Tuesday's Overlooked (or Forgotten) Films: THEY MIGHT BE GIANTS starring George C. Scott and Joanne Woodward

As we know by now, Tuesday is Overlooked (or Forgotten) Movies day, a weekly meme hosted by Todd Mason at his blog, SWEET FREEDOM. Please use the link to check in and see what other overlooked films other bloggers are talking about today.

THEY MIGHT BE GIANTS is a sweetheart of a movie that's achieved a bit of a cult status over the years since it was released and ignored by Universal in 1971. The studio obviously didn't know it had a special film on its hands (sound familiar?) - a film needing special handling, if only for it's unusual ending.

The movie has the feel of an independent production done on the fly in the somewhat dark and grimly unpleasant Manhattan of the 70's. (Times Square was still in the clutches of porno flick houses and sleaze accoutrement shops.) It's rather a simple story thoroughly well acted by its wonderful cast, including a familiar bunch of character actors: Jack Gilford, Al Lewis, E. Emmet Walsh, Eugene Roche, Rue McClanahan and F. Murray Abraham, among others. With a supporting cast like that it would be hard to miss. Gilford, especially, always brought something tender-hearted to any film he was in.

THEY MIGHT BE GIANTS is directed by Anthony Harvey, the screenplay was adapted from his own play by James Goldman. When I watched it on Netflix the other night I didn't remember the supermarket scene near the end at all. So I did a little research. Turns out the scene was chopped up in the theater release, but included in its original state in this current dvd release. We could have done without it since it's a nonsensical moment which almost brings the film to a halt. The scene is meant as some sort of gobbledy-gook about consumerism (I think) and maybe even the state of the American city, but it fails to do much for the story or the characters. It just doesn't belong in the movie.

With that proviso, I'll go ahead and give you my thoughts.

I am a huge fan of George C. Scott and in this movie he is at his lovable best. Yes, the growly guy could do lovable when he set his mind to it. The only other film in which I remember him being so easy to like was THE LIST OF ADRIAN MESSENGER which, coincidentally I watched last night for the umpteenth time.

Here he plays retired judge Justin Playfair. (Can you imagine a judge named Playfair? Love it.) The judge has not been himself since his wife Lucy passed away. For a year or so, Playfair has believed himself to be Sherlock Holmes on the hunt for Professor Moriarity, his arch enemy.

The judge lives in a Manhattan townhouse with his brother Blevin (Lester Rawlins) and Blevin's wife, Daisy (Rue McClanahan). We are made to understand that Blevin owes some not very nice guys some very big money. To that end, he wants to have the judge classified non compos mentis and signed, sealed and delivered into the hands of a shady psychiatric hospital.

Playfair's new doctor is a dedicated but sad-sacky psychoanalyst, played by Joanne Woodward at her plain-jane-but-beautiful best. At first the judge is adamantly opposed to her interference in his quest to take down Moriarity (whom we never meet). The judge is convinced Moriarity is behind all the evil that transpires in the city. (Wouldn't surprise me in the slightest.)

From the little she knows and can observe, the doctor declares the judge a classic case of paranoia perfection. Classics are cured 'once in a generation.'

When Playfair finds out the doctor's name is Watson, then of course he wants her on the case. It's 'Mildred Watson' but since when have first name details mattered? So off they go in search of Moriarity. Holmes and Watson, together again.

Watson is bemused by Holmes (as well as professionally intrigued) as he leads her into more and more hair-brained encounters, skulking about the city looking for 'clues'. She comes to admire the judge's -aka Holmes - philosophy of good and evil. She calls the judge a Don Quixote aiming at windmills, but he, in a key scene explains to her the difference between himself and Cervantes' creation. He makes eminent sense.

This unlikely pair grow closer as their adventures around the city lead them into several encounters with the odd and eccentric, including a sweet elderly couple who haven't set foot outside their old apartment in over 40 years. They devote themselves entirely to their topiary garden on the roof. This is one of my favorite parts in the film.

Eventually Holmes and Watson are joined in their quest by all the misfits they've encountered along the way in a kind of march of the 'irregulars'.

