PALM BEACH STORY (1942)

I really enjoyed posting two straight weeks of blogs on Hollywood films from the 1930's, and so for the 1940's I'm going to up the ante and try for three weeks worth. Looking at titles I have left from the 1001 Movies You Must See Before You Die book, this shouldn't be a problem. As before, I’ll list my expectations for each film going in and state whether these expectations are reached or not. And I’ll once again give each film my Elisha Cook Jr. supporting player award because there was such a bounty of great supporting performers from this period and I just like doing it.

Palm Beach Story (1942):
Expectations: I knew it featured the director-star team (Preston Sturges, Joel McCrea) of one of my favorite movies from the 1940’s, Sullivan’s Travels.

After viewing: I watched this movie after watching about ten Ingmar Bergman movies in a row. (If you aren’t familiar with Bergman, he doesn’t specialize in screwball comedies). The contrast made it seem like the dialogue in Palm Speech Story was speeded up like a 33 1/3 album turned up to 45*.. Anyway, the script was very funny, but as I said, it was so quickly paced, I found myself backing up the tape to get some of the dialogue I missed the first time through. My favorite line goes something like, “Nothing is forever…except for Roosevelt**.” Also look fast for clever sequence going on behind the opening credits.

*Yes, I do realize vinyl references may appear dated.
**Line only funny pre-1945.

And the Elisha Cook Jr. supporting player award goes to …Frank Faylen. Seems strange to award someone with just one scene in a movie that has such impressive second bananas as Mary Astor, Rudy Vallee, William Demarest, and Franklin Pangborn in it. But when I saw Frank driving that cab halfway through the movie it foreshadowed the cab he would drive four years later in It’s a Wonderful Life and who doesn’t love It’s a Wonderful Life?

REBECCA (1940)

I really enjoyed posting two straight weeks of blogs on Hollywood films from the 1930's, and so for the 1940's I'm going to up the ante and try for three weeks worth. Looking at titles I have left from the 1001 Movies You Must See Before You Die book, this shouldn't be a problem. As before, I’ll list my expectations for each film going in and state whether these expectations are reached or not. And I’ll once again give each film my Elisha Cook Jr. supporting player award because there was such a bounty of great supporting performers from this period and I just like doing it.

Rebecca (1940):
Expectations: Always look forward to viewing a Hitchcock film. Knew this was his only Best Picture winner. Laurence Olivier is usually worth seeing (Unless it’s in something like Harold Robbins’ The Betsy or The Jazz Singer). I knew it was also based on the famous novel of the same name.

After viewing: I had forgotten (or maybe I never realized) this was David O Selznick’s follow up to Gone With the Wind. It appears (and is confirmed by the accompanying commentary track) to be part Hitchcock style and part O. Selznick epic. This competing combination seems to works for the most part.

I honestly don’t recall seeing a movie with Joan Fontaine before, but she is quite fetching and well cast here. Another interesting supporting role is George Sanders as Olivier’s oily voiced rival. However, any fan of Rebecca will probably tell you the showcase role is that of the macabre Mrs. Danvers and Judith Anderson plays it to the hilt.

The overall plot does have some holes in it (As Hitchcock himself points out-Where did the second body come from?) but it isn’t hard to see why Rebecca (The book and the film) has had an enduring appeal.

And the Elisha Cook Jr. supporting player award goes to…Judith Anderson, of course. Though I admit it is tempting to throw a bone to Jasper the loyal cocker spaniel.

THE BLACK SWAN (2010)

Since I imagine The Black Swan will be in the latest edition of The 1001 Movies You Must See Before You Die book and I watched it this week, I feel pretty safe in adding it here. However, I’m not sure what to say about this film, so I’ll just ask some friends and family who have seen it what they think and follow with my comments about their comments.

My niece: It was really strange. Not what I had in mind. Some of those images were just creepy, creepy, creepy…But I liked it. (I'm glad you seemed to have learned that creepy isn’t necessarily a bad thing. It’s an important life lesson.)

