Gunga Din

Over the last few years, I have been digging deeper into the classics.  It has been a fun ride.  I've been thrilled to find that some of my bucket list movies, like Best Years of Our Lives and Bad Day at Black Rock truly live up to their reputations.  I've also enjoyed discovering some new gems I knew nothing about, like The Train, or re-evaluating old classics I had not seen in decades, like Double Indemnity.

Gunga Din falls into that latter category.  I had not seen the film since high school, at the peak of my Cary Grant craze (he remains one of my favorites still today).  But I do remember being vaguely disappointed by the film, and I couldn't quite remember why.  Gunga Din has an excellent reputation.  It was part of that magical year in 1939, which many scholars consider the best in Hollywood history and includes the releases of Gone with the Wind, Love Affair, Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, Wizard of Oz, Wuthering Heights, Another Thin Man, Stagecoach, Ninotchka, Rules of the Game, The Women (and the list goes on and on).  Even with that competition, Gunga Din was still the sixth highest grossing film of the year.  It did get a bit lost at the Oscars, only getting one nomination for Cinematography, but that is understandable given the pedigree of that year.  

Loosely adapted from the famous poem by Rudyard Kipling, Gunga Din is the story of three British sergeants stationed in India during the 1880s: tough as nails MacChesney (Victor MacLaglan, The Informer), the roguish Cutter (Cary Grant, North by Northwest) and the romantic Ballantine (Douglas Fairbanks, Jr., Prisoner of Zenda).  The three find themselves facing off against the brutal Thuggee cult that was gaining power in India at the time.  The film can be broken into three distinct chapters.  In the first chapter, the sergeants have to escape from a town after a Thuggee ambush, the second chapter is about MacChesney and Cutter trying to keep Ballantine from retiring and getting married, and the third chapter involves the discovery of a golden temple and the inevitable face-off against the Thuggee army.  Oh, there is also a regimental water carrier named Gunga Din (Sam Jaffe, Ben Hur) who happens to show up occasionally.  And that gets into one of the problems about the film, but more on that later.  

There is a lot to like in Gunga Din.  MacLaglan, Grant and Fairbanks, Jr. have terrific chemistry.  The ambush sequence in the first chapter of the film is a lot of fun, full of swashbuckling and slapstick humor that is genuinely funny.  The screwball comedy atmosphere continues in the second chapter.  There are some true laugh out-loud moments in this sequence, especially at a banquet to celebrate the upcoming marriage of Ballantine and Emmy (Joan Fontaine, Suspicion).  But the fun balance that director George Stevens is trying to strike just falls apart in the last story.  The film begins to grow pretty dark when the three sergeants and Gunga Din run up against the full Thuggee army, but at the same time, the movie refuses to completely let go with the breezy, comedic banter between the three actors.  High tension and humor is always a difficult blend to strike, but it can be done; however, the tones are completely at odds here.  And when the film does grow deadly serious, which the plot requires it to do at one point, it's like nothing else in the movie.  It suddenly becomes a serious wartime drama, and that just doesn't vibe with everything else we've been watching up to this point.  It's also at this point that the filmmakers suddenly remember, "Oh, wait, this movie is called Gunga Din!!!" and suddenly need to think of something for the character to do which vaguely resembles the Kipling poem the film is based on.

Why is this movie called Gunga Din?  The movie is only really interested in the playful antics of Ballantine, Cutter and MacChesney, and poor Gunga Din is just an after thought for most of the film.  He appears in a few scenes to learn about marching from Cutter or to chastised by MacChesney, but generally, the movie just isn't that interested in poor Gunga Din.  I know some defenders will claim that this is the point of the movie, that characters in the film don't give Gunga Din enough credit, so this is all part of the film's theme.  And I would respond by saying those folks are actually giving the movie too much credit.  It's not that smart.  It is certainly business savvy and pragmatic.  Look, Cary Grant, Victor MacLaglan and Douglas Fairbanks, Jr. were big stars.  Audiences were coming to see them, so of course the movie is going to focus on them.  But in that case, don't call the movie Gunga Din and shoehorn a subplot into the story that the filmmakers don't seem to care about.  It just hurts the movie.  

Which is a shame, because a movie that paid a little more attention to the Gunga Din character would have been really interesting, and certainly made the climactic scenes all the more moving.  The movie just completely lets him down, which is a strange thing when the film is named after the character.  

Admittedly, viewed with modern eyes, it can be uncomfortable at times to watch Gunga Din because of the brown-face and the social and racial attitudes of the main characters.  I was mostly bothered by the number of times MacChesney threatens to physically hurt Gunga Din.  But a minor spoiler here, the film does try to address this at the end when they break out the famous last lines of Kipling's poem: "Though I've belted you and flayed you / By the livin' Gawd that made you / You're a better man than I am, Gunga Din."  While these lines are spoken, the camera lingers on MacChesney for a brief moment, allowing us to take in a guilt ridden and anguished face. That guilt is interesting and I wish it had been further explored.  But I think the problem with this goes back to the film's tone.  MacChesney's threats earlier in the film are played for laughs in typical screwball comedy fashion.  We're not supposed to be horrified by them.  So is the ending a disingenuous apology?  Or is it again just part of shoehorning the poem into the film that has sort of ignored it up to this point.  

At the end of the day, it's just an example of how the film is at odds with its self.  Despite a balancing act that succeeds for large stretches of the film, director George Stevens just can't interweave the comedic tone with some of the more serious themes that are hinted at.  I guess the best way to review the movie is that many of the individual pieces are terrific, but they just don't add up to a sum that is satisfactory.  I know the film is considered by many to be a classic, but I just couldn't help but be disappointed. 

MVP:

I'm not going to lie, this is an easy one.  I might be biased, but Cary Grant is almost always going to be my MVP in anything he's in.  But even objectively, I think he is probably the clear favorite here. To be fair, Grant does have the most memorable role.  Initially he had been considered for the romantic lead, Ballantine, but Grant recognized that Cutter was the flashier part.  Grant leapt at the chance to embrace his rascally Cockney roots, and you can tell he's having a grand time.  Fairbanks, Jr., MacLaglan and Jaffe are all good and have their moments, but Cary Grant's highlights shine the brightest.  The moment where he pours the elephant medicine into the punch at the party...ah, it's a master class of comedy.  Sure, his character does some things in the last third of the film that I don't like, but to be fair, there's not much of anything I like in the last third.  So I won't count that against him!  

BEST LINE: 

I have to give an honorable mention for this movie.  I have always liked this line from Ballantine when MacChesney and Cutter are arguing.  

Ballantine: You displease me greatly, and I ignore the both of you.

But the real winner is when Ballantine announces his retirement.  Admittedly, this exchange wins because of the performances of the actors, and not necessarily because of the writing.  

Ballantine: I'm leaving the service. 

MacChesney: Leaving the service??!?!

Ballantine:  That's right.  I'm getting married and I'm going into the tea business.

Cutter: Tea business!?!?!?!