But all good things must come to an end and this is where the film falters slightly. With the cops on their trail as well as the bad guys taking potshots at the judge (if he dies, the brother gets all his money) Holmes and Watson find themselves in the end, alone and facing a quarry who supposedly is waiting for them in the bowels of Central Park.

Does the world really exist for us to make of it what we will?


I won't say anymore. This is one of those near perfect films that just missed the mark but still is good enough to enchant.

Read More

Heavy-Lifting Made Easier

I just love this idea so much I had to share it with you.

Is this the coolest way to carry one of those hippo-sized books ever conceived? I found this on my travels through the google-sphere and thought - WOW!  Not only does this tote protect the dust jacket, but it is a much easier way to lug a hard-cover heavy-weight down to the park, or the beach, or the doctor's office or wherever. So darned clever.

Here's the link to the smarty-pants who thought these up. Link.

I believe the original post is from a year ago. But what the heck, a year later, it's still a great idea. I notice too, that there's a zippered compartment. I said it before and I'll say it again, 'clever'.

Read More

A Favorite Painting or Two.....or Three!

Cherries

Detail from 'Cherries'

Unconscious Rivals

Ask Me No More

Hero

The Frigidarium

Sculptors in Ancient Rome

Confidences

A Coign of Vantage

Spring

Detail from 'Spring'

Detail from 'Spring'

Detail from 'Spring'

Detail from 'Spring'

Detail from 'Spring'

Lawrence Alma-Tadema (1836 - 1912) was a prolific painter born in the Netherlands and trained at the Royal Academy of Antwerp, in Belgium. In 1870 he settled in England and lived there the rest of his life.

A popular painter of classical-subjects, he was famed for his luxurious use of ancient Roman settings often with women of antiquity draped against marble in various attitudes of romantic repose. He also specialized in depicting historical and biblical scenes as well as narrative paintings of ancient Rome.

After his death, Alma-Tadema fell out of popular and critical favor, but in the 1960's, his work was re-evaluated and interest renewed. That's the way of things with artists - in and out of favor and no accounting for the whims of fate and taste.

My favorites have always been 'Spring' and 'Cherries'. But I have a grudging admiration for anyone who can create with such theatricality and an obvious love of the mythical past. Occasionally some of his paintings remind me of silent movies, perhaps because of the dramatic exaggeration of mood and pose.

Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema

To learn about Lawrence Alma-Tadema and see much more of his work as well as detailed explanations of his historical paintings, please use this link.

Read More

Friday's Forgotten Books: CAT AND MOUSE (1950) by Christianna Brand

Today is Forgotten Books Day - the weekly meme hosted by Patti Abbott at her blog, PATTINASE. Don't forget to take a look and see what other forgotten books other bloggers are talking about today.

Again I'm writing about a book which works as an entry in Bev's Vintage Mysteries Reading Challenge so I'm very pleased about that. Kind of handy how it all works out. (Check the link in the box on my left sideboard to check in with Bev's Challenge.) Even if the book was not up to my expectations.

Reading the enthusiastic blurbs associated with this book, I really thought I was in for an exceptional read. After all, I'd read a couple of Brand's books before and liked them very much. This one is even touted by Julian Symons as one the Hundred Best Crime Stories.

Obviously, somewhere, somehow, one of us went wrong. It's hard for me to believe that the same Christianna Brand who wrote GREEN FOR DANGER and TOUR DE FORCE also wrote this maudlin, mawkish gothic-infused 'young woman in danger' mystery. A tour de force, it is not. Though I suspect it was meant to be.

Let's put it this way, there are enough strange histrionics, red herrings and dopey misdirections in this story to swell the pages of several of those nice 1950's books with covers featuring a woman running away from a castle, hair flying in the wind. In the gloom of night, of course.

Well, obviously, the book is not a total disaster or I wouldn't be writing about it. I did finish reading it, skipping around a bit, but eventually muddling through. After all, this is Christianna Brand we're talking about.

The first chapter is delicious. Really. You think you're in for something pretty special. Plus, the story is based on a true incident relayed to Christianna Brand by a friend. Sounds good.

We begin in the offices of a magazine called, Girls Together which is exactly what it sounds like. It's one of those necessaries filled with fashion inspiration, make-up tips, advice to the lovelorn - the usual.

