Category Archives: brandie's faves

A bit of breakfast (for two).

Posted on by under brandie's faves, hahas, screwball legends

“Butch,” the loyal valet of playboy shipping heir Jonathan Blair, enters his employer’s bathroom one morning, chattering away about the bright, beautiful day. He asks Jonathan what he would like to wear, only to have the shower door fly open as a shower-capped Valentine Ransome pokes her head out and asks for a bath towel. Butch stutters and stammers, grabs a brassiere by mistake, and finally hands Val a towel before fleeing pell-mell from the room.

So begins the series of nutty happenings in RKO’s 1937 screwball comedy Breakfast for Two, starring Barbara Stanwyck, Herbert Marshall, and Eric Blore. Filmed and released immediately after Stanwyck’s Oscar-nominated performance in Stella Dallas, Breakfast provided a respite for the actress after the emotionally-draining role of self-sacrificing mother Stella, and its breezy daffiness is nothing short of entertaining. And “daffy” is the perfect word to define this movie–after all, how else could you describe a film with a gigantic “talking” dog named Peewee, the wildest wedding this side of a Preston Sturges flick, and a heroine named Valentine?

Despite her flowery name, Stanwyck’s Val is no shrinking violet–she’s a ball-busting Texas heiress determined to reform the wastrel Jonathan (Marshall), save his failing business, rescue him from the clutches of ditzy blond debutante “actress” Carol Wallace (Glenda Farrell), and make him prime husband material. She is aided in her quest by Butch (Blore), who decides almost immediately that Val is just the woman for his boss, and through a series of comical mishaps, the playboy and the businesswoman find their happy ending.

The film is a gender-skewed take on the Taming of the Shrew trope: Jonathan is a misogynistic dilettante whose behavior is eventually modified through the exertions of the wily Val. And she certainly has her work cut out for her, because with every fiber of his being, Jonathan seems to loathe the female sex. When Butch tries to talk to him about his financial problems, he impatiently dismisses him: “Stop nagging. You’re being feminine and I don’t like it.” To Jonathan, any sign of femininity is a weakness, and though he obviously enjoys the company of women in a sexual sense, he has little respect for their abilities.

Because of this, Val’s dominant personality disconcerts Jonathan and puts him off-balance throughout the film. He doesn’t know how to react to her; she doesn’t waver and simper like the typical women he consorts with–she is his equal and, in some ways, his better, and that simply does not compute. Jonathan’s reaction after Valentine buys the company is predictable: he believes she “took him home” to pump him for information about the company’s financial situation. Val remains calm in the face of his anger, which only serves to infuriate him more: ”You’re the type of woman who wants to wear the pants! All right, MISTER, wear them! Trip over them! And break your neck!”

For her part, Val has inexplicably formed an attachment to Jonathan, and she takes ownership of him from the start. Initially, Val views him with humor and indulgence–she has decided to marry this man-child, but she accepts that she must first bring him to heel. When her uncle Sam (Frank M. Thomas) tries to talk some sense into his niece, Valentine confidently brushes off his concerns:

Sam: “Ah, come on! Who cares about a crazy bronco that–”
Val: “I’ve seen you turn many a crazy bronco into a fine horse, Sam.”
Sam: “Yeah, but human flesh hasn’t got the sense of horse flesh!”
Val: “Sometimes they both need a whip to put some sense into them. First you have to slip a bit in his mouth and … make him like it.”

To that end, Val does everything in her power to goad Jonathan to “take it like a man.” When, after his initial outburst, Jonathan decides that he cannot fight her and win back his company, Val insults him and questions his manhood. When Val purchases Jonathan’s house, and he finds her in the home gymnasium, he peevishly tells her that he’ll be leaving as soon as he can remove his personal belongings, “unless, of course, you counted on getting them, too.” Val’s nonchalant reply–”No, thanks. You need your clothes in order to look like a man”–incites Jonathan’s rage, just as she intends. He’s putty in her hands, and you know that eventually, Val will get her way. She is just that determined.