And yes, on paper, this line is not funny.  But when you see the performances, I have no doubt that everyone will agree this is the best line of the movie.  The sheer horror and disgust on Cary Grant's face when he yells "Tea business?!?!" is comedy gold.  

TRIVIA:  

There have been multiple stories about Cary Grant's casting as Cutter.  Fairbanks, Jr. claimed that the roles were initially reversed, and that he had initially been cast as Cutter because of the character's similarity to the types of roles his father had become famous for playing.  Cary Grant really fought for the part, though, so finally director George Stevens decided to flip a coin, and Grant won.  Fairbanks, Jr. sounded regretful in the telling, like he had missed out on what could have been his best role.  

According to George Stevens' biography, this story isn't true.  Stevens was originally thinking of a comedian named Jack Oakie for the role of Cutter, but was happy to give it to Grant when he requested the role.  And it was at this point that they brought in Fairbanks, Jr.  According to Ben Mankiewicz, it was actually Grant who recommended Fairbanks, Jr. for the part.  If that's true, then I think it's pretty low for Fairbanks, Jr. to claim that Cary Grant stole his part!  

One Million Years B.C.

As you know, I am fascinated with trying to figure out why some movies stand the test of time, while other movies - some of which were big hits in their day - seem to disappear from the public consciousness.  It's a question I wrestled with as I reviewed The Vikings, Bad Day at Black Rock and The Best Years of Our Lives.  On a related note, I also find it fun when a single image from a movie becomes iconic while the movie itself has been largely forgotten.  

Case in point, the iconic image of Raquel Welch in the fur bikini from One Million Years B.C. This picture has appeared in film collages for the last half century.  I've seen it on posters, movie theater murals and in commercials.  It is even one of the posters Andy Dufresne hangs up in his cell in The Shawshank Redemption.  I'm willing to bet most people recognize the picture from their childhood, but just aren't sure where it is from. 

Not to say that One Million Years B.C. has completely disappeared.  This was a Hammer Production, after all, and that crazy English movie studio has a lot of fans out there (me, included).  But I'm willing to bet most folks in the general population have not seen or heard of this movie.  And as each generation passes, it will become more and more forgotten.  

And you know what?  Maybe that's not a bad thing.  One Million Years B.C. is not a particularly good movie, and maybe it's better if we let the mystery of Raquel Welch in that fur bikini stay just that: a mystery.  Maybe it's more alluring that way. 

I know that is getting the review off on a bad note.  That's not necessarily fair because One Million Years B.C. is not all bad.  There is a lot to like here.  Like many Hammer Films, it's kitschy fun, and I certainly enjoyed it more than the first time this story was told, in 1940's One Million B.C. starring Victor Mature. This is the story of Tonak (John Richardson), the son of Akhoba, the chief of a tribe of primitive humans living in cave that is much too close to an active volcano.  Though he is the favored son, Tonak angers his father one evening by not giving up his food when the chief is craving a little extra snack.  To be honest, this might be the most unappetizing piece of meat I've ever seen, just a shred of meat and fat hanging limply from a bone, but Ahkoba is hungry, damnit, and Tonak doesn't want to share.  Enraged, Ahkoba beats his son, exiles him from the tribe, and oh, throws him off a cliff just to make sure the point is clear. 

Wounded, Tonak wanders the wilderness, coming across all sorts of cannibals, dinosaurs and monsters before he discovers a beach and the peaceful Shell people who dwell there, including Loana (Raquel Welch, The Three Musketeers).  Tonak could make a home with these people, but he knows his destiny lies back with his own tribe (I can't say I agree with him on this one, but I guess Tonak really wants to find out what happened to that meat he lost.)

Look, this movie is not that good.  It is supremely silly, but there is still a lot of fun stuff to be had here.  For One Million Years B.C., Hammer Films partnered with one of the pioneers of stop motion animation - Ray Harryhausen.  Harryhausen's techniques are in top form.  And even if some of the dinosaurs look like animated models, there is still more excitement when the T-Rex and triceratops fight than any other beatdown in the movie.  Harryhausen brings excitement and creativity to these sequences that are genuinely fun.  

But what is most impressive about the film is the script...because it is all of three or four words.  We're in Prehistoric times and proper language hasn't been invented yet, and the filmmakers thought they'd be realistic about that.  You can sense the beginnings of language, the characters and monsters all have names, for example, but for the most part, they try to tell the story through grunts, groans, and knowing glances.  That is a gutsy move, and an insane risk with the box office.  But Hammer has the cajones to do it, and I have to tip my hat to them.  And they manage to tell a coherent story.  Sure, we have to pay extra attention to every look and the slightest movement to sort of figure the plot and relationships out, but they pull it off.  

I was also intrigued by the dynamics of the tribes.  Tonak and his tribe are all id.  Everything they do is fueled by individual self-interest.  They are pure desire.  Ahkoba wants that meat, damn it, no matter how gross it looks.  And later in the movie, Tonak really wants a spear that the Shell People made, and he is willing to fight anyone for it, and he doesn't care if these people just saved his life from a giant turtle. 

The Shell People are a bit more complex.  They are more community-based, and willing to spread the wealth for the common good.  Though certainly more docile and clearly not as effective fighters, they are more organized, well-fed and healthy.  They have built the first structured human society, and it is interesting to watch Tonak's id mentality butt heads against that, especially when there is no dialogue to hold our hand through the scenes.  There's a lot of interesting stuff going on here, and I applaud the filmmakers. 

I know what you're thinking: that's saying an awful lot of nice things or a movie I previously said wasn't very good.  Well, I'm sticking to it.  This movie isn't particularly good.  It really is silly.  And while it's impressive that they can tell a story with no dialogue, that story itself is really kind of dumb, and the finale, a big fight by an exploding volcano, is just bonkers (and not in a good way).  I don't think I can recommend this movie, except to Hammer fans.  For young girl-crazy teenagers, that poster of Raquel Welch in the fur bikini promises an adventure that is exciting and sexy, and the film certainly does not live up to that promise.  But at the same time, I admire it.  I am so impressed with the way the film is trying to tell its story.  That needs to be applauded, and it is a risk I wish more filmmakers would make today. 

MVP:

Honestly, I don't know.  I know the reason the MVP should win, but I don't know who deserves the credit. The best thing about this movie is its bold choice to forgo any dialogue.  I was impressed that they were able to tell a coherent story and still effectively incorporate interesting nuances to each society and their community structures.  Do I credit Don Chaffey, the director, or perhaps Michael Carreras, the producer/writer?  Or do I credit the filmmakers of the original One Million BC, who made a similar bold decision (though with less success, I think).  Ultimately, I probably need to give the MVP to Don Chaffey because he is the one who successfully translated the idea successfully for the big screen.  Yeah, I feel good about that.  Don Chaffey, whose wide range of credits includes Pete's Dragon, Jason and the Argonauts, and multiple episodes of MacGuyver and Charlie's Angels, gets his first MVP!  