Two editors, referred to as Miss Friendly-wise and Miss Let's-Be-Lovely (the titles of their columns) are discussing the latest letter from a regular reader of the magazine, a woman named Amista. The lovelorn Miss Amista has been unburdening herself (for months) on Miss Friendly-wise, seeking advice on anything from how to keep her hands from tanning and feeling rough to the trials and tribulations of making the man she loves, love her back.

The letters' return address is a house in Wales, and Amista claims to be the ward of a moody, mysterious, darkly handsome man named Carlyon. He is older than her, but what does age matter?. She worships the very ground he walks on.

It's all too, too Jane Eyer-ish.

Miss Friendly-wise and Miss Let's-Be-Lovely enjoy kibitzing at Amista's expense.

But when a final letter arrives stating that Amista has won her man - a proposal to which she, practically throws herself at her adored's feet in acceptance - it seems as if a happy ending is in the works and all's well that ends well.
But, not so fast.

Miss Friendly-wise, aka, Katinka Jones goes on holiday in Wales and decides to drop in on Amista and see how she's getting on with her beloved Carlyon. After all the letter writing, Katinka is keen on seeing the happy couple in the flesh. Just to see - you know. She's not really being nosy. Not really. Well, she is a bit curious.

Unfortunately, the house is set on an isolated spot with access only by water. A small boat runs back and forth to deliver mail and/or milk. Usually once or twice a day. Other than that, you're stuck.

The not-so-shocker is this: once Katinka arrives at the village and begins asking for the whereabouts of Amista and her mysterious hubby, she gets some baffling responses.

Everyone knows of Carlyon, the reclusive renter of the only house on the small but mountainous island, but no one seems to know about the wife. No one appears to have heard of the woman known to Katinka, as Amista. Far as anyone knows (or admits) there is no wife up at the house.

But Katinka thinks they must be putting her on or else they've just never met Mrs. Carlyon aka Amista. She decides to go across to the house anyway, on the next milk run. One of the men who's been hanging around the dock decides to go along. His last name is Chucky and later he will tell Katinka that he is a police inspector though she will not believe him. Can you imagine a policeman called Inspector Chucky? She thinks he's a reporter nosing about for some sort of story.

The funny thing is, he thinks Katinka is a reporter nosing about for some sort of story as well. He's an annoyingly friendly type though and when they arrive at the house, he lingers in the background as Katinka ask to see and speak to Mrs. Carlyon.

Where is Amista? later becomes, who is Amista? But I'm getting ahead of myself.

When Katinka meets the darkly brooding but-oh-so appealing Carlyon, it is love at first sight. For him as well, it seems. And when later she learns of the tragedies which have followed Carlyon about, she is disposed to feel sorry for the man. No wonder he broods. He's got a lot on his plate. Not the least of which is a madwoman in the attic.

Well, no, not really. But there is a woman in an upstairs room and she's not Amista. Turns out Carlyon is married but not to who we think. The mysterious woman is suffering from the after-effects of a tragic car accident which has left her totally disfigured and unable to speak. Carlyon was at the wheel - in France - and he blames himself for the wreckage of his wife's physical beauty. That explains the seclusion and the reason why they've come to this out of the way place.

AND it turns out that Chucky is actually there at Carlyon's behest to protect him from Katinka's asupposed nosing about, or so Chucky claims. Odd job for a policeman I'd have thought. Sounds more like a spur of the moment claim to me.

Anyway, from there, things go from bad to worse.

See, here's the thing, the more we get into the story, the less any of it makes any sense. A mystery, to be effective, has to make some sort of sense. Don't you think?

Even in the end when we get an extra dose of histrionics meant as shock and awe, it STILL doesn't make any sense. First, this one is Amista. Then that one. Then, no, it's the other one. And what about that ring? The ring did what? And who is Mrs. Carlyon - really?

How many Mrs. Carlyons are there? And how many revisions of the truth can there be? And why is Chucky so damned annoying? No wonder Katinka longs to kick him out of the house.

Oh, I forgot to tell you that poor Katinka fell down (the countryside is slippery) and twisted her ankle. Yes, yes, she really did.