This is not to say that Jonathan does not get under Val’s skin, too. She’s going to make a man out of him even if she has to beat him into acting like one … which she does, handily, in one of the funniest scenes of the film. When he confronts her the gymnasium of his home–which he has just discovered that she bought out from under him–Blair accuses Val of tricking him so that she could get her hands on the family business. An exchange of insults follows, and Val throws down the gauntlet by picking up a nearby boxing glove and smacking Jonathan across the face with it. When he bemoans that her womanhood prevents him from being able to smack her right back, she tells him, “Don’t let that stop you!” and the fight is on. And by the end of it, both Jonathan and hapless bystander Butch are sporting black eyes.

The lesson here? Don’t mess with Barbara Stanwyck. She’ll kick your ass.

When Carol becomes a problem, Val makes short work of her, too. Carol is determined to marry Jonathan herself, but Val attempts to circumvent Carol’s plan by naming Jonathan vice-president of the company, so that he need not wed Carol for her money. But Jonathan figures out Val’s intent to reform him and decides to do whatever it takes to ruin her plans–even if it means going through with marriage to the insufferably witless Carol. In response, Val implements an increasingly zany series of distractions to interrupt not one, but TWO ceremonies, from a group of loudly squeaking window washers to Uncle Sam’s claim that Carol is the mother of his children … and Butch even gets in on the act with a faked marriage certificate!

I guess it’s no surprise to say that, in the end, Val’s plan is effective; in his desire to thwart her, Jonathan perversely becomes a responsible leadership figure within his own company, to Val’s endless pleasure and pride. The dizzy blonde is sent packing, Val’s bucking bronco is effectively tamed, and they all live happily, crazily, ever after.

Breakfast for Two may not be as well-remembered as some of its screwball counterparts of the 1930s, but it is nonetheless charming and genuinely funny, helped immensely by a smart script and an effective cast (notably the ever-entertaining Blore and a hilarious turn by Donald Meek as the Justice of the Peace whose premarital spiel keeps getting interrupted). And Stanwyck, in what could be considered the first truly “screwball” role of her career, is easily the highlight of the film, handily demonstrating the comic timing and innate sense of fun that she would bring to future screwball classics like The Mad Miss Manton (1938), The Lady Eve, and Ball of Fire (both 1941). 

A kiss is just a kiss?

Posted on by under ahh romance, best of ... lists, brandie's faves

It’s Valentine’s Day! Yay for corporately-created holidays designed to entice people into spending copious amounts of money on flowers, candy, and various stuffed creatures of all types!

I mean … yay for love!

In honor of the day, I’m posting five of my favorite classic movie kisses, from the utterly romantic to the sentimental to the poignant to the giggle-inducing.

1. Lady and the Tramp (1955)

Yes, they’re dogs. But their inadvertent kiss over a plate of spaghetti, accompanied by the gorgeous tune “Bella Notte,” is still romantic as hell. Hey, even a tramp and a rich bitch can find love in this crazy world! Kind of gives you a case of the warm-and-fuzzies, doesn’t it?

2. Notorious (1946)

You knew I’d have a Cary Grant smooch on here. And nothing beats this two-and-a-half minute string of kisses, beautifully shot to highlight the intense emotion and passion behind the embrace. Devlin (Grant) may be an unmitigated bastard to Alicia (Ingrid Bergman) throughout much of the film, but this kiss indicates there’s more depth to his feelings for the woman than he himself is willing to admit or accept.

3. Rear Window (1954)

For a director best known for elements of suspense in his films, Hitchcock certainly knew how to stage a love scene. Even something as simple as being awoken with a kiss is heightened to erotic levels in Hitch’s capable hands. Grace Kelly never looked better on film, and discussions of an empty stomach have never been sexier.

4. Breakfast at Tiffany’s (1961)

It sets the bar for practically every cinematic kiss in the pouring rain. That particular motif has devolved into the realm of cliche over the years, but the rain-soaked embrace between Holly Golightly (Audrey Hepburn) and Paul Varjak (George Peppard), complete with an overly patient cat and the lovely strains of “Moon River,” remains a memorable, beautiful moment (seriously, though–poor cat).