BEST QUOTE: 

It's a tough call.  It probably has to be either "Ugh, grunt, ugh, Tonak, grunt grunt" or "Grunt, ugh, ugh, argh, ugh."  Too close to decide between those two classic bits of dialogue. 

TRIVIA:

Though Raquel Welch was the big box office draw for this film, and a fine actress, the producers must not have liked her grunting for this movie.  All of her dialogue was dubbed by Nikki van Der Zy, who also dubbed a lot of the female characters in the early Bond films.  

Night Creatures

 

Though I am generally not a huge fan of horror movies, there is something about Hammer Films that I really dig.  The studio produced a huge slew of horror films in the 1950s and 1960s, many starring Peter Cushing and Christopher Lee.  Many of the films were not great, but they had a goofy gothic charm that I really enjoyed.  I've seen a lot of movies by the studio over the years.   And after watching The Curse of the Werewolf, I had to ask myself whether it would be wise to stop.  Was I now scraping the bottom of the barrel?  Had I already seen all the good movies and was now just torturing myself with the dreck?  

And then I came across Night Creatures, otherwise known as Captain Clegg, which is an odd little film.  It's really a movie that shouldn't work.  And truth be told, it kind of doesn't.  But also, truth be told, I kinda don't care.  Night Creatures is silly fun, and I enjoyed myself! 

In a small village along the coast of England, Captain Collier (Patrick Allen, Dial M for Murder) of the Royal Navy arrives to investigate reports of illegal smuggling and piracy.  He suspects that an infamous pirate named Captain Clegg is responsible.  But Clegg has been dead for years, and the local villagers are too worried about the haunted marshes to be thinking about bootlegging.  You see, there are these phantoms deep in the marshes, glowing skeletons that ride out of the darkness, literally frightening people to death with their sheer presence.  Captain Collier thinks this is all a ridiculous distraction, but it will only be a matter of time before his investigation crosses paths with...the Night Creatures!!  

In the town, we have an assortment of odd characters, including the gentle Reverend Blyss (Peter Cushing, Horror of Dracula), his ward Imogene (Yvonne Romain, The Curse of the Werewolf), coffin maker Jeremiah Mipps (Michael Ripper, The Reptile), innkeeper Mister Rash (Martin Benson, Goldfinger) and Harry Cobtree (Oliver Reed, Gladiator), the son of the local government official.  These characters all take turns "helping" Captain Collier when actually frustrating his efforts.  

I guess this is a SPOILER, but not really since the movie reveals certain facts very early on.  The entire town is in on this bootlegging operation, which is led by the Reverend Blyss.  Their challenge is to somehow try and keep to their schedule while Captain Collier is sniffing around.  

Of course, it would make more sense if the criminals would just stop their activities for a day or two until Collier leaves.  And once you think about that, you start realizing that the most of the plot just breaks down under even a little bit of scrutiny. "Well, how did that happen?" "Why did he do that?" "How is that possible?"   Even the secret of the Night Creatures is a huge disappointment and a fun idea that never lives up to its potential.  On paper, this is probably not a particularly good movie.  

So why did I like it?  I enjoyed the Gothic Hammer atmosphere which is well utilized here.  I thought the concept of an entire town of bootleggers was interesting, and there are some genuinely fun and creative flourishes in their plotting.  But most of all, Night Creatures brings in Hammer's most reliable weapon: the always watchable Peter Cushing, who just elevates everything he is in.  Whether he is in kindly reverend mode or ruthless pirate leader mode, Cushing is just on a different level than the rest of the cast.  

So do I recommend Night Creatures?   Yes, I would.  But take that recommendation with a grain of salt.  It's definitely one of the lesser Hammer Films.  If Hammer isn't your thing, then I would avoid it.  This isn't the movie that will change your mind!  But personally, I really enjoyed it.  

MVP:

My love for Peter Cushing is no secret.  I've liked him since I was a little kid and I realized he was the one guy in the original Star Wars who could boss Darth Vader around.  He elevates Night Creatures, especially when he is allowed to dump his gentle reverend cover and go into ruthless pirate captain mode.  The film is constantly in danger of being overwhelmed by its plot contrivances, and then Peter Cushing shows up and all is forgotten and forgiven.  If that is not an MVP performance, I don't know what is.  

BEST LINE:

Captain Collier: Did you sleep last night? 

Reverend Blyss: Why, exceptionally well.  And you?  Oh no, you were out looking for the phantoms, weren't you?  Of course!  Don't tell me you've only just returned.

Captain Collier: Yes.

Reverend Blyss: Dear me, you must have walked a long way.  Did you have any luck?

Captain Collier: Yes and no.

Reverend Blyss: That's comprehensive, anyway.  

TRIVIA: 

I have two fun bits of trivia here.  As I mentioned, the original title of this movie was Captain Clegg, and in most of the world, that is what most people call the film.  However, in the United States, the film was called Night Creatures.  What happened behind the scenes was this: Hammer had planned on producing an adaptation of the classic horror story I Am Legend.  They were going to call the film Night Creatures.  But the British censors warned the studio that they would never allow the film to be made, so those plans had to be abandoned.  The problem is that Hammer already promised a film called Night Creatures to the U.S. distributors.   So they hastily changed the title of this film and the rest is history. 

I have to be honest.  That bit of trivia also makes me a bit sad.  Can you imagine a Hammer version of I Am Legend with Peter Cushing or Christopher Lee in the lead?  That would have been amazing.  

The second bit of trivia is about the small town where the film was made, Denham.  The red brick house where Reverend Blyss lives was actually the home of legendary producer Alexander Korda (The Third Man) and his wife Merle Oberon (Wuthering Heights).  The house was later owned by Sir John Mills (the father in Swiss Family Robinson).  Years later, Mills' daughter, Hayley Mills from The Parent Trap restored the local windmill, which can also be seen in the film.  

The Curse of the Werewolf

 

When I finished watching The Curse of the Werewolf, my first thoughts were, "Woof!  What a bad movie."  That line just kept popping into my head - and honestly, I didn't even think about it being a pun until a few minutes later.  I promptly rolled my eyes and thought, well, I can't start a review that way.  People will hate me.  And yet, here I am.  

The Curse of the Werewolf?  Woof!  What a bad movie!  

I know there is a lot of love out there for this movie, but I just felt it was a bore and tedious to get through.  I understand that Hammer Films are not striving for Oscars, but there is a Gothic charm to a lot of them, and a lot of creative and exciting reimagining of iconic horror creatures like vampires, mummies and even Frankenstein's monster.  So I'll give The Curse of the Werewolf some props for taking some chances, but the film is full of creative misstep after creative misstep.  It's just bad.  