So of course she has to stay on at the house, resting quietly and comfortably. Even though she's locked in her room and nobody in the house wants her there.

Oh it's all too, too Jane Eyre-ish, just as Miss Let's-Be-Lovely suspected all along. Except that by the time you get to the final denouement, it's not much of one.But you do get to roll your eyes a bit and that's always good excercise. The truth is, I was so exhausted by all the contrived skulking about that I really could not have cared less who did what to whom and who was about to do it again.

I can only recommend the book as a curiosity. On that alone, I'd say, read it and see what you think. Maybe I am totally wrong.

After all, the critics at the time, appear to have loved CAT AND MOUSE.

Read More

Review: ANATOMY OF MURDER by Imogen Robertson

This is the second book in a new historical series (new to me, anyway) which I began reading just near the end of last year. The first book, INSTRUMENTS OF DARKNESS is an extraordinary achievement considering, especially, that it was the author's debut book. But besides that, it is as if I've witnessed the tossing of the mantle from the late (and very much lamented) Ariana Franklin to Imogen Robertson.

Though Franklin was writing of a much different age - her books were set in medieval England - the depth and breadth of careful research combined with genuine writing talent and vivid imagination is alive and well in Roberson's tales set in the late 1700's. You will find yourself easily cast back into this time and place without hardly a stir. These are the sorts of books for which an actual time travel machine would be redundant.

18th century England is at war with America and France and things are humming in London. Spies are everywhere. Skullduggery lurks in the shadows. It is 1781 and ANATOMY OF MURDER begins with a few scenes aboard Harriet Westerman's husband's ship - he is captain of a naval vessel engaged in wartime activities on the high seas. He was not a character in the first book at all, so it's interesting to meet up with him and get an idea of the sort of man Harriet is devoted to.

Harriet, you might remember, is the heroine of the first book - a woman out of her own time, a woman not averse to taking risks if the scientific or moral truth requires it. She has an intelligent, inquisitive mind which, given the age she lives in, is a burden for a woman of her class and station in life. What's even worse, she has a scientific bent.

Harriet and her friend (or maybe cohort is a better word), Gabriel Crowther, an enigmatic and very reclusive anatomist, He is a man (with a scandal plagued past - his brother murdered their father) who specializes in the new science of post mortem investigation. It isn't too out of the way to say that Crowther prefers the dead to the living.

But engaging with Mrs. Westerman in their first and now their second murder investigation is slowly changing the way Crowther views things. He really is a dried up old stick, but interacting with Harriet and her family and his new found fame as a 'detective' is thawing him out. Not that he welcomes fame at all. And of course, the word 'detective' hadn't been coined yet.

The plot:

A few months after the prologue in which Captain Westerman engages in a sea battle and comes out the richer for it, we are set right in the middle of London where a dead body has been fished from the Thames. Not an extraordinary occurrence, except this one does turn out to be an interesting body. For it belongs to a certain Fitzraven, an obsequious member of the staff of an opera company, assistant to Harwood the manager.

The company is now featuring the world  renowned castrato Manzerotti as well as the renowned soprano, Isabella Marin, both having been lured from France to liven up the London opera season. The opera is having its greatest triumph, so a murder investigation at the height of the season cannot be good for business. Neither can the murder of the soprano.

When it turns out that not only was the dead Fitzraven an unlikeable busybody and blackmailer, but also an occasional spy for the Brits who may or may not have worked for the French, the plot, necessarily. thickens. Harriet Westerman and Gabriel Crowther are in the middle (or maybe 'muddle')of things as Crowther has been asked to do the post mortem, almost in situ. He will not work without Harriet at his side.

At the same time the investigation is on-going, Harriet is burdened with the gravest of personal circumstances- the deteriorating condition of her beloved husband. The captain has been placed in an asylum - for his safety and the safety of his wife and small children. Westerman has come home from the sea with a debilitating head injury - an accident on board ship. He many never recover his wits and Harriet and the family must reconcile themselves to the fact that he will never again be the man he once was.

In a way, Harriet welcomes the investigation which keeps her mind busy at this terrible time. My only quibble with this plot twist is that we're not made aware of how the accident occurred until the very last pages of the book. I suppose it's meant as a red herring of sorts, but surely Captain Westerman deserves more than to be a red herring.

