Classy Dames Do Fear 😱

 

Classy Dames Do Fear

By Kristin Battestella

These elegant ladies face mid-century murder, psychedelic mayhem, and medieval mysteries in this quartet of retro frights.

Cult of the Damned – Rich houses, antiques, elite splendor, and denial about one's father in the shower with another man and mother Jennifer Jones (Ruby Gentry) doing stag films open this 1969 AIP release also called Angel Angel Down We Go. The delusions escalate as daughter Holly Near (The Magical Garden of Stanley Sweetheart) feels fat and ugly compared to her not so perfect parents. Slit wrists intercut with guillotines, ironic music, and pop graffiti reflect our Angel's warped state of mind. Stage-like settings and twofer scenes reiterate the dysfunctional relationships mixing both oedipal and Electra favoritism, jealously, and violence. The top billed, soft focused Jones always has bare shoulders or sheer, glamorous frocks, pill popping yet graceful compared to her chaotic daughter, and her coming out party is really for them to show off how they have given her everything – save for the love and kindness she desires. They wonder who would want her save for her inheritance, but heady singers and tight leather pants lead to leopard print seduction, pillows, furs, and a goofy sex scene with Roddy McDowell (Planet of the Apes), singer Lou Rawls, and a pregnant girl dressed as pilgrim. Implied abuses, Angel's being taken advantage of brainwashing, kidnappings, and escalating gang violence are played humorously, and the parody of the times coming within those times gets lost in some of the put on groovy dialogue. Social commentaries on American Imperialism and palatial lifestyles collide with bloody pop art and fatal skydiving as the band moves in on our nasty parents. After all, making enough money through any means to buy class and erase who you were is an American rite of passage. Though certainly watchable thanks to the bizarre nonsensical; the random, joking style is not as shocking as it thinks it is. Colorful dancing and cool tunes with mean lyrics jar between solemn camera confessionals. The haze becomes boring and overlong thanks to the short lived highs and meaninglessness of it all. Such disturbia would have been better had the torment been played straight, but I don't really get a lot of the acid trip here – unless Angel died at the start and this was all just a final fever dream.

The Fourth Victim – Quaint English manors and swanky interiors lead to poolside perils, shady housekeepers, and handy death certificates in this international 1971 mystery. The body discovered is freshly clothed before phoning the authorities, and Scotland Yard is curious about pricey insurance policies, autopsies, and previously deceased wives with faulty brakes and suspect falls. Our nonchalant husband is unbothered by court inquiries thanks to the loyal housekeeper feigning tawdry melodramatics on the witness stand, and even the inspector admires him for getting rich off getting rid of three wives and now he can't be tried again. Carroll Baker (The Big Country), however, has been swimming in his pool. She claims to not read the papers nor care about his infamy, portraits of the deceased, or mementos in the attic. Her white bathing suit and neighborly carefree disrupts his strange, unfeeling calm, but her gothic home next door is dilapidated, spooky, and imposing to match the twists, eerie lookalikes, and ambiguous mysteries. More time is spent on the trial then their whirlwind wedding, but the bliss wears off fast thanks to his heavy handed accusations and her snooping. Now she wonders what he really did do to his last wife, yet their waxing on death and the courage to kill amid casual shopping trips and falling in love confessions show that our couple is actually a lot alike. Despite the emotional entanglements, fatal history, and institution connections; the characterizations are uneven with important players and pesky humor dropped. The overlong, stilted, askew male focus is dominated by unnecessary coming and going scenes with dated, over the top musical interludes. Thankfully, car chases and atmospheric flashbacks begat the unexpected in the final act as the maybe maybe not escalates with taut character interplay.