My other niece: I thought it was the coolest move ever! But I could have done without the scene with the old man playing with himself on the subway. (I too will have nightmares about that one.)

My cousin from Georgia: Can’t they make any movies today without bad language? With Natalie Portman in it, I was expecting something more along the lines of Star Wars. (I may have to deduct points from you for making a reference to The Phantom Menace.)

My son: Didn’t really care for it. I prefer anime. (We’ll watch Metropolis or My Neighbor Totoro next, I promise)

An online friend: I must be getting old. I can remember when Barbara Hershey was such a cutie! Now she’s playing parts like this as if she were doing an imitation of the mother in Carrie! (I asked him what he thought of the movie overall, and he said he found it very creative, but didn’t like the scene with the old man on the subway. Note: Since it seems to be a consensus, I would ask Darren Aronofsky for his next film to omit all scenes with old men diddling with themselves.)

Movie buff friend at work: Aronofsky goes from a film about the psyche of washed-up professional wrestler in The Wrestler to an up and coming ballet star in The Black Swan with only mixed results. (I asked him to embellish and he would not.)

My best friend: Not really mind kind of flick, Sam. My old lady just insisted on watching, and seeing as it was her birthday and all, I agreed. So much dancing. So boring. But then comes the scene with the two women. You know, he, he he. When they venture to the island of lesbos? Now that’s my kind of movie! Don’t quote me on that. My old lady gets jealous, you know. (My best friend calls everyone Sam. His wife actually left him months ago, so his comments about his “old lady” concern me greatly.)

My wife: Why do you keep talking about The Black Swan? I think you’re just obsessed with Natalie Portman. Maybe you should just off and marry Natalie Portman! But when you do, don’t forget to give her this…(My wife then broke a bottle of Michelob over my head and stuck the jagged edge of it solidly into my gut. Despite the pain, I have to admit it took me to a level of artistic consciousness that I have never attained before.)

SHOCK CORRIDOR (1963), ONE FLEW OVER THE CUCKOO'S NEST (1975), THE SNAKEPIT (1948)

My God. I’m in a straight jacket. I’ve got to remember what I’m doing here.
Kind of blurry. Coming into focus now. There’s the doctor. Doctor…Ratched. And there’s the other doctor. The big Indian, Dr. Bromden. Wait. Except he wasn’t always a doctor. He was a patient! And Doctor Ratchett. I thought she was a nurse! They’ve been in front of me before, but they were different people weren’t they?

“I see you are awake now. And much calmer I hope. I’m sorry you had to be sedated and restrained,” Doctor Ratched gave me a malevolent smile as she turned towards her colleague.

Why was I here? If only I could remember. If only I could give it voice.

“Dr. Bromden,” she asked her colleague. “Do you think we need the restraints on this patient any longer?”

Bromden shook his head before walking over to me and unbuckling my straight jacket. He offered me a stick of Juicy Fruit. I declined. Seemingly perturbed, he stuck the piece in his own mouth and began chewing with gusto.

“Now, Mr. Librarian,” she began.

I don’t know why she called me a librarian. I was a reporter. That’s right. I’m undercover in this place. I’m here to find out who killed Sloan! I can’t let her find out why I’m here or I’ll be finished.

“Now, Mr. Librarian,” she repeated. What’s all this you were going on about earlier about trying to find the real murderer of someone named Sloan?”

I guess I was too late. I must have sang like a canary while they had me under.

“We have no records of anyone here named Sloan, do we Doctor Bromden?”

The big Indian shrugged, indicating agreement with her assessment.

“Let me clarify things for you. You were put in this hospital because you were in front of a movie theater ranting about why the movie going public spent ninety million dollars last week for a Pirates of the Caribbean movie and you seemed outraged that they weren’t more discriminating in how they spent their money. You were going on and on…it was a real scene. You created quite a ruckus.”

I wiped my now free hand against my forehead. I didn’t do any of what she just described. I admit to having had these thoughts, but they were internal. How could she have known? What kind of mind games were they playing in this place? I tried to respond, but I still couldn’t find my voice. Why couldn’t I speak? Why now?

