charlie Sheen gives a powerful portrayal of Chris and presents his progression through the war with pinpoint accuracy. Tom Berenger gives an astonishing performance as the cold and beaten Barnes. Dafoe's performance is exceptional; he plays Grodin with a melancholy resilience. Strong support is provided by Kevin Dillon as the somewhat psychotic officer Bunny, Forest Whitaker as Big Harold, and John C. McGinley as the braveless Sergeant O'Neill.

Platoon's power is undeniable, and its portrayal of Vietnam is unforgettable. Those who watch the film will never think of the conflict the same way again. Platoon is a stinging reminder that political confrontations and moral disputes aside, the real conflict is on the battlefield, between enemies, amongst friends, and within the individual.

Editor's Note: This review was co-written by Phil Mathers, Emily Hutchins, and Darin Sorensen.

Movie Review #61

Roman Holiday (1953)
Directed by William Wyler
Screenplay by Ian McLellan Hunter (Dalton Trumbo) and John Dighton
Story by Ian McLellan Hunter (Dalton Trumbo)

Rating: 7.00/10.00 or ***

There is an ages-old belief that love brings out the best in people. William Wyler's Roman Holiday is a romantic comedy expressing that very theme. Two people who seem to be stuck in a rut meet each other out of chance and desperation, spend a day together, and become better people because of it. This was an old-fashioned concept, even in 1953, but Wyler proves that the theme, indeed the whole premise of the film, does not age with time. Roman Holiday is as delightful to watch today as it was when it first came out over half a century ago.

The movie stars Audrey Hepburn as Princess Ann, royalty of an unspoken European country, who visits Rome. Her visit to Rome appears to be intended to unify the continent in the post-WWII era. The film never makes this clear, and quite intentionally so. All the audience needs to know is that Princess Ann's visit is out of duty and not personal whim or desire. The princess is announced her schedule, which seems endless. Meetings, photo ops, and public appearances litter her agenda, and the princess seems overwhelmed and irritated by the endless onslaught of public service.

Finally, Princess Ann explodes in anger and asks everyone to go away. Her caretakers believe she is ill, so she is given a sedative to rest. However, Ann is restless and just wants to get away for a while, so she soon escapes her temporary residence at the Embassy for the streets of Rome. Her excitement is palpable, but her drowsiness is more powerful. She soon slumbers on a bench. Ann is discovered by newspaper reporter Joe Bradley (played by Gregory Peck), who is about to go home from a relatively poor night at cards. Bradley hesitantly decides to take her home. He takes her to his room, and he allows her to sleep on his couch. Not his bed.

It just so happens that Bradley was to interview the princess the following day, but he does not put two and two together until he sees her picture in the paper. Bradley being a newspaper reporter, it surprises me that he would not recognize the person he is interviewing the following day, much less relatively famous royalty. But no matter. Bradley does not let Ann know that he knows who she is. He tells her he is a salesman; meanwhile, Ann tells Bradley she's a student.

Bradley plans to sell his story for money with the help of his friend Irving (Eddie Albert), a paparazzi photographer. They plan a run-in at a local diner, and the day of fun begins. They go to an ancient statue that is legendary for picking out liars and a dance hall that turns into a riot. Through the events of the day, it is clear that Bradley and Ann are falling for each other. But both realize that their lives lead them elsewhere, and Ann warily returns to the mansion. Ann asks Bradley to go and not look at her as she enters the Embassy; she wants to be remembered for this day and not for any other. Bradley reluctantly agrees. The scene is touching, not at all melodramatic.

The plot's progression is appropriately simple, but the dialogue seems too primitive. Indeed, it proves to be too constricting for the complex character that Joe Bradley could have been. Peck shines in complex roles, but he seems somewhat lost with the simpler ones such as Joe Bradley. Peck would redeem himself in the last moments of the film, however. He takes over in the last scene; he is the one who evokes the dramatic power of the movie's closing moments. Audrey Hepburn, in her first American movie, far outperforms him in the rest of the film -- but this is much more likely a result of the script and not of talent. Eddie Albert proves to be solid, if somewhat hyperbolic, support. The film is not perfect by any means, but its immense talent and its timeless story make Roman Holiday a genuine treat to behold.

The film's conclusion is superb. It is the next day, and Princess Ann has a short public appearance. The event includes a question-and-answer session with the press, and Ann quickly spots Bradley. Now both know who the other person is, but they are to the point where neither discovery matters. Their day together made them better people. Ann has become a more dutiful princess, and Bradley has become a more honest man. When asked if she has faith in friendship among European nations, Ann says:

I have every faith in it as I have faith in relations between people.

Bradley follows up her comment:

May I say, speaking for my own press service, we believe that your Highness' faith will not be unjustified.

The moment is undeniably moving; it has the foreground of eternal gratitude and friendship in a background of world peace. It proves to be a most effective ending to a film, the perfect touch of bitter and sweet. And as Princess Ann gracefully exits the room, Joe Bradley stands tall, proud, and humbled. She has returned to her duty, and now he will tend to his.

Movie Review #60

Once Upon a Time in the West (1968)
Directed by Sergio Leone
Screenplay by Sergio Leone & Sergio Donati
Story by Dario Argento & Bernardo Bertolucci & Sergio Leone

Rating: 8.75/10.00 or *** 1/2

The wind picks up some dust on a large expanse of desert in the West. A windmill makes a creaking sound periodically. A drip-drip of water lands on a man's hat. A fly lands on another man's face and just crawls around. The wind picks up again. The windmill creaks in agony. Three men, most certainly up to no good, just wait. And wait. A telegraph is investigated, the fly keeps pestering the man's facial bristles, and the other man repositions himself underneath the occasional falling droplet. This is the fifteen minute opening to Once Upon a Time in the West, the finest western I have ever seen.