Sudden Fear – Frenetic notes contrast the sweeping melodic crescendos and Broadway billboards as successful playwright Joan Crawford (Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?) marries struggling young actor Jack Palance (Dan Curtis' Dracula) in the 1952 noir thriller. Of course we know Palance is up to no good, and our all business Myra exercises the casting approval for her play. She doesn't think he has the power to make the women in the audience squirm, but they meet again on the train to San Francisco – playing poker, wining, dining, and lighting each other's cigarettes. Cross coverage angles, up close shots, and sitting side by side visuals parallel the coming together traveling as holding hands leads to dancing, romantic strolls through the Redwoods, and Golden Gate vistas. Bling, furs, frocks, chandeliers, and classic cars accent the wealthy home complete with a custom dictating machine, hidden microphones, and master switches to record all her play compositions. The declarations of love on the staircase, hilltop honeymoon, and white robes create a play within a play romance while mirrors reflect the change in control. Our concerned Lester doesn't want Myra racing down the perilous steps to the dock, however marshmallow Gloria Grahame (In A Lonely Place) is not what she seems thanks to secret meetings, blackmail, and long cons. Again visuals layer the silk pajamas and key to her apartment innuendo, but head over heels Myra redoes her will with Lester as beneficiary. The dictation playback forces us to pay attention as the Oscar nominated Crawford hears the pillow talk and duplicitous plotting – a crushing performance with tragic tears and crippling shock as the stuck needle repeats the threats. Everything has gone up a notch yet the betrayal remains personal with shattering breaks, looking over her shoulder hysteria, and double locking the doors. The echoes haunt Myra into the bedroom as she postulates what car accident or smothering might befall her. Now she has to be the actress, claiming a headache or too much champagne and refusing Lester's offered sleeping pill. Lying awake with the black and white shadows and ticking clocks escalates to forged signatures, break ins, and poison. Sophisticated tension rises with every cocktail, change of plans, and slight of hand amid scandalous stockings, falls down the stairs, and in camera attention to detail. The scheduled actions happen down to the minute with gunshots and kill or be killed overlays that don't underestimate the viewer. Intense zooms focus on the tormented faces while pearl watches keep time and white gloves hide all the secrets. Silence and phone ring rings are used to maximum advantage with beads of sweat, perilous close calls, and the fright of seeing one in the mirror holding a gun. Our desperate dame is out of her element in a no win situation. Bad people are supposed to get what they deserve and Myra must remain good despite chases, spotlights, lookalike ladies, and rear view mirrors culminating in noir perfection.

An Elizabeth Taylor Bonus

Doctor Faustus – Producer Richard Burton (The Robe) co-directs this 1968 play presentation based on the medieval Marlowe's pact with Lucifer, however the stifling script, flowery soliloquies, and dry over acting hamper the excellent bones, candles, cobwebs, and sixteenth century mood. Learned science is so close to superstition and alchemy, and our dissatisfied scholar resorts to Latin rituals, ominous tomes, maggots, and necromancy. Red cloaks, orange firelight, purple sorcery, blue catacombs, green stones, and black wings invoke the hellish historical meets silent Expressionism. Zooms, in and out of focus mirages, and tense camerawork highlight moving statues and magical skulls speaking back to Faustus as he boasts of his bargains with the devil, undeterred in signing in blood thanks to his youthful transformation. Unfortunately, Burton does his best Orson Welles self-indulgence here, paralleling the tale by biting off more than he can chew when not imaging the supple Elizabeth Taylor (Cleopatra) as Helen of Troy for his perfect, silent woman. The thee thou bloated text and Burton talking to himself voiceovers are unnecessarily scholarly compared to the cinematic, medieval visuals – making the piece seem much longer and more complicated than it is. There is no sounding board character and the language should have been trimmed, for it's not the Oxford University's Acting Company's provocative questions but Burton's over the top windblown me me me that's tepid and detached. Actor turned professor Andreas Teuber as Mephistopheles is far more haunting as the tormented fallen pained at losing eternal bliss, for hell is limitless with no boundaries to its sins. Slow motion, back flipping nymphs and imagined battlefield glory are a little long, however it's fitting that Faustus doesn't realize he is a mere, foolish, mortal man. The hedonistic kaleidoscope parade of lechery provides surreal haze without being trashy, and Burton's best poetry and passion come in the embraces with Taylor. He debates the emperor over his conjuring, mocks the court, and scoffs at the pope as humor and sing songs turn into freaky hoods, screams, and damnation. Who is Faustus to argue with evil? No matter how many times he stops to ogle Taylor's dripping allure, Faustus ends up looking upon himself in the grave, ultimately getting the celestial comeuppance he deserves. The redemption versus selling one's soul parables make for fine horror, deception, and choices – not to mention Elizabeth Taylor in sensual gold lipstick and glowing silver body paint.