Several characters from the first novel are present and accounted for in this second book, but it's not rocket science if you don't read either book in order. I would, though, to get the full flavor of just how Harriet and Crowther came to be working together.

While all this is going on, there is also a secondary plot line involving a certain Mrs. Jocasta Bligh, a London back alley reader of Tarot cards who, with her small terrier and the aid of a ten year old street urchin named Sam, are looking into the murder of a local woman whom the law assumes, was killed in an accidental fall. Both Jocasta and Sam unknowingly becoming involved in the larger investigation, coming at it from another angle.

Fresh murders will sprout along the way, as it is obvious a fiendish killer is on the loose at the opera house and elsewhere.

How these two plots dove-tail together near the end, will keep you reading until the very last word.

There is also a side sort of track: Jocasta might know something revealing about Gabriel Crowther's unhappy childhood. They both hail from the same part of the country.

But we'll have to wait until the third, ISLAND OF BONES, due out soon. April 14th is the publishing date in this country.

Can't wait.

Read More

What would HItchcock make of this? What would Tippi Hedren?

THE BIRDS is one of those movies that always manages to draw you in and keep you glued to your seat, no matter how many times you've seen it. At least it does, me. Hop on over to iluvcinema's blog and check out the overview of one of Hitchcock's most intriguing films.

After you're done giggling here, that is.

When I saw the (somewhat strange) Madame Alexander doll (see above), I had to post the pix in the spirit of my adding THE BIRDS to my Netflix queue. Isn't it a hoot? It's been too long since I've seen nature run amok in Bodega Bay.

I found the doll pix at this link.

Read More

Tuesday's Overlooked (or Forgotten) Films: ANGELS AND INSECTS (1995) starring Mark Rylance and Kristin Scott Thomas

It's Tuesday, so it's Overlooked (or Forgotten) Films day again, hosted by Todd Mason at his blog, SWEET FREEDOM. Don't forget to use the link and catch up on what other overlooked films other bloggers are talking about today.

**************************

ANGELS AND INSECTS, directed by Philip Haas, is a difficult film to speak of without giving the shocking denouement away. There's a huge build-up towards that moment and the viewer probably sees what's going on before the main protagonist, the naturalist William Adamson (played brilliantly by the wonderful Shakespearean actor, Mark Rylance) does, so I'm not sure how shocking it really is.....yeah, it's shocking. Prepare yourself.

This is a beautiful, opulent movie about very ugly notions. Actually, it's one of the most beautiful movies I've ever seen, despite the loony-toony underpinnings. How can that be? You'll have to make up your own mind. The time is the late 1800's and ANGLES AND INSECTS has the many lush romantic overtones the Victorians loved, as well as the darkly Gothic inclinations of their literature.

Whenever I think of this movie, I tamp down the unpleasantness and think only of the enormous amount of production detail that went into filming A.S. Byatt's original story. It is this attention to detail which enriches what would otherwise have been just another sordid (perhaps more sordid than most) story highlighting Victorian hypocrisy and love run amok.

Victorian England knew a great deal about sordidness, but it was kept well hidden behind the facade of social respectability and good manners, not to mention, proper clothing. Willful and intentional blindness did a lot to keep these fine young ladies and gentlemen playing at perfection under the benevolent reign of a rigidly inclined queen.

The film's cinematography by Howard Zitzermann (the butterfly scene alone is worth the price of admission) is brilliant, as are the dazzling (and I mean, dazzling) costumes by the incredibly talented Paul Brown. I'd venture to say that the movie is worth seeing just for the costumes alone,  if you're so inclined. Sometimes visual artistry in a film is lure enough.

The setting, too is eye-popping, a large and elegantly proportioned manor house in the beautiful countryside of England. It is the home of the wealthy  Sir Harald Alabaster (Jeremy Kemp) and his family. The name 'Alabaster' is keenly appropriate.

He is a gentleman/scientist who has welcomed William Adamson (Mark Rylance) into his home to stay and help with some sort of work.