The opening sequence of Once Upon a Time in the West is a foreshadow to the style the rest of the film would employ. Several minutes of attention to minute detail followed by an explosion of violence or a sudden, intense look at one of the main character's faces. Leone savors a scene until he is certain that it has made its point. I love this style. It produces such an amazing amount of tension. One example is an extended scene showing a family preparing a meal outside. On two occasions, minutes apart, the surrounding wildlife is silenced. Bugs no longer buzz; crickets no longer chirp. Members of the family stop talking and look around, suspecting somebody is in the shadows. They are nervous, but then the bugs begin to chatter again...and they return to conversation. But Leone has set the stage, much like he did in those first 15 minutes of the film. His extended scenes of silence and waiting are slowly and surely building a scene of intense action or drama (that lasts an appropriately short amount of time).

Leone accomplishes so much with this style. He creates an "unclear" tension. It is certain that something is bound to happen, but we have no idea what it is or who will be doing it. This style also brings attention to very small but very important details. Background noise is emphasized frequently in the film, and appropriately so. Who hasn't been in an intense situation without a menacing sensory object in the background (a rotating fan, a tick-tock of a grandfather clock, a dripping faucet, etc.)? Leone understands the power of these objects and uses them to a most effective degree.

Furthermore, Leone's style creates an undercurrent of comedy in the film. The creaking windmill has to be one of the most sarcastic sounds I have heard in a movie. Often, I would catch myself chuckling at the sound. It's almost as if the surroundings knew the story before any of the characters did; that theme is often included in many of the more dramatic scenes of the film. But the long, silent scenes make us focus on the things that seem so insignficant, and this is a most ingenius injection of humor into the film.

Finally, Leone's style enables the viewer to understand the character's thoughts and feelings without understanding the characters themselves. With long, piercing looks at the character's faces, we understand what is on Harmonica's mind, but there is absolutely no information provided on this character's history until the final 15 minutes of the film. Leone gives us nothing on the subject, but we don't need it because we understand what he is thinking. The same goes for Jill McBain. We know she comes from New Orleans, was a prostitute in her younger days, has since settled down, and was to live with her husband and children in the West. We are told so little about her, but we know everything about her personality just by watching her. She is fiercely independent, strong-willed, and courageous. And all we need to be able to comprehend these traits is to look at her face. Leone wisely does not bother with the details in dialogue (One side note: Once Upon a Time in the West is nearly three hours long but contains only thirteen pages of written dialogue).

Leone also masterfully cast actors against type. Henry Fonda, a good guy in almost every film he had previously done, was a treacherous villain in this one. Jason Robards also went against type as a strong-willed character with an ounce of good in his mostly evil veins. The entry of Henry Fonda in this film, one of the most famous character introductions in the history of cinema, was astonishing. We watch a family gunned down (later identified as Jill McBain's husband and children), and the camera closes in slowly on the tobacco-spitting, bright blue-eyed Fonda. I can imagine the gasps in theaters when horrified audience members looked on. Leone keeps the camera on him; he wants this thought to fester. And then Fonda's character guns down the family's little boy because one of his thugs off-handedly says his name. What terror this must have given to the film's theater audiences in the days of its original release.

The cast as a whole performed admirably. Claudia Cardinale plays Jill McBain with an amazing grace. Cardinale shows Jill as a mentally battered but fiercely resilient woman. Jill is the film's heart, and Cardinale is exceptional at keeping it that way. Charles Bronson plays the nameless good guy, dubbed Harmonica since he plays the instrument before he speaks or kills someone. Bronson is solid at keeping Harmonica restrained, quiet, and untouchable. He never overacts, an important asset to the effectiveness of his character. Fonda is phenomenal as the villainous Frank, a thug who has certainly peaked in power but remains as vicious as his youthful days. Robards provides the film's funny bone but also subtly injects intense drama. Robards plays Cheyenne, who is framed for the McBain family massacre. Robards's performance is quietly powerful, a real complement to Fonda and Bronson.

I've given shades of the film's plot, but the plot is not as important as the film's progression. Leone's style makes every scene so energetically in-the-moment. It almost makes any point in the past seem irrelevant. What matters is the moment itself and what may result from it. The plot is insignifcant; the life of these characters provides the substantive basis for Once Upon a Time in the West.

The soundtrack is superb. The background noise was suggested by Ennio Morricone, the film's musician, for the opening sequence. Morricone's music is operatic, somewhat Wagnerian. Each character has a distinct and appropriate theme so wonderfully summarizing the character's main traits. I especially loved the introduction to Jill's theme when she emerges from the train into the newly developing town. Morricone's score tells us what keeps this film's story beating.

Although Once Upon a Time in the West ends well, it takes a little bit too long to do so. One of the final sequences seems like an unnecessary inclusion, which is rare given the editing talent of Leone's films. But Once Upon a Time in the West dangles with mastery often, and a second viewing will probably raise this film into the "Great Movies" category. Whatever the case, Leone's epic western Once Upon a Time in the West is a western the way it should be. Fun, dramatic, operatic, and profound. The genre of the western may be dead, but this film's impact is eternal.