Ruby Gentry

Ruby Gentry Misses the Mark, to Say the Least.

By Kristin Battestella

I like Charlton Heston and I like Karl Malden, and thus I was willing to hold my less than love for Jennifer Jones in check for the 1952 southern melodrama Ruby Gentry. Unfortunately, the clichés and bad acting make this one a not so enjoyable hot mess.

Dr. Jim Gentry’s (Malden) invalid wife Letitia (Josephine Hutchinson) dies and he quickly marries the poor, socially unacceptable Ruby (Jones). Of course, Ruby is in love with Boake (Heston), of the once high and mighty Tackman family. Unfortunately, his family disapproves of Ruby and he must marry rich to save their plantation. Once fate has given Ruby the means to have her cruel way with the townsfolk who previously despised her, however, then not even Boake can stand in her way.

Ruby Gentry starts off on the wrong foot with unnecessary narration, a whole lot of telling instead of showing, and flashbacks that suggest the story told before the movie begins is the one we want to see. These tools and all the repeat dialogue reiterating the social divides and back story seriously slow down the 80 minutes here and confuse the current events. What is the point of this tale and where is it headed? Director King Vidor (The Champ, War and Peace) takes too long to introduce the players and the budding love triangles, yet Ruby Gentry never fully clarifies its outlandish circumstances and incoherent plot. Is this film about Ruby and Boake, Ruby and Jim, or Ruby’s bitchy takeover and lame revenge? As soon as the audience remotely cares about a situation, Ruby Gentry haphazardly moves on to the next soap operatic element. With Jennifer Jones at its fulcrum, Ruby Gentry patterns itself exactly like Vidor and Jones’ Duel in the Sun, right up to its ridiculously similar finale. Personally, I would have much rather seen a film solely about Boake and Jim with an absentee Ruby haunting their antagonism. It doesn’t seem like there would be a lot there, but it has to be better then the feigned tawdry or would be classic comeuppance here. 

Prior to his Ben Hur and The Ten Commandments fame and glory, Charlton Heston was very young, almost too young in Ruby Gentry.  Though not grown up in appearance or southern dictation, Boake is still dangerous to encounter on a dark, swampy night. He’s jonesing for Ruby, but it’s too creepy instead of romantic or scandalous. Chuck Heston knocking on your backwoods bedroom door late at night – it’s played too stalker for the viewer to enjoy this increasingly ridiculous would be couple. We know this relationship won’t end well thanks to this headstrong, cat scratching violence, and the turbulence grows stupid fast.  Boake is smart to not marry the titular crazy. However, after they’ve apparently been getting it on, Ruby Gentry somehow switches to a rapacious buildup before sending the duo hunting together where somebody else shoots at them. I just don’t see the hair brained character motivations here.

Likewise, the young Karl Malden (I Confess, Streets of San Francisco, On the Waterfront) doesn’t have much to do and what Jim Gentry does have is all over the place. The good doctor seems a step above this backwater crowd, yet there’s an amoral touch in his marrying Ruby while his first wife lies barely cold.  Unfortunately, the bizarre narration takes over most of Malden’s action, allowing no room for character development, and ultimately, a barely there presence in the movie. Jim Gentry is hardly seen even liking Ruby, yet he just has to have her so badly.  Why?  Likewise, Barney Phillips (12 O’clock High) as fellow doctor and narrator Manfred is fairly pointless, and Ruby’s creepy guitar playing relation James Anderson (To Kill a Mockingbird) is too dirty and touchy feely. Ironically, Josephine Hutchinson’s (Son of Frankenstein) first Mrs. Gentry is the nicest, classiest character – but she is done away with far too quickly in Ruby Gentry. 