5. Singin’ in the Rain (1952)

The least romantic kiss on the list, and yet one of the best. Don Lockwood (Gene Kelly) loathes his silent-film leading lady, the screechy-voiced Lina Lamont (Jean Hagen), who has gotten his new lady love, Kathy Selden (Debbie Reynolds), fired from her job. While filming a love scene for their newest picture, Don lets Lina know just how deep that loathing really is. It’s a truly hilarious scene, and (in my mind) Kelly and Hagen demonstrate more chemistry in this moment than Kelly and Reynolds display throughout the entire film. Odd, sometimes, how the flow of combat heightens sensuality.

Now that I’ve had my say, what are some of your favorite classic movie smooches?

“I gotta tell you, that is THE worst Peter Lorre I have ever heard.”

Posted on by under animation, brandie's faves, saturday morning cartoons, spoofing around

Today, we’re wrapping up our week-long celebration of the 70th anniversary of The Maltese Falcon with a little irreverence. And where better to turn for irreverence than the Animaniacs?

God, how I adored this cartoon in my callow and misspent youth. But it’s watching the show as an adult that really brings the greatest pleasure, because you can truly appreciate how witty it was. In any given episode, you could find a veritable feast of obvious and not-so-obvious pop culture references, delivered in the cleverest of ways. After all, it’s not many kids’ shows that will parody The Seventh Seal, Les Misérables, Bambi, or Raging Bull, let alone all in the same season.

So here for your viewing pleasure: the Animaniacs’ take on The Maltese Falcon, called “This Pun for Hire.” Enjoy!

We hope you’ve enjoyed this week’s series of posts on one of our favorite “true classics!” A million thanks for tuning in. :)

Feminist Fridays: The Women of The Maltese Falcon

Posted on by under best.films.ever., brandie's faves, feminist fridays, lit adaptations, private eyes are watching you

Chapter Three of Dashiell Hammett’s The Maltese Falcon is titled, appropriately enough, “Three Women.” It opens with Sam Spade chastising his exhausted secretary, Effie Perine, for allowing Iva Archer, his dead partner’s widow, into the office. Spade is impatient with the woman–his secret lover–and extricates himself from her clutches as soon as possible. He later attempts to track down the elusive Miss Wonderly, who has checked out of her hotel in the wake of Miles Archer’s death.

As with much of the original novel, “Three Women” is translated almost verbatim into John Huston’s screenplay for the 1941 film. And of the three screen adaptations of The Maltese Falcon, Huston’s version best captures each of these women in the cinematic flesh. Through astute casting and subsequently strong performances, the film fleshes out three very different (yet familiar) female archetypes: the helpmate, the “spider,” and the conniving bitch. Spade’s interactions with the three women whose lives are intertwined with his own–Effie, Iva, and Wonderly (soon to be revealed as Brigid O’Shaughnessy)–reveal much about his character, and also illuminate how the über-masculine Spade rejects the very notion of femininity, even while he is, in some ways, very much at the mercy of the so-called “weaker” sex.

Effie (played by Lee Patrick) is the woman who knows all of Spade’s faults and accepts him for who he is (for the most part). Though he is somewhat affectionate in his regard for her–more so than with any other woman in the film–there is little indication that their relationship is, or has ever been, sexual. If anything, Effie treats Spade almost maternally. But theirs is ultimately a business arrangement: as his secretary, she keeps his life in order and follows his instructions to the letter, the very definition of a “Girl Friday.” Perhaps because of this, Spade does not treat her with the same shrouded contempt and judgment with which he views the other female figures in the film–though he still objectifies Effie, much as he does Iva and Brigid, by calling her “angel” in lieu of her given name.

Of the female characters, Iva (Gladys George) comes closest to stereotype as the prototypical “woman scorned.” She thinks enough of herself and her charms (the “web” in which she believes she has trapped the man) to assume that Spade killed Archer just to be with her. But his reluctance to see her after Archer’s death, and his disgusted facial expressions when she throws herself into his arms, indicate that Spade has lost interest in the woman. Spade finds Iva’s weeping–put-on though it may be–a nuisance, and she becomes an albatross around his neck when her fury over his short-sighted rejection of her (and the drama surrounding her) leads to Iva informing the police about their affair. In this case, Spade underestimates the trouble that a woman could cause him, and it ends up putting even more pressure on him as he tries to unravel the mystery of the black bird.