One fateful day, a poor beggar (Richard Wordworth, Revenge of Frankenstein) visits a local lord's house during his wedding day.  After the local lord (Anthony Dawsen, Dr. No) abuses him for quite some time to entertain the wedding guests, the beggar is imprisoned in the castle dungeons.  There, he is forgotten by almost everyone.  Years pass.  And only the poor, mute servant girl who serves him his food shows him any kindness.  More years pass.  The servant girl grows up into a beautiful young woman played by Yvonne Romain (Night Creatures), and the villainous lord takes notice.  When she refuses his advances, she is also thrown into the dungeon.  The beggar, now mad and feral, inexplicably rapes her and then promptly - and without explanation - dies.  The servant girl escapes the castle and soon gives birth to little Leon - a poor baby whose circumstances of conception were so horrible that he is forever tainted by the... CURSE OF THE WEREWOLF.  

I know that local censors of the day would rant and rave about the shocking sadism in the Hammer Films.  These movies, with their emphasis on blood and eroticism, were shocking for the late 1950s and early 1960s, but I really think these complaints were the silly and overblown grumblings of stodgy old critics.  But with The Curse of the Werewolf, they probably had a point.  The first half of the movie is really full of distasteful and, yes, sadistic material.  They just pushed it a bit too far.  

If this sadism had a point, if it led to anything interesting in the second half, I suppose the film could be forgiven.  But it never does.  Leon (played as an adult by Oliver Reed from Gladiator) struggles with his curse as his adoptive father Alfredo (Clifford Evans, Kiss of the Vampire) tries to help him. And the movie just bounces from one stupid plot point after plot.

Here's one example.  When he is a boy, Leon turns into a werewolf and attacks some local goat herds.  The night watchman shoots at what he thinks is a wolf, and though we don't see Leon get hit, there is some blood on the ground.  Cut to the next scene with Alfredo removing the bullet, not knowing Leon had snuck out (or transformed into a werewolf), and asking in a way that I think is way too casual, hey, do you happen to know how you got shot while you were sleeping last night?  Leon doesn't remember...and that's the end of that.  

Woof!  This movie stinks.  

In fairness, it's not a complete disaster.  The werewolf make-up is pretty good.  I know in some production stills you can find online, it looks a bit dodgy, but in action the makeup is definitely effective, especially when matched by Oliver Reed's committed, snarly performance.  And in general, Oliver Reed and Clifford Evans are both great actors and are always engaging, even when the film is not.  They do the best they can with the material.   I'm just shocked by how bad this material is.  This was made by Hammer's best director, Terence Fisher, who had successfully rebooted the other iconic horror characters for the studio.  So I'm not sure what happened here.  You have a disturbing and sadistic first half and a pretty routine and boring second half.  Save yourself from the curse, and skip this movie!  

MVP: 

I will probably have to go with Clifford Evans.  Oliver Reed is good in the role, but I do feel like they missed an opportunity with his character.  A good boy, stoically trying to suppress his urges, does not play to Reed's strengths.  Though he gives a good performance, Reed is best when you let him dial it up all the way to eleven (which he does get to do in wolf form).  Whereas Evans does a very good job of reigning everything in.  He's a calm and collected doctor who adopts Leon after his mother dies, and once he learns about the curse, he does a great job of telegraphing the horror without going over the top.  He brings more of a weary resolve to the role and is focused on what he should do to save his son, as opposed to overplaying the terror of it all.  Now that I am writing this, I guess that makes Leon's character work.   It makes sense that this man was raised by Alfredo.  They are both kind people not given to huge displays of emotion.   So I suppose from a script and direction standpoint, that works. But it still doesn't play to Reed's strengths, while Evans fits the role perfectly.  Anyways, that's a ramble.  Clifford Evans gets my MVP!    

BEST LINE:

Shepherd 1: I lost three goats last night!

Shepherd 2: I lost two.

Night Watchman: I can't help it if things won't die when I shoot them. 

TRIVIA: 

I have two bits of trivia for you.  First of all, in the original script, the beggar was actually a werewolf, which is even more awful but at least explains why Leon is also a werewolf.  But that was too much for the censors.  They drew the line and the scene had to be rewritten.  

On a more fun note, Oliver Reed liked to drive home in full makeup, just to freak out other commuters on the road!  

The Best Years of Our Lives

 

Last year, in my review for The Vikings, I talked about how fascinating it was that some movies disappear from history.  It's just strange that films that were hits in their day and featured major Hollywood stars just seem to vanish once the next generation comes along.  What cultural forces allow some movies to weather this test of time and stay in our collective memories forever, while others just fade away?  I suppose, at the end of the day, I can understood why The Vikings has been sort of forgotten.  It's a good movie, but not a brilliant one.  And while it was a hit, it was not a phenomenon.  I lamented the fact that films like this are being forgotten, but I understand it.  

But what if that forgotten film truly is a classic?  What if it really is one of the best movies ever made?   

What the hell happened to The Best Years of Our Lives?  Let me set the credentials first, because this movie was BIG.  The Best Years of Our Lives won 7 Oscars, including Best Picture.  It was also the first film to win Best Picture at the Oscars, Golden Globes and the BAFTAs.  It was a massive hit, and was the most watched film since Gone with the Wind.  The film is listed as the 37th best American film on the AFI List.  When the Library of Congress started selecting the most culturally significant films for preservation in the National Registry, The Best Years of Our Lives was one of among the first selected.  This film actually was a phenomenon.  But have you seen it? 

Have you even heard of it?  

Probably not.  Because it seems like most of us haven't.  

I listen to a few other podcasts about the Oscars and classic films, and when this film came up in their list, there was a sense of confusion.  "What is that movie?"  "I have never heard of this!"  "Oh, wait, I think I know it.  Is that the movie that beat It's a Wonderful Life for Best Picture?"  How did this happen? Why don't more people know this movie?   

Now, obviously, I'm not saying no one has see the film.  If it had completely vanished, then it wouldn't be on the AFI list, or in all those "1000 Movies You Need to See Before You Die" books.  But that doesn't change the fact that to the general public, this movie kind of doesn't exist.  

And wow, are they missing something.  Because The Best Years of Our Lives is just glorious.  I was staggered how amazing it was, heartfelt without being manipulative or sappy, complex without being indecisive, and beautifully acted and directed without showing off.  

The Best Years of Our Lives tells the story of three soldiers returning from World War 2, and the struggles they face trying to re-adjust to civilian life.  Al Stephenson (Fredric March, Inherit the Wind) tries to re-connect with his family, including the children whose formative years he missed while he was off fighting in the Pacific.  Fred Derry (Dana Andrews, Laura) was an officer in a bomber squadron during the war, but finds himself struggling to find a job in a society that seems to no longer have a use for him.  And Homer Parrish (Harold Russell), who lost both his hands in the war, is trying to find a way to live his life without feeling like everyone pities him, especially his fiancé, Wilma (Cathy O'Donnell, Ben Hur).  Their experiences were a microcosm of what a lot of veterans went through when they returned from the war, feeling like their peaceful home town was now a foreign world.  