I admit to not being a fan of Jennifer Jones (The Song of Bernadette, Love is a Many Splendored Thing). Film after film, I see her woefully miscast against better leading men, and her Ruby looks and sounds totally out of place against Malden and Heston. Granted, that may have been intentional here. However, her southern accent and immature ways are stereotypical, even offensive. The performance feels very inappropriate, indeed, as if Jones is mocking slow persons and insulting southerners. How old is Ruby supposed to be? To see her knowingly or unknowingly lead men on isn’t alluring in any way.  It’s uncomfortable to watch these backwater men drooling and even feeling up what appears to be a special needs minor. Unfortunately, this aspect fills the majority of Ruby Gentry, and those who were able to get past the Duel in the Sun parallels might be put off by this element.  A more skilled actress could have brought more conflict, sympathy, or even an Oscar worthy performance, but as Ruby grows in her cruelty, Jones becomes more annoying. What exactly is the audience supposed to like about Ruby?  Temptation incarnate and wild or sexy my foot!

Though fitting to the film, the looks old and invoked poor production really feels too backwoods dusty for the audience to enjoy. The southern locales and wildlife scenery are charming, yes, but Ruby Gentry isn’t a colorful, sprawling epic looking the part of the torrid swamp. Cool cars and too little too late upscale dressings and typical fifties finery can’t save the cliché melodrama. The instrumental guitar chords, sweeping music, and onscreen ballads are also misused thanks to some seriously over the top soap opera crescendo cues.  I must say, this exaggerated fail doesn’t even qualify Ruby Gentry for my beloved Hokey Heston category, for it’s neither corny enough nor badly bemusing to enjoy. Once I realized the level of negativity in my composition, I almost didn’t want to finish this review – that’s never happened before!

If you like bad fifties films or need an example of run of the mill mid century melodrama, this is it. Even bad old horror movies can be a lot of fun, but after watching Ruby Gentry again, I seriously wonder why this near pointless excursion was even attempted.  Fans of the cast will especially cringe.

Terminal Station/Indiscretion of an American Wife

Conflicted by Indiscretion of an American Wife- or was that Terminal Station?

By Kristin Battestella

All right, I confess it. Not all of Montgomery Clift’s films are award-winning classics of American cinema.  Whether it goes by Terminal Station or Indiscretion of an American Wife, this one has its share of faults, indeed. Try not to get too confused.

American housewife Mary (Jennifer Jones) is leaving Rome and her month long romance with Giovanni (Clift). Though her home life was not perfect, she can’t imagine leaving her young daughter behind to grow up without her.  Will this ill-conceived affair create a scandal at home? Despite their whirlwind and turbulent indiscretion, can Giovanni let Mary go?

Although both versions of director Vittorio De Sica’s  (Shoeshine, The Bicycle Thief) 1953 tale feel too short, the just over an hour American Release entitled Indiscretion of an American Wife is an edited mess. This is in my mind a better title, but there’s no time to be truly vested in Truman Capote’s (hello) purported adaptation from frequent De Sica writer Cesare Zavattini’s story. The action is smartly confined in and around the titular train station, and the turbulent love fairs somewhat better in the ninety-minute international edition, yes. Unfortunately, the supporting family scenes and side characters are unnecessary in such a short time, and the mish-mashed interference from Jennifer Jones pimp/producer David O’Selznick feels like a cruel joke on what could have been a fine, if bent romance.  Yes, Terminal Station is longer and better, but it still falls prey to Jones’ miscasting and the jaded thoughts of the botched Indiscretion cut up. Indeed, I love Monty and loathe Jones, and I freely admit my bias and disdain here. However, it’s as if the two leads have been spliced together after the fact from two different films. Hehe, one in Terminal Station and the other in Indiscretion of an American Wife, perhaps? Clift creates a destructive modern relationship with a fun to watch but disturbed and conflicted male. In poor contrast, Jones is trapped in a sappy fifties romance and comes off as an unsatisfied bitch. Which is it supposed to be? Thus is Terminal Station’s conundrum, and neither version fully provides an answer. Selznick attempts to create some cheesecake with a heart of gold for his new lady, but the ruined focus on Jones in Indiscretion of an American Wife is simply inferior to the full length, rough, and almost too depressing Terminal Station.  I think Indiscretion of an American Wife is meant to be eye popping and scandalous instead. The irony is that with all fifties cuts and convictions, we don’t even get to see the actual indiscretion! How can the audience know or care when the incident is so edited that it ends up more confusing than saucy?   