And then there’s Brigid O’Shaughnessy. Of any character in the film, she most matches Spade in both wits and manipulative prowess–as I stated in yesterday’s entry on the film, Brigid and Spade are, in some respects, two sides of the same damaged coin. But Brigid is somewhat more transparent than her male counterpart; her breathless speech and inability to look Spade directly in the eyes (notice how she’s always looking past him or to the side or up at the ceiling in many of their scenes together) mark her as a liar almost from the start. And Spade sees right through what he calls Brigid’s “schoolgirl” act; he does not believe her initial story when she hires him, and he does not believe anything she subsequently says. Knowing Spade distrusts her, however, does not stop Brigid from using her feminine wiles to try and ensnare Spade … and it works, to a degree–the man simply can’t help himself. One could argue that, with the two of them, the attraction is merely sexual, and an extension of Spade’s aggressive nature. The first time he kisses her, Spade grabs her face roughly and practically forces her lips to meet his–it’s an act of pure, possessive lust, not affection. And yet it works, because Brigid instinctively understands and accepts his aggression, because it’s an equally important part of her own nature. The fact that Spade even appears to entertain the thought, however briefly, of allowing Brigid to get away with Archer’s murder indicates the level to which she got to him–when he offers to wait for her, and hopes aloud that they don’t “hang [her] … by that sweet neck,” it’s the biggest concession Spade will allow in regards to the weakness of emotional attachment. Of course, that’s pretty much ruined with his next statement: “If they hang you, I’ll always remember you.” Quite the romantic, that Sam Spade.

It’s also worth noting that these women are not the only “feminine” characters whose paths cross Spade’s in the film. Just as there is a trio of female foils, there is a triad of male figures whose masculinity–at least in the eyes of Spade himself–is so negligible that they could be considered another “womanly” group within the film (in fact, there seems to be a theme of “threes” within the film–three women, three male criminals, three identities for Brigid, etc. … though the significance of that may be minimal, at best). Peter Lorre’s character, Dr. Cairo, can also be considered a feminine influence on Spade–and a decidedly unwelcome one, at that. Spade’s ire is raised from the moment Effie hands him Cairo’s gardenia-scented calling card, and is heightened when the foppish man enters the detective’s office. Spade takes a great deal of pleasure in bullying the effeminate Cairo, first by essentially emasculating the criminal by disarming the man of his (phallic) weapon, and later through physically imposing his brute strength on Cairo with a solid punch to the jaw. In Spade’s mind, Cairo is the epitome of weakness–a man whose appearance and demeanor are overtly feminine–and the man must thereby be punished. That same mindset extends to the gunsel, Wilmer (Elisha Cook, Jr.); Spade enjoys teasing Wilmer, casting doubt upon his abilities and then taking visible delight when Wilmer attempts to “man up” by threatening to kill Spade. And Gutman (Sydney Greenstreet), though in many ways the most masculine of the film’s evildoers, is, by virtue of being Wilmer’s supposed lover, included in Spade’s derision. When the detective tries to turn Gutman against Wilmer, he does so by reminding Gutman that there is always another “son” (read: lover) out there, but only one gold-encrusted falcon. Spade’s expression during this scene hints at his distaste at the relationship between Gutman and Wilmer, but despite his own rejection of the very concept, Spade is not above using it as a means to an end.