Adamson is a naturalist a bit out of sorts with society's deceits, having just come back from a trip to the jungle wilds. In fact, you can see him joining in some sort of native ceremony during the opening credits.

  The always elegant Mark Rylance on the left and Jeremy Kemp on the right in a publicity still.

In truth, I suspect (and you will too) that Adamson has been brought to the house more for Alabaster's daughter's sake than anything else. He appears to be excellent husband material.

The daughter, Eugenia (Patsy Kensit) is a pale blond creature of icy exquisiteness and Victorian sensibilities - she seems almost too frail, too delicate, too retiring. But is, apparently, all that a lady can be. She has very many alabaster qualities.

One of the movies most memorable scenes takes place in the house's conservatory. In order to charm Miss Alabaster, Adamson has released a multitude of butterflies at the moment of their emergence from various cocoons. He wants to delight Miss Alabaster with this exquisite combination of science and beauty.

She is delighted. At first.

Patsy Kensit and the wonderful Annette Badlands (Lady Alabaster).

As events in the house take on a day to day routine and Adamson becomes part of the scenery, we see that there is something moving beneath the surface, something not so nice, not so polite.

Well, we see it, but Adamson, unfortunately, doesn't.

Much of what is meant is rather obvious - a tale told by the costumes themselves.

Lady Alabaster (Annette Badland) as photographed, appears to be made of royal jelly herself, too fat to get around much, she's meant to be a hideous queen bee on her last legs. She is inclined to spells of the vapors, done up as she is in gowns and shawls and Victorian whatnot in the heat of the summer.  Unhappy servants fetch and carry for her.

The children, some of them appear to be triplet girls, buzz around her dressed in gowns and costumes often resembling the colors of the variety of insect life which live on the grounds of the estate. I'm sure you'll notice the yellow and black striped dress worn by Patsy Kensit in one scene.

An overwrought tea party out on the lawn.

As Adamson attempts naturalist lessons for the childrens' sake, he unearths plenty of insect life while Miss Matty (Kristin Scott Thomas) the governess, takes up a sketch pad. They have much in common, conversing while the family spends their time indulging their whims.

In fact, her talent for sketching is so ideal that Adamson encourages Mattie to work on a book. A naturalist bible, categorizing the variety of insect life to be found in the English countryside.

Kristin Scott Thomas and Mark Rylance

The camera makes sure to capture, in close-up, insects in different forms. At one point, one too many bees drive a tea party indoors. We are, more or less forced, to make the inevitable comparison - the sluggish activities of the house's human inhabitants to those of the busier, purposeful insects.

When Miss Alabaster charms Adamson into a proposal of marriage, she readily accepts. But you know something is not quite right at Casa Alabaster. The feeling is made clearer when you notice the interactions between family members.

The brother, Edgar Alabaster (Douglas Henshall) is nothing but a spiteful lout with obvious malice towards Adamson and a droit du seigneur attitude towards the servant girls.

The mother is fast fading away of some undisclosed condition, while the husband, Sir Harald, fusses about all day in his office/laboratory, ignoring the human drama outside his door. Perhaps already aware that a changing of the guard is underway.

Mark Rylance and Douglas Henshall (Edgar Adamson)

There is a great uneasiness lurking in the house. The servants apparently know, but keep quiet about it or lose their jobs. The only one who keeps an eye open and may or may not speak is Miss Matty, the governess.

Over time, several children are born to Adamson and his wife, but he becomes restless - confined to living in one place. Though he loves his wife, he feels oppressed. The only one he can really talk to is the governess, she is the one person who speaks with him of the things that might actually interest a naturalist and man of science and ideas. Adamson finds himself contemplating the attractions of rational thought.

Kristin Scott Thomas and Mark Rylance studying nature.

When the full scope of what has been going on (I really can't say any more) is revealed, Miss Matty and William Adamson give us the only ending possible.

This is a definite R rated film, there is nudity and sexual activity, not to mention the repulsive doings that force William Adamson to - finally - acknowledge the truth in a very harrowing, superbly acted scene near the end.

But if I can take it, so can you. In spite of everything, it's a hauntingly beautiful film though the story itself is as ugly as can be. Human beings can be a nasty lot. Insects, at least, don't bother pretending.

Read More