 

 

Fortunately, any fan of Montgomery Clift can find at least some saving grace here. Clift made sixteen films in a 20-year span and was nominated for an Academy Award four times in that period- The Search, A Place in the Sun, From Here to Eternity, and Judgment at Nuremberg. Although he never won a major award, that averages to an Oscar nominated performance every four films. Who has that kind of steady, quality consistent output today? Not the contemporary folks churning out five or six studio bankrupting comedies for 10 or 15 million dollar salaries! With such a classic track record, I suppose we can forgive Monty for the mess that is Indiscretion of an American Wife.  Even with a performance created in the editing room, a convoluted script, and no time or support to help him, Clift’s not that bad.  In fact, he’s just dandy.  Sure, Italian quips and a name like Giovanni Diora don’t make us think Clift. However, his pent up, confused, and no less passionate lead is intriguing to watch nonetheless.  Oh, a man all tied up and conflicted over a woman!  It could be a painful, clichéd, and dry performance, but Indiscretion of an American Wife can be redeemed so long as the camera stays on Clift.  When Giovanni says he’s learned what wanting is, we damn well believe him.  He speaks sternly enough, with strong, direct statements. Clift doesn’t need to shout, yet remains just above a whisper.  It’s a tormented and awkward relationship, yet for better or worse, Giovanni isn’t afraid to show his love in that angry man way.  It’s mental, alluring, asinine, and sympathetic all rolled into one- and it’s all delivered smashingly by Clift.

  And then, there’s Jennifer Jones.  She turns her back on her family and her lover. Which does she want? Who knows? Who cares? Right from her opening frantic running away, Mary jars the audience. She’s supposed to be an endearing, classy fifties woman buying dresses for her daughter, yet we’re also meant to believe this sweet, wonderful woman is responsible for the whole eponymous drama!  She’s running from Giovanni and has screwed up at home, and the portrayal is beyond a wishy-washy woman who can’t make up her mind. Mary gets her thrills and hates herself.  Is the audience supposed to root for her escape or loathe her scandalous ways?  Our time is short as it is, and the character’s motivations are muddled at best.  Jones does nothing to make us care about Mary’s morals or ambiguity either way. Could a better actress have done more? Perhaps.  Did the on-set drama, personal turmoil, and post production busy help? Nope. Mary’s such a saint and good woman, but can we believe a good woman would be involved in such an unseen torrid love affair? Terminal Station is trying to build conflict, but Indiscretion of an American Wife attempts some sort of pale Scarlett O’Hara charm.  I’m just a housewife who’s an emancipated American woman!  I’m not that imaginative and would rather be home with my husband who’s like a small boy!  Huh?  At some point, the viewer wonders why any man would be with this train wreck lady. This female character imbalance ruins what could have been a fine and twisted vignette. Let us see the dang depression of it all, Selznick! Otherwise, what’s the point?

 