The movie ends with Brigid being taken away to jail, but the book revisits the other two women in Spade’s life, ending with his return to his office, where he must face Effie’s disapproval and Iva’s continued presence in his life. There is a sense, however, that Spade will reject both–that he will ignore Effie’s feelings about what he has done to Brigid, and that he will, at some point, cast Iva out for good, for ultimately, Spade’s rejection of the feminine is an essential part of his character. His rough-hewn exterior–crude, hard-boiled, sometimes cruel–exists, in part, because it differentiates him from the “weaknesses” that affect others. He doesn’t demonstrate outward compassion after Archer’s death because doing so would mark him, too, as somewhat weak. The same goes for his final confrontation with Brigid; to allow her to get away with murder, all in the name of love, would be the action of a soft man, not a strong one. After all, sympathy and emotion are feminine traits, not to be tolerated in a “real” man. The most Spade can manage without compromising his self-made image is an occasional pat on the head for Effie, whose non-sexualized persona is no threat to Spade’s seemingly hard-won masculinity.

“I don’t mind a reasonable amount of trouble.”

Posted on by under best.films.ever., brandie's faves, lit adaptations, noir, private eyes are watching you

As part of our week-long celebration of the 70th anniversary of The Maltese Falcon (1941), today we are taking a look at the third and final film version of Dashiell Hammett’s pulp crime novel. For a brief introduction to this movie, check out our post on Falcon from last year. For a more in-depth synopsis of the film’s plot, we recommend the AMC FilmSite entry about the movie. And if you’ve never seen any of the film versions or read the book, be warned that we will be discussing elements of their respective endings in all of our posts this week.

The Maltese Falcon (’41) has been judged by many critics to be the greatest detective story ever filmed. The influential 1955 book A Panorama of American Film Noir (1941-1953), initially published in France by film critics Raymond Borde and Etienne Chaumeton, declared Falcon the first true example of Hollywood film noir. Notable critics such as Roger Ebert have labeled the movie as one of the best of all time. And the American Film Institute has cast several laurels in Falcon’s direction: it landed at #31 on the most recent AFI Top 100 Movies list (in 2007); came in at #6 in the “Mystery” film genre; and its closing line, “The stuff that dreams are made of,” was chosen as the fourteenth-best movie quote of all time.

Of course, as with any film, its “greatness” is a matter of subjectivity. Falcon does have its detractors. Film Noir: An Encyclopedic Reference to the American Style (first published in 1979) describes the film as a “caricature” populated with “one-dimensional” characters, stating that the film suffers from “textbook camerawork” and a “general attitude of contemptuous misanthropy.” And the author is certainly entitled to his opinion. There have been films that have been, by and large, critically lauded over the years which I am … well, less than enamored with. But I do think this review is short-sighted and almost aggressive in its criticism of the movie, particularly in its assessment of the film’s misanthropic nature, which is a necessary extension of creating a cinematic world where the lines between “good” and “evil” are so blurred as to be nonexistent.

For all that the first two screen adaptations of Dashiell Hammett’s book got wrong, the final version gets everything just right. The movie follows the book almost precisely–very little is excised in the translation to the screen, and Hammett’s pitch-perfect dialogue is recreated virtually word-for-word. By and large, the actors are far superior to their predecessors, bringing new depth to these characters. The movie even looks better than the other two versions: its gritty appearance and washes of darkness perfectly encapsulate the story’s mood.

First-time director John Huston was greatly influenced by Orson Welles’ Citizen Kane, which was released in theaters five months before Falcon. Hallmarks of the earlier film can be seen in the way Huston and cinematographer Arthur Edeson populate their movie with a wealth of shadowy shots and low, almost menacing camera angles (Edeson, incidentally, also worked on Satan Met a Lady). When making plans for filming, Huston took a cue from Alfred Hitchcock and story-boarded the entire movie before shooting, plotting out even the most minute details before the camera even started rolling.

Arguably the best element about the entire film is the casting, for Huston wound up with the perfect actors for the leading roles, particularly Bogart as the combative, dark, and enigmatic Sam Spade. Part of the credit for Bogart’s casting, interestingly enough, goes to actor George Raft, who turned down the role of Spade, paving the way for Bogart to take on the defining role of his own career. In fact, Raft can be credited with inadvertently promoting Bogart from supporting actor to leading man in the early 1940s: he also turned down the role of Roy Earle in 1941′s successful High Sierra (due largely to Bogart’s urging), and some sources even claim that Raft also turned down the part of Rick Blaine in Casablanca (though still other sources emphasize that this was merely a rumor). Huston had worked with Bogart on Sierra–he had co-written the screenplay for the movie with W.R. Burnett–and the two had become friends. Bogart, for his part, enjoyed working with Huston and would go on to star in Across the Pacific (1942), The Treasure of the Sierra Madre, Key Largo (both in 1948), and The African Queen (1951) for the director.