I think the most impressive thing about the film is that it truly feels authentic.  There are a number of reasons for this.  The film was based on a novella Glory for Me, which was written by a war correspondent who had interviewed scores of veterans.  This was adapted into a screenplay by Robert E. Sherwood, a four-time Pulitzer Prize winning playwright who served as the director of the Office of War Information during the war.  The director William Wyler (Ben Hur) spent four years as part of the Signal Corps and had flown in combat missions over Europe while filming Memphis Belle, a wartime documentary for the U.S. Army.  Once production started, Wyler was committed to hiring as many veterans to work in the crew as possible, from audio technicians to grips.  And then you have the character of Homer, played by Harold Russell, who had joined the army following Pearl Harbor and lost his hands in a demolition accident in 1944.  Russell is not an actor, and you can tell.  He is a bit rough around the edges.  But he feels real.  Supposedly, producer Samuel Goldwyn tried to sign Russell up for acting lessons and Wyler intervened.  He didn't want the authenticity spoiled by technique and method.  Instead, he encouraged Russell to play what he knew.  I think it works beautifully.  What potentially could have, and maybe should have, come across as amateurish only adds to the insecurity that Homer feels at home, a place he isn't sure he belongs in, and engaged to a woman he feels he no longer deserves.  The sincerity and credibility he brings to the role is irreplaceable.  It's no wonder he won not one, but two Oscars for the performance - one for Best Supporting Actor and a special award for "bringing inspiration and hope to war veterans."

I'm rambling, but the point is that the movie tries really hard to be authentic, and it pays off.  But I also admire it because of its complexity.  This isn't a straight forward film.  These characters are human, not movie cliches, and they have flaws.  Al Stephenson is a nice man who loves his family and truly cares about helping other veterans re-adjust, but he is also teetering dangerously close to alcoholism.  Does the movie overstate the point?  No.  But it's there.  And we feel every nervous side-eye his wife gives him when he pours himself a drink.  That's just one example.  There are no "good guys" or "bad guys" in this movie. Everyone is three dimensional, with good and bad qualities.  They're just regular people trying to discover their new normals.  I have to restrain myself because I'm going to start getting into spoiler territory, and there are a number of surprises in the movie, so maybe it's best I just move on!  

Basically, everyone is firing on all cylinders in this movie.  The acting is all great.  In addition to the actors I already mentioned, you also have Myrna Loy, Virginia Mayo, and Teresa Wright.  I also need to give some props to Gregg Toland, the director of photography who also shot Citizen Kane.  Toland wasn't even nominated for his remarkable work, which I think is criminal.  His deep focus work throughout the movie is superb, and he and Wyler have conceived a handful of scenes featuring two different story threads playing out simultaneously - one in the foreground and one in the background, commenting on but not distracting from each other.  That's not something you see in many movies today, much less 1946.  

So why has Best Years of Our Lives seemingly disappeared from the public consciousness?  Could it be the title of the film?  It makes it sound like a sappy soap opera.  Maybe.  Admittedly, the title doesn't really tell me much about the movie.  I think the actors also have something to do with it.  March, Loy, Andrews, Mayo and Wright were all big stars in the 1940s, but for whatever reason they haven't become legendary, multi-generational beloved super stars like Humphrey Bogart, Audrey Hepburn or Jimmy Stewart.  And maybe there was a sense that this movie belonged to a very specific time, that it only made sense right after the horror that was World War 2 and that the further we got from that singular moment in history, the less relevant the film became.  

I call bullshit on all that last one, though.  The issues explored in the film don't rest solely in the 1940s, and many of the themes are just as relevant today as they were then - PTSD, depression and mental health, the complexities of marriage, issues of class, big banking, corporations and chains taking over small town family businesses, even fake news - these are topics that are still argued about today.  Plus, the fact that as long as there are wars, there will always be veterans, and there will always be difficulties re-adjusting to peacetime after conflict.  

Sadly, I think the main reason The Best Years of Our Lives remains more obscure was just because of the roll of the movie dice.  There were copyright issues with It's a Wonderful Life, which meant that television stations could broadcast it for free.  That film, which had underperformed when it came out, was found by a whole new generation of families who started watching it every year at Christmas.  Those kids grew up, and then introduced to the film to their kids, and so on, and therefore, the movie passed into legend.  Would the same thing have happened if the copyright had expired for The Best Years of Our Lives?  Maybe.  I'm always searching for reasons.  It's just frustrating when I can't really find a compelling one. But I guess I have to accept that sometimes that's just not the fate of a film.  

But that can change.  Movies can be re-discovered.  I hope that happens to The Best Years of Our Lives.  This film deserves to be remembered.  

MVP: 

I'm so tempted to say Gregg Toland for his excellent cinematography.  This is some of the best deep focus work I've ever seen because it's not being used as a gimmick or just a technique to keep more of the image in focus.  He's using the depth of the frame to tell a visual story within the film's plot, and it's pretty amazing.  But some of that influence may have also come from Wyler, who ultimately I have to give the MVP to.  Wyler was a great filmmaker, who consistently directed his actors to Oscar wins or nominations.  His sense of pacing is what makes a three hour movie feel much shorter than its runtime.  And most of all, Wyler gets the MVP due to his adamant insistence, I would say obsession, to make this movie feel authentic because he felt he owed it to the veterans who fought for this country and put everything on the line for our freedom.  In large part, that's why the film still stands up today.    

BEST LINE:

After seeing his children again for the first time in four years.  

Milly: What do you think of the children?

Al: Children?  I don't recognize 'em.  They've grown so old.

Milly: I tried to stop them, to keep them just the way they were when you left, but they got away from me. 

TRIVIA:

When getting ready for bed, Homer comments that once his artificial hands are removed, he's as helpless as a baby.  But this was definitely not true in real life.  Harold Russell was very capable of putting the hooks back on without anyone helping.  That was just something they added to the movie to make the character more sympathetic.  

But I also need to add one other bit of trivia, because it's too funny not to!  It's not about the film, but about Teresa Wright, who plays Al's daughter Peggy.  First of all, has anyone made as much of a Hollywood entrance as she did?  She explodes onto the scene with Little Foxes, which was nominated for Best Picture and netted her an Oscar nomination for Best Supporting Actress.  She follows that up with Mrs. Miniver, which won Best Picture and also for which she won Best Supporting Actress.  Her third film was yet another Best Picture nominee, Pride of the Yankees, for which she was nominated for Best Actress.  She follows that up with Alfred Hitchcock's classic Shadow of a Doubt, which was that director's personal favorite film and a big hit.  That is already one helluva stretch.  Her first four films are all major classics.  She admittedly had a little drip with her next movie, Casanova Brown, but then her sixth film was The Best Years of Our Lives.  So that is still a remarkable run.  She was also a strong woman and a serious actress, and didn't have much use for the ridiculousness of the Hollywood press machine.  When she signed her first contract, she was bold enough to insist on the following additions to the agreement: 

"Teresa Wright shall not be required to pose for photographs in a bathing suit unless she is in the water.  Neither may she be photographed running on the beach with her hair flying in the wind.  Nor may she pose in any of the following situations: in shorts; playing with a cocker spaniel; digging in a garden; whipping up a meal; attired in firecrackers and holding skyrockets for the Fourth of July; looking insinuatingly at a turkey for Thanksgiving; wearing a bunny cap with long ears for Easter; twinkling on prop snow in a skiing outfit while a fan blows her scarf; or assuming an athletic stance while pretending to hit something with a bow and arrow."  