Thankfully, the Oscar nominated Christian Dior early fifties fashions, furs, hats, and sharp suits are the perfect mid European time capsule.  There are a few bullet bras, too. Though black and white, the Rome locations and Italian signage are lovely. The foreign dialogue, however, might make Station Termini tough for some audiences. The sweeping romantic crescendos and melodramatic zooms are on the fifties over the top bad side, too.  Stereotypical Italian male portrayals can be irritating as well. These men are always beating their wives, and on some viewings, I find it rather offensive. Although there are times when I’d like to backhand Jones, too- but then I sound just as bad as Indiscretion of an American Wife. I feel like I’ve been hateful and all over the place in this essay- tackling two very different versions of one peculiar film. Unfortunately, there seems to be too many poor, confusing, and extreme choices surrounding Terminal Station and/or Indiscretion of an American Wife. Whatever you call it or whichever version you see, the could have been pictures, performances, and polarizing cast make this one largely for Clift completists and Jones lovers. Though film students and classic scholars can enjoy the Criterion video edition with both versions in comparison, this one is not an introduction piece.  Can Terminal Station still be enjoyed for Clift despite the bitter taste left by Jones and the Indiscretion of an American Wife cut up?  I believe so.  But you have to really, really like him.

A Gregory Peck Celebration!

I Think, Therefore I Review is ringing in April by taking part in a special Birthday Tribute to Gregory Peck!

Our new Gregory Peck Greatness analysis and viewing list is coinciding with Flix Chatter's Beauty is Forever: Happy Birthday, Mr. Gregory Peck!  So be sure to visit them for more of the Peck Party! 

Now then, onto the review respect...

Gregory Peck Greatness!

by Kristin Battestella

 

Well there’s no time like a spring birthday to give some respect to the quiet greatness that is Gregory Peck, is there not?

Captain Horatio Hornblower – I feel like I’m going to say too little about this 1951 adaption of the original C.S. Forester Hornblower trilogy simply because I want to say so much!  Yes, a significant but saucy portion of the Flying Colours novel is avoided- a fifties hero such as dear Gregory would never have a French affair!  Nevertheless, director Raoul Walsh (They Died with Their Boots On) wonderfully combines the spirit and adventure of Beat to Quarters and Ship of the Line with vivid globe hoping naval action, great ship designs, and some good old sea faring flair.  And Peck portrays the introverted and often melancholy Hornblower smashingly!  It’s not an easy role to play thanks to the written complexity and inner angst, but Big GP adds layers of charm, subtly, and a hint of humanity while being no less masculine and badass. Upon seeing this film as a kid, I loved it so much that I up and got obsessed with the literary Hornblower, and they remain some of my most favorite books twenty years later!  Now, if only Virginia Mayo (White Heat) wasn’t such an inferior miscasting as Lady Barbara, but at least we have a dash of Christopher Lee (Lord of the Rings) to make up the difference.

 

Duel in the Sun – Well well, Good Old Gregory is playing the villainous lothario for a change!  David O’Selznik’s notorious 1946 hot mess took every director and their grandma to complete, and it still thinks much too much more of itself than there actually is- narration, prelude, overture, exit music, and all. The latent thin line between love and rape and racism is all over the place, and an insipid, supposedly sexy Jennifer Jones (The Song of Bernadette) and a limp Joseph Cotton (Citizen Kane) contribute nothing.  A delightful and classy Lillian Gish (Birth of a Nation) is barely there, and Butterfly McQueen’s (Gone with the Wind) demeaned Vashti is a desperate and insulting attempt to akin to that greatness. While fans of the other cast can certainly tune in, in my mind, Gregory Peck is the only reason to see this picture.  Yes, it is tough to believe Our Man Gregory as the naughty boy to start, but the film is lifted whenever he’s onscreen.  The juicy ne’er do well Lewt is damn entertaining.  Hell, he’s even likeable and charismatic with his shameless self!  A must see for Peck devotees, even if you just fast-forward to his scenes.

To Kill a Mockingbird – I don’t suppose there is much more I can really say about this utterly exceptional 1962 adaptation of Harper Lee’s modern literary classic from Oscar nominated director Robert Mulligan (Fear Strikes Out) besides the greatness that’s already been said by everyone ever.  When one needs to cite a picture that is as perfect as its book source, look no further than this Best Adapted Screenplay winner.  I suspect The American Film Institute knows its stuff, and it named Peck’s Academy Award winning portrayal of single dad and Southern lawyer trying to do the right thing Atticus Finch as America’s Greatest Movie Hero of the 20^th Century.  By gosh, if we only had a political candidate as special as Atticus!  You can watch this in the classroom when your young for Scout (Supporting Actress nominee Mary Badham, This Property is Condemned), Philip Alford’s Jem, and Boo Radley (The Godfather’s Robert Duvall in his debut). Then again, as an adult you can still shed a strong tear for Brock Peters (Star Trek IV) as the wrongfully accused Tom Robinson. This film is a must see to say the least, and if you need to read one book in your lifetime, this should be it. 