A trio of effective villains serve as worthy foils for Bogart in Falcon. Sydney Greenstreet, in his first film appearance, is impressive in both his bulk and his mannered menace as ringleader Gutman. Gutman is the gentleman criminal, hiding his thuggish qualities behind a cultured veneer (and a loyal gunsel/lover, Wilmer, played with leashed fury by Elisha Cook, Jr.). The actor’s smooth voice and high-class accent only add to that facade. Greenstreet was reportedly so nervous before filming his first scene–the monologue in which Gutman explains the origins of the falcon–that he asked Mary Astor to hold his hand before stepping in front of the camera. But there is no sign of this in his polished, masterful performance, and he went on to garner an Oscar nomination for his debut.

This movie also marked the first onscreen partnering of Greenstreet and Peter Lorre–the two worked so well together that they would eventually costar in nine more projects over the next decade. Though both Gutman and Cairo, Lorre’s character, are homosexual, Lorre is given the decidedly “gayer” character. Rather than go over the top with his portrayal, Lorre subtly conveys Cairo’s orientation through his mannerisms–particularly the way he plays with his cane, as he caresses it and moves it near his mouth in a way that highlights its phallic nature. His reactions to Spade’s bullying are even more telling; he is no physical match for the detective, succumbing to a faint after a single punch, and he (perhaps wisely) relies on a gun to do his convincing for him. Lorre breathes realism into a potentially campy character, and ultimately makes a big impact in his few front-and-center scenes.

But the strongest villain, by far, in the entire film is Astor’s Brigid O’Shaughnessy. Her cold, calculating nature is a mirror of Spade’s own: they are two sides of the same damaged coin. Astor is a revelation in the role, which is a great departure from her previous “good girl” screen persona–but is, funnily enough, much closer to her controversial off-screen life. In the wake of her divorce, details of Astor’s personal diary, in which she reportedly wrote about her sexual conquests, came to light, and her image in the public had suffered. Whether or not that experience colored her portrayal of Brigid doesn’t really matter, though–however she did it, Astor managed to perfectly capture the darker nuances of the character in a way that few actresses of the time likely could. [Side note: I will further address Brigid--and the other female characters--in a separate post.]

The Maltese Falcon is, in a word, brilliant. The film is populated by a cast of characters whose actions and behavior is morally repugnant and off-putting. Yet Bogart and company, led by Huston’s steady, guiding hand, bring a level of sympathy to these not-so-good people. Spade’s an unmitigated asshole–unfeeling, harsh, and not at all above betrayal and subterfuge if it gets him what he wants–and Bogart plays him full-out, warts and all. Still, there’s something almost disturbingly sexy and enticing about Spade. He’s as appealing an anti-hero as has ever been created. In the end, Falcon works because we want to see what these rather reprehensible people, doing everything they can to assuage their desirous greed in an unclean world, will do next. Their interactions are just that damn entertaining.

Tomorrow: we’ll wrap up our week-long look at The Maltese Falcon with a Feminist Fridays post examining the female characters in the 1941 film.

“I was saved by a flying wild man in a loincloth!”

Posted on by under brandie's faves, disney renaissance, lit adaptations, saturday morning cartoons, they made movies after 1970?

1999 marked a turning point for the Walt Disney Animation Studios in more ways than one. It was the ten-year anniversary of the release of The Little Mermaid, which had heralded the company’s veritable rebirth in the subsequent decade. It saw the release of Toy Story 2, the third critically-acclaimed film produced in a lucrative partnership with the computer-animation pioneers over at Pixar. And the company was not concentrating all of its efforts on computer animation; by that time, the Disney animators had further revolutionized the art of traditional animation through the development of a technology called “Deep Canvas,” which crafted highly-detailed CGI backgrounds that looked remarkably hand-drawn. Ultimately, this innovation would completely transform the final traditionally-animated film of the so-called “Disney Renaissance” period, Tarzan.