Doctor Ratched winced as if irritated by my inability to speak.

“Cat still got you tongue? Your record shows you have been in therapy over the last few months for, what was it again? What does the record show Doctor Bromden?”

The big Indian handed her my file.

“You were going through therapy while watching Ingmar Bergman movies and they concluded you were eventually going to have a breakdown. Well, It seems like you had one all right.”

She was lying. Those psychiatrists I had been seeing gave me a clean bill of health. I wasn’t sick! This was a cover-up! This was some kind of conspiracy!

The doctor pulled up a chair next to me and began whispering in my ear.

“We can help you. But you’ve got to cooperate. This whole business about someone named Sloan is just a fabrication that generated from you psychosis. Isn’t it?”

I looked at her defiantly and shook my head. She backed away and looked at me with disdain. Yet there was a noticeable gleam in her eye as she began to speak again.

“We may need to administer stronger measures to make you see the light. Or should I should say to make you well again.”

Doctor Bromden picked up a pillow and began lumbering in my direction.

“No, Doctor Bromden. I didn’t mean that. Have a seat while I finish.”

The big Indian did as she said but not before throwing the pillow down and huffing disapproval.

“As I was saying,” she continued. “You see that door to the side of us? Do you know what happens through that door?”

I looked at her and tried to mouth the word lobotomy. I still hadn’t gotten my voice but she was able to read my lips. She threw back her head and laughed.

“Oh, please. Lobotomy? Are you serious? And I’m not talking about shock treatment or solitary confinement either. What I’m talking about, my friendly librarian is…is…Nymphomaniacs!

“Nymphos!” I said finally getting my voice at last.

“Well, so you can talk.” Doctor Ratched replied.

She moved closer to me again and began to whisper in that voice that sounded like fingernails being scrapped down a chalkboard.

“And not just any nymphos,” she continued. “Young, fertile nymphos who haven’t had a man in a long time. They’d just love to get their hands on a friendly...neighborhood...librarian. There’s no telling what they’d do to you.”

“You think I’m afraid of your torture chamber?" I said. "You don’t think I know about Sloan?”

I rose with the intention of putting my hands around her neck and squeezing the life out of her but a moment of revelation stopped me.

“Wait a minute?” I yelled. “You killed Sloan! He was going to blow the whistle on you. He was going to-”

Before I could continue, Dr. Bromden grabbed me from behind and lifted me off my feet. He slung me towards the door. I slammed into it headfirst and plummeted through to the other side. I scrambled back up to get the hell out of there, but the doctors had locked already locked me in.

I turned around and there they were.

Nymphos. Maybe a dozen or more.

They began to form a circle around me. They looked familiar. I recognized them alright. They all looked like Olivia deHavilland! They began singing. One Olivia sang I Like Coffee, I Like Tea. Another Olivia, it must have been the Gone With the Wind Olivia, began to whistle Dixie,another Olivia sang My Bonnie in a Scottish brogue, and yet another sang Sweet Georgia Brown as she began to dance the Charleston. They converged on me. As they neared me, they began to make humming-bee-like sounds. They pushed me to the ground and began to paw at me…I managed to get away for a moment and struggled to get to a wall. There was no other door. It was most strange. The Olivias were all going to be back on me soon, yet it was like they were all looking at me from far away. This room, this Ward 12, this Nympho room was like a deep hole and I was being watched from above. I felt like Indiana Jones and I was in a…a… snakepit…The Olivas were coming back to me. I couldn’t maintain consciousness…I…I…Will this nightmare ever end? I must…sleep…Can’t stay awake…

My God. I’m in a straight jacket. I’ve got to remember what I’m doing here.
Kind of blurry. Coming into focus now. There’s the doctor. Doctor…McMurphy. And there’s the other doctor. The little Italian, Dr. Martini. Wait. Except he wasn’t always a doctor. He was a patient. And Doctor McMurphy. I thought he was a patient, too! They’ve been in front of me before, but they were different people weren’t they?