The Omen – Dashing diplomat Gregory Peck, a lovely Lee Remick (Days of Wine and Roses), wonderfully disturbing satanic chants, and Billie Whitelaw (Hot Fuzz) and Damien Harvey Stephens as the freakiest nanny and kid pair you’ll ever see! Maybe contemporary audiences might erroneously dismiss this 1976 quiet sinister because it’s not the slash and gore horror mess we so often churn out today. However, there are plenty of creeps, wicked deaths, and demonic shuddering still to be had here, with a perfectly tormented and fatherly GP caught in the crossfire. I don’t know why they bothered with a remake!  Seriously, who can replace Our Man Gregory? No one, and the slice and dice imitators completely fail against classy horror granddaddies like this. 

Roman Holiday – Reporter Peck- make that Best Foreign Actor BAFTA nominee Peck- woos the fish out of water Princess Audrey Hepburn (Breakfast at Tiffany’s) in this romantic time capsule of 1953 filmmaking and Italian splendor. The black and white photography sometimes hinders the Edith Head (All About Eve) costumes and royal grandeur, but it’s still enchanting decoration nonetheless- and the accolades followed indeed. Though coming from an aristocratic background herself, Audrey’s Oscar winning debut is charming, delightful, and still relatable and endearing to audiences high and low almost sixty years on. Cap it off with Tall, Dark, and Handsome, and any viewer should be sold.

Spellbound – Oscar winner Ingrid Bergman (Gaslight, Anastasia) and a very young and charming Gregory Peck mix mystery, romance, nut houses, and psychoanalysis in this 1945 Alfred Hitchcock (Rebecca, Psycho) thriller questioning dreams and memory. Is our amnesiac Peck the killer? Surely no! Can gentle Bergman heal his mind before she’s the next victim? Exceptional performances by the leads, tight black and white direction and filmmaking by Hitchcock, and a great mystery with visual panache keeps this picture viewable-even after you know how it ends or watch it a dozen times.  This one is actually my favorite Gregory Peck film, and I am very biased- or couldn’t you tell?

Can’t get enough? Browse our Gregory Peck label for our previous reviews and stayed tuned for more. And be sure to keep up with Flix Chatter's ongoing Peck praise! Until then, here are a few more screen captures from Duel in the Sun to tide you over!

http://ithinkthereforeireview.blogspot.com/search/label/Gregory%20Peck

http://flixchatter.net/tag/gregory-peck/

A Few Religious Biographies

A Trio of Religious Treats

By Kristin Battestella

Even during Holy Week ahead of Easter and Passover, it seems increasingly tougher to find quality religious documentaries, debates, and films on television anymore.  Here’s a quick trio of Christian biographies to tide the spiritual over this April.

Billy Graham: God’s Ambassador – I thought this would be a little 45-minute biography with all the evangelist fixtures and staple speakers, but no.  This 2-hour 2006 special hosted by David Frost begins with Graham’s humble childhood- full of baseball, Tarzan, and a lack of academics- and continues through his early ministry along with the romance with his late wife Ruth Bell Graham. The founding principles of The Billy Graham Evangelistic Association are discussed as well, as are later massive revivals and the ups and downs of global politics.  Great archival photographs and footage anchor the narration along with interviews with family, George Beverly Shea, Cliff Barrows, and the famed such as George H.W. Bush.  Wow, it is so surprising to see early color video of Graham, and the subtitles go far for those who can’t quite understand those thick North Carolina sounds.  There’s also a lovely score throughout the piece that I must say adds a very bittersweet, rousing little touch. Though long, the show is divided into chapters, presenting a streamlined approach useful for a classroom or study group discussion.  New interviews with the titular man himself would have added a more personal or insightful angle, and some sensitive politics with US presidents aren’t too heavily touched upon either. However, with such a vast life and religious issues to discuss, God’s Ambassador balances the individual faith, the missions against communism, and evangelism in foreign lands through the decades quite well.  Lengthy bonus features from Bill Gaither, Frost, and Franklin Graham are also included on the video, offering more great music, crusade footage, and insightful interviews to cap off the set.