That was in the contract!  And insisted upon by someone who had never made a movie before.  I would think most Hollywood moguls, especially back then, would have refused.  But Goldwyn was impressed by her seriousness and her talent, and agreed.  

I just think that is pretty awesome and badass that she insisted on all of that, and had to include it with my trivia for the film!  

The Matrix

I'd like to approach this review from two different directions.  First, I'd like to talk about memory for a second.  We all know The Matrix.  Most of us have seen it.   We all know it's great, though many of us were let down by those sequels.  It was groundbreaking, influential and thrilling science fiction.  I saw the movie several times in those first few years after it came out.  I knew the movie so well I didn't really feel I had to watch it again any time soon.  And the quality of the film began to fade into memory.   Yes, yes, when people would talk about The Matrix, I would always say, "yeah, that movie is great.  Super influential science fiction/action film."  My brain knew it.  I bet yours does, too.  But when is the last time you actually saw it?   Because if you sit down and start watching the movie now - especially if it has been a long time since you've last seen it - you won't just know it's great.  You're gonna feel it.  You see, my senses had forgotten.  And I know that is a weird thing to say, but when I watched The Matrix again for the first time probably in a decade, all of my senses were assaulted with its awesomeness.  

For those of you who haven't seen it...maybe this review isn't for you.  I don't want to write a plot synopsis because the less you know the better.  Just go buy it and watch it, and then come back to this review later.  But for everyone else, have you seen the movie lately?  Is your brain telling you, "no, you saw that movie a bunch of times already.  You don't need to see it again."  Screw that.  Go see it again.  

Okay, I want to shift gears here.  1999 was actually a great year for movies.  Check out this lineup: Fight Club, American Beauty, The Insider, Magnolia, Office Space, The Cider House Rules, Election, Boys Don't Cry, Sixth Sense, Blair Witch Project, Being John Malkovich, The Green Mile, and a whole bunch of others.   That's a diverse and influential grouping of films, and The Matrix definitely stacks up well alongside them.  The movie was a hit, and actually won four Oscars - Film Editing, Sound, Sound Effects Editing and Visual Effects.  But watching the film again now, I have to ask...why wasn't it nominated for more?  Because looking back on it, I think The Matrix might have been the best film of 1999.  

Not just the most fun.  Not just the most entertaining.  But actually the best.  

At a certain point, the Academy Awards decided they were going to be about "Oscar movies" and it is very hard for a non-prestige film to break through.  Especially since the 1990s.  In 1977, it wasn't crazy that a movie like Star Wars could get a Best Picture nomination.  But since the 1990s?  No way. And I think all of us instinctively contribute to the problem.  We've all been conditioned to think of movies in different categories.  Action movies, comedies, and science fiction make the money.  Dramas win the awards.  Of course, science fiction films have always dominated the technical awards, but I'm talking about the top dogs - Best Picture, and awards for acting and scripting that almost always go to serious, dramatic films.  

I know I felt that way for a long time.  I had the idea of what an "Oscar movie" stuck in my head.  If it wasn't pure drama, then it had to be an epic like Gladiator.  The Oscars love epics.  But something like The Matrix?  I never would have even considered it.  The Matrix was a super fun movie and one of my favorite films of the year, but I don't think I gave it any serious thought at the Oscars beyond those technical categories.  But watching it now, I am really changing my mind.  The Matrix isn't just good sci fi.  The Matrix should have been considered the superbly written and directed film that it is.  It should have broken through.

Let's look at a few of the categories.  

Okay, I'm not going going to go crazy.  The Matrix shouldn't be cleaning up in all the categories.  The film is perfectly cast, but I'm not going to be pitching Keanu Reeves and Carrie-Ann Moss for Oscar nominations, as much as I liked them in their roles.  But what about Laurence Fishburne or Hugo Weaving?  Fishburne's performance is even better than I remembered - I really like how different he is inside the Matrix - calm, collected, always in control - to how he acts in the real world, which is someone who is trying to be calm, collected and always in control for the sake of his crew and because he feels the weight of the world is on his shoulders.  It's subtle, but I sensed the desperation lurking under his calm demeanor in the real world.  And how about Hugo Weaving, whose awkward line delivery turned Agent Smith into one of the most iconic villains in science fiction.  His repressed anger, the way he disdainfully talks about everything and everyone, the calm but horrifying menace he brings to the role, I just think Weaving knocked it out of the park.  In his first scene, all it took was Weaving's disappointed "hmmm" when Neo flips him the middle finger for me to think, "damn, why wasn't he nominated?"  That year, the nominees were Michael Caine for The Cider House Rules, Haley Joel Osment for Sixth Sense, Jude Law for The Talented Mr. Ripley, Michael Clarke Duncan for The Green Mile and Tom Cruise for Magnolia.  These are all good performances, but I could lose Michael Caine if it meant I could get Fishburne or Weaving in there.  Caine gave a memorable performance, but I'd make that trade.  I know Caine was the winner in this category, but he had already won and I think he's been better (and honestly, he probably should have won the very next year for The Quiet American).

What about screenplay?  Yep, I am going there!  The script, by Lana and Lilly Wachowski, is so expertly constructed, and does such a good job of staggering information to you.  It's a smart script - philosophical without becoming heavy handed (unlike the unfortunate Matrix sequels).  Fishburne's simple, "do you think that's air you're breathing?" is more impactful than any of the philosophical ponderings in Reloaded and Revolutions.  The script is so creative and the twists and turns are so well thought out, that I would definitely pitch this for a Best Screenplay nomination.  So what would I knock out?  This is easy.  I would probably keep the eventual winner, American Beauty, Magnolia, The Sixth Sense for that twist ending alone, which is one of the most influential and copied moments in recent cinema history, and Being John Malkovich because it's so crazy that it just needs to be in the lineup - in fact, I probably would have voted for Malkovich to win.  But Topsy Turvy?  Nothing against that movie, which I really did like, but that's a no brainer for me.  Get it out of there, and put the Wachowski script in.

I know people might think this is crazy, but I've really thought about this.  And it's going to get crazier. Because the Wachowski's directed the hell out of The Matrix.  And I look at the list of nominees for Best Picture and Best Director, and I think the Wachowski's and The Matrix are better than all of them.  

Again, I want to stress that 1999 was a great year and I am not saying anything bad about these movies.  But as the decades have passed and we look back at what was nominated, it becomes clear what films have stood the test of time.  American Beauty, The Cider House Rules, The Green Mile, The Insider and The Sixth Sense are all great films.  I admire them all.  But which one would I get rid of to put in The Matrix?  Honestly, any of them.  Other than the last five minutes of The Sixth Sense, have any of these five films influenced filmmaking or our culture in any way that even comes close to what The Matrix has done?  The Matrix has reached iconic status - and not just because it's "cool" with its leather trench coats and sunglasses - no, if that were the case, I'd be pushing The Blade movies for Oscars.  And it's not because of the terrific fight choreography.  Nope, because then I'd be pushing John Wick movies for Oscars.  Those elements are absolutely crucial parts of what makes The Matrix what it is, but it is the way they are used, it's the way these elements are written, shot and edited that has made The Matrix iconic.  To put it simply, I think The Matrix should have nominated, and in a perfect world, it should have won.  