Joan of Arc – Looking more lovely than ever, Oscar Winner Ingrid Bergman (Casablanca, Spellbound, Anastasia) battled for this 1948 biopic with director Victor Fleming (Wizard of Oz, Gone with the Wind) and co-star Jose Ferrer (Cyrano de Bergerac)- only to have her personal scandals overshadow the finely spiritual here.  Along for the spectacle ride is a huge ensemble including John Ireland (Red River), Ward Bond (Wagon Train), and Gene Lockhart (Miracle on 34^th Street).  Although the colorful sets are a touch towards forties fakery, angelic choirs, lofty candles, big church art, fancy scrolls, and Cecil B.- esque narration add to the grandiose scope. The costumes are also a little plain, with lots of veils and hennins, and some sequences are too slow and dry with a windblown feeling to it all. And let’s not forget, a 33 year old Bergman is just a bit too old to play a teenage saint.  Thankfully, she’s in Best Actress nominee form of course.  The battle scenes are also well played and paced, and the newly released unedited version is a must for the full appreciation of the picture.  I wouldn’t normally applaud the poorly chopped up 100 minute edition, but this shorter version might also be worthy for a classroom analysis. Now, one might notice similarities to 1999’s The Messenger: The Story of Joan of Arc. We have the same person of interest, sure, and there’s a modern, fast-paced gore and action vibe tying the latter all together- unlike the reverent and somber feeling here. However, some of the scenes from Milla Jovovich and Luc Besson’s recent biopic seem more than just homage.  I’ve researched, but there doesn’t seem to be any evidence of a connection or any official or unintentional remaking of the Joan of Lorraine source play.  Bergman fans or Joan enthusiasts, however, might enjoy a study or comparison and revisit.  

The Song of Bernadette – Best Actress winner Jennifer Jones (Duel in the Sun) leads this inspirational 1943 tale alongside Charles Bickford (The Big Country), Anne Revere (A Place in the Sun), and Vincent Price (The Pit and the Pendulum).  My Mom swears by this movie, and despite my ongoing dislike of Jones, this is indeed her best work.  Youthful and innocent, Jones holds her own against the young suave and skeptical legalese of Imperial Prosecutor Price and more nasty adults with her soft honesty and subtle words. Even if Jones is also too old and doe eyed, we believe in Bernadette’s purity- and it’s ironic Jones had a behind the scenes’ scandal as well.  We’re slow to start with repetitive dialogue and it all feels overlong at just over two and a half hours, but the lovely little story here is well filmed with beautiful somber music to accent it all. Yes, it’s obviously pro Catholic and lays on the bias and sentiment- but what’s wrong with having a little faith?  The Victorian strict attitudes and poor tough times are also laid on thick against Bernadette- only the fine Priest Bickford supports her- and the period French touches succumb to liberties taken with the forties Americanization.  Fortunately, the miracle portrayals are perfectly done with abstract Lady Linda Darnell (The Mark of Zorro and another scandalous woman!) None of the reverence is hokey at all in comparison to the snotty family and disbelieving folk.  The Lourdes events are handled with respect as natural and realistic, believable and yet still divine without being a fantastic spectacle.  Wow! It’s all still special as miracles obviously are, and yet audiences today might find it somewhat strange that Bernadette’s elders would think her an insane or bad child.  Again, this adaptation is fine for a mature CCD debate or Sunday School classroom.  We have religious controversies, sure, but the sincerity and truth onscreen is evident here.

As to Passover, you can read a quick review of my favorite The Ten Commandments here – and look for our new analysis on the blu-ray edition soon!