Also, as a quick tangent, Fight Club should have been nominated, too.  Again, I'm not sure which film I would have knocked out of the nomination list because I think Fight Club is better than all of them.  Ultimately, I think my five would have been The Matrix, Fight Club, American Beauty, The Insider and Being John Malkovich.  But again, it's not an easy category, because 1999 was such a great year.  

There are two other categories that I want to mention.  Best Cinematography is just stacked.  But I still want to give Bill Pope, the director of photography, some props.  The Matrix, with its tinted blues for the real world and tinted greens for sequences inside the Matrix, certainly presaged the way color has since been used in movies - especially with the advent of digital color grading, which just changed the entire field.  The nominations that year were American Beauty, Sleepy Hollow, Snow Falling on Cedars, The End of the Affair, and The Insider.  That's a tough category, and I am not confidant about who I could kick out.  Though again, I see a bias towards dramas - with the exception of Sleepy Hollow, these are all dramas and shot in a fairly conventional way - even if they are all expertly crafted.  Actually, I am pretty impressed that Sleepy Hollow slipped in here, now that I'm looking at it.   So am I upset that Pope wasn't nominated?  No, this is a tight category.  But either way, I think Bill Pope's achievement was pretty remarkable and should have been recognized.  

I also want to give Don Davis some love for his original score.  It may have been a bit heavy for Oscar voters, but it's become iconic music - those bendings horns are instantly recognizable.  But I am not sure who I would knock off the list.  American Beauty, The Cider House Rules and The Talented Mr. Ripley are all terrific scores, but I have not seen the other two: Angela's Ashes and the eventual winner The Red Violin.  But again, I'd like to point out something.  These are all dramas, with subtle and beautiful work.  But loud and powerful music - the type that grabs you by the collar and blasts those horns in your face, just isn't favored by the Academy unless you're one of the Lord of the Rings movies, and I think Don Davis' work should have been considered.

Anyways, I know this is rambling, and I'm not sure if anyone cares about me breaking down the categories this way.  But I was so enamored by The Matrix when I watched it again, and then so surprised by the 1999 Oscar nominations when I went back to look at them, that I just wanted to get into it.  

And to be fair, the movie isn't perfect.  It does have some problems.  Some nitpicks.  To this day, I get frustrated when Neo, Morpheus and Trinity get to the phone in the subway station and are finally about to escape.  And even though they are being chased by these super powerful agents, Trinity basically stops Neo and says, "hey, hold up, I want to talk to you about something."  No no no.  Pick up the damn phone, escape, and then talk about it later!  The love story, in general, doesn't quite work for me.  I know Trinity is destined to fall in love with Neo, and they do a good job of establishing the idea of destiny earlier, but I think the two of them needed another scene or two together to really sell the fact that they are falling in love.  And I've always found something goofy about the way Cypher dies.  Not sure if it is the editing in that one spot, or the fact that Tank has to talk to him before pulling the trigger.  Can't put my finger on it, but that moment has always been strange.  

See what I mean?  These are nitpicks.  Trifles!  But if you ask me to find something I don't like about a movie, I almost always can oblige.  

At the end of the day, even though the sequels damaged its reputation, The Matrix is a brilliant film, and should have dominated 1999 not just at the box office, but during awards season, as well.  Our brains have conditioned us to think otherwise, but that's just an "Academy Awards Matrix" that we're all trapped in.  Let's break free and see this film as the classic it is.  And hopefully let's give future action films and science fiction films the chance they deserve to compete with dramas at the Oscars!  

MVP:

I have to go with the Wachowski's.  Though veteran producer Joel Silver helped steer the ship, this is the Wachowski's vision through and through.  It's a remarkable achievement.  The film is so meticulously conceived and crafted, I just couldn't give the award to any one else.  

I also have to give them props for insisting that fight choreographer Woo-Ping Yuen (who would later choreograph the fights in Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon) work on the movie.  Yuen tried to get out of it by demanding too much money and also requiring the actors to train with him for four months prior to filming.  Most studios would have balked at that request. But the Wachowski's insisted.  They had a vision, and that was to bring fights to American mainstream audiences the likes of which they had never seen before.  And they knew their man.  They needed Yuen, and they were right.  The fight scenes are dynamic and thrilling, and certainly helped change the way fight scenes have been choreographed ever since.

They also had a vision with the special effects.  Bullet time has been imitated for so long now that it is hard to remember how unique and thrilling it was the first time we saw Neo bend backwards in slow motion as bullets flew over his body, leaving trails of distorted air in their wake.  So innovative.  So cool.  Still copied today.  All part of the Wachowski vision for this film.  

Yeah, this is an easy MVP.   

BEST LINE: 

Part of me wants to just say "whoa" or "I know kung fu" because they are priceless and certainly career defining moments for Keanu Reeves.  But I have always loved Morpheus' lectures to Neo, especially during the training dojo sequence.  So I am going to go with the line I mentioned earlier.  

Morpheus: How did I beat you? 

Neo: You're too fast. 

Morpheus: Do you believe that my being stronger or faster has anything to do with my muscles in this place?  Do you think that's air you're breathing now?

TRIVIA: 

I love casting what ifs.  The Matrix has a couple of big ones.  Sandra Bullock was offered the role of Trinity, but turned it down.  Will Smith was offered the role of Neo, but also turned it down.  I've heard descriptions of the pitch meeting the Wachowski's gave him,  which was more about the bullet time and crazy effects than it was the story, and Smith decided to make Wild, Wild West instead (ouch).   But Smith has no regrets because he thinks he would have messed the role up and no one could have been a better Neo than Keanu Reeves.  And he's right!  And then Sean Connery was offered the role of Morpheus and he turned it down because the script made no sense to him.  I love Connery and this would have been fascinating to see.  But I can't imagine anyone other than Fishburne in that role.  

The Train

 

As I mentioned in my last review, for Bad Day at Black Rock, I love it when you watch a movie not expecting much and find yourself watching something amazing.  And that feeling is even better when it happens twice in a row!  

In all honesty, I made a mistake when I recorded The Train.  I thought I was recording Von Ryan's Express with Frank Sinatra, another World War 2 railroad movie from the 1960s.  I realized my error pretty quickly and was about to turn the film off, but then decided I would stick around.  I like Burt Lancaster and I had never heard of this movie, so I figured I would give it a shot.  

Directed by John Frankenheimer (The Manchurian Candidate), The Train was a genuine surprise - a gritty and tense World War 2 thriller that was a lot more resonant than I was expecting.  In the closing days of World War 2, the German army is slowly retreating through France.  One the Nazi officers is Colonel Waldheim (Paul Scofield, A Man for All Seasons), who is trying to steal all of the great French masterpieces - paintings by Monet, Cezanne, Gauguin, etc., and bring them to Germany before the allies can take Paris.  The French resistance, horrified that their cultural and artistic heritage is being looted before their very eyes, devises a plan to rescue the art - much against the objections of one of their leaders, Labiche (Burt Lancaster, From Here to Eternity), who is rather blunt about the fact that he doesn't want to risk lives for a bunch of paintings.  

The film seems to have had a troubled production in the beginning.  The original director was Arthur Penn (Bonnie and Clyde) and he was interested in putting together a more intimate film about the value of art during war.  Lancaster, however, saw the film differently.  He was coming off of The Leopard, a huge production which was well reviewed but a bit of a financial bust at the U.S. box office.  He needed a hit, and he knew the audience liked him in action roles.  The two battled as filming begun and after three days, Lancaster put on his producer's hat and fired Penn.  He reached out desperately to John Frankenheimer, who had directed Lancaster years before to an Oscar nomination in The Birdman of Alcatraz.  Frankenheimer was hesitant to take over a film that had already started production, but he also sensed opportunity.  He was a young director without the credentials of the big-time directors, but he knew he had all the bargaining power and he pushed a number of demands: he was to be given total final cut, the French co-director (a role which was required by French tax laws if they wanted to film in Paris) was banned from the set, and he wanted his name added to the title so it would read John Frankenheimer's The Train.  Oh, and he wanted a Ferrari.  Lancaster, desperate to get the movie rolling again, agreed to the terms.  

And I personally don't think a better choice could have been made.  Frankenheimer may not be a perfect director, but he is very skilled at a number of things that elevate The Train.   He is excellent at stories that involve professionals cooly going about their mission, and he is confident in his abilities to visually tell a story that he doesn't need dialogue weighing the film down with exposition.  Ronin, Frankenheimer's 1998 thriller with Robert DeNiro, is another great example of his skill telling stories about professionals.  These characters don't really explain what they do for the audience's benefit because true professionals don't talk about what they do.  Instead, they just do it.  And this attitude feeds into another strength that Frankenheimer has as a filmmaker.  He is fascinated with process, and incorporating that process into the story.  He goes to great lengths to show details about locomotive engines, railroad switches and the layouts of different train stations.  It's not random or gratuitous because this information is crucial to understanding the French resistance's plan.  But it's also not expository or obvious, therefore tipping us off about what is about to happen. Instead, he's just skillfully laying the groundwork (or I guess I could say, "laying the track" if I want to stick with a railroad motif!).  All of this elevates The Train beyond what you would normally expect in a Hollywood action film.  And guess what, before you think that the action overwhelms the art, Frankenheimer and Lancaster are still able to effectively wrestle with the theme of the value of art.  What is art worth, or rather, how many lives is art worth?

I will admit that the film starts off a bit rough.  The pacing is a little too slow for the first 20 minutes, and I was distracted by Scofield's accent, which I don't think is particularly great.  But at least he tried, because I was also distracted by Lancaster's complete lack of accent!  You can't get much more American than Lancaster, and he is completely unbelievable as a Frenchman.  But then...the trains start moving, and for the next two hours, I was riveted.  And suddenly, it becomes clear why Lancaster is the perfect actor for this part.  No one could have driven that train like him.  He is so utterly perfect in the role that I can't see any other actor in the part.  The role is so physical, and Lancaster - a former circus performer - throws himself into the role, performing all of his own stunts.  He also has to walk a fine line between determination and grit and complete exasperation over whether this mission is even worth doing, and he walks that fine line with grace and tact.  Also on hand are a superb collection of French, Croatian, German and Swiss actors who make the most of their screen time - Jeanne Moreau, Michel Simon, Wolfgang Preiss, Albert Remy, Jacque Marin and Charles Millot.  It's a great ensemble, and I don't think there is a weak link among them.  

I also have to take a moment and talk about the Nazis.  I know this is sort of a "Captain Obvious" statement, but these guys are scary.  These guys aren't cartoon characters; they are realistic and they are intimidating and brutal.  And Frankenheimer gives them with the same level of professionalism that he grants the heroes.  There are no big "moments" of telegraphed villainy.  It's swift and harsh and just matter-of-fact.  In short, it really feels real.  Which is more terrifying than most Nazis you see in Hollywood films.  And it is important that Frankenheimer shows the Nazis to be such cool professionals because it raises the stakes.  The bad guys aren't dumb.  If you make one slight mistake, Colonel Waldheim will notice and then you're all dead.  The stakes are clear, and people are going to die.  

And again, as I mentioned before, should they?  Or how many?  How many people are you willing to risk to save artwork?  If one person dies, will it have been worth it?  What if it is ten people?  And what does this all say about your national identity?  Is this artwork truly the cultural heritage of France?   Or is it really just a canvases with paint on them?  The movie doesn't give any answers, but it forces us to wrestle with the question.  

That makes the movie resonate long after you've stopped watching it.  It makes you think and debate with yourself.  You can't say that about a lot of action movies.  I'm positive I wouldn't be thinking about Von Ryan's Express that way!  

MVP:

This is a tough decision actually.  On one hand, I want to go with John Frankenheimer, who gives the film its gritty authenticity.  But you could make a strong case for Burt Lancaster. First of all, as a producer, he recognized he needed someone with Frankenheimer's touch, so he should get some credit for that.  And as an actor - as not French as he is, I just can't imagine another performer slipping into this role as perfectly.  He is completely believable working the trains.  And he adds just the right level of determination and righteous anger.  Labiche doesn't want to do this mission and is very vocal about that fact right to the end, but he still grimly refuses to give up, no many how the cards stack up against him.  In life, contradictions like this happen all the time, but for some reason in movies, they're hard to pull off.  We think of contradictions as character inconsistencies.  But Lancaster nails the balance.  He's human.  And he is always utterly compelling to watch.  

But at the end of the day, I have to go with Frankenheimer.  The authenticity, the realism, everything Frankenheimer is bringing to the table is what sets this movie apart from other films of the time period.  I really do think the movie needs both Lancaster and Frankenheimer to be as good as it is.  But in the end, I think Frankenheimer's contribution just elevates it a bit more.  It's a hard choice, but he's my MVP.  

BEST LINE:

Didont: With any luck, no one will be hurt. 

Labiche: No one's ever hurt.  Just dead.  

TRIVIA: 

Frankenheimer is a big fan of realism whenever possible, and refused to use models.  So when there is a train crash at one point in the film, he insisted on having two trains really collide at 60 miles an hour.  Knowing that only one take was possible, he had seven cameras rolling.  The bombardment sequence was even more impressive, and included over a ton of TNT, 2000 gallons of gasoline, 140 life-size explosions - and over 20 cameras to film all of the explosive chaos.  Even though the sequence is only just over minute of screen-time, the results are undeniably impressive!