Tarzan, (very) loosely adapted from the novel Tarzan of the Apes (and its numerous sequels) by Edgar Rice Burroughs, is the story of a human boy who, upon being stranded on a tropical island off the coast of Africa in the 1800s, adapts to his environment after being adopted by a troop of gorillas. His parents, survivors of a devastating shipwreck, are killed by a leopard while the boy is still an infant, and he is subsequently adopted by Kala (voiced by Glenn Close), who names the boy Tarzan (Alex D. Linz). Kala’s mate, Kerchak (Lance Henrickson), does not care for the human interloper, but Kala persists and raises Tarzan as her own. Years later, a now grown-up Tarzan (Tony Goldwyn) encounters Jane (Minnie Driver) and her father, the bumbling Professor Porter (Nigel Hawthorne), who have come to the island to study the gorillas. They are accompanied by Clayton (Brian Blessed), a big-game hunter who secretly wishes to capture the gorillas and take them back to England to sell. As Tarzan and Jane fall in love–much to Kerchak’s displeasure–they also fall prey to Clayton’s machinations and must find a way to stop him before Tarzan’s gorilla family is torn apart.

As I mentioned before, Disney’s version is an extremely altered adaptation of Burroughs’ original tales. In much the same way Victor Hugo’s The Hunchback of Notre Dame was severely altered in its journey to the animated big screen, so too was Tarzan virtually sanitized by Disney’s family-friendly police. In Burroughs’ stories, Kerchak (who is an ape, not a gorilla) kills Tarzan’s father (the boy’s mother dies in childbirth) and is Tarzan’s greatest rival among his adopted “family.” Tarzan is eventually challenged by Kerchak and kills him in order to take the ape’s place as the group’s leader. Also, in the first novel, Tarzan’s adoptive mother, Kala, is killed by a member of an African tribe, and he seeks revenge by killing the man responsible for her death. The Clayton in the first Tarzan novel is actually the title character’s cousin, William (Tarzan’s real name being John Clayton, Lord Greystoke), and has inherited Tarzan’s rightful title in his absence. The plot device regarding Clayton’s evil intentions for the gorillas was invented for the film; his main function in the first two books in Burroughs’ series is as a romantic rival for Tarzan. Additionally, the author depicts Jane Porter as initially betrothed to William (before eventually becoming Tarzan’s wife in a subsequent novel), and she is not British but American.

Still, despite these alterations to the original text, the film retains an element of darkness in the manner by which the villain, Clayton, is dispatched–he dies, somewhat gruesomely, by hanging, as his neck is caught in a vine and subsequently snaps. Though this moment is obviously not shown altogether graphically in the movie, one must imagine that it could be disturbing for some young’uns among the film’s viewership.

Tarzan is a gorgeous piece of animation, due in large part to the development of the Deep Canvas technology. This allows for the backgrounds of the film to be created in 3D–in other words, rather than serving as static backdrops for the action of the movie, the two-dimensional characters are able to move realistically through the backgrounds, which themselves do not appear to be computer-generated, but are instead meticulously designed to appear hand-painted. Take, for instance, the segment embedded below, in which a young Tarzan resolves to do whatever possible in order to become a better “gorilla”:

Starting at 1:27 in the video, Tarzan begins swinging across the screen on a series of vines. Several seconds later, the camera shifts, and instead of merely going across the vines, Tarzan now appears to be swinging through them, directly toward the screen. In this way, the character is able to move through the entire environment of the movie, rather than being stuck against a painted backdrop as in previous films. The movements of the camera are unusual in Tarzan because they add to the three-dimensional feel of the movie–the filmmakers are able to use realistic tilting, twisting motions that were virtually unheard of in animation prior to the technological advancements showcased in this film. Watch the clip through the ending, as a now-adult Tarzan begins to “surf” through the trees, moving lithely from branch to branch, vine to vine, as the camera follows closely behind. Before Deep Canvas, the animators would have had to track the motion from side-to-side, missing the moments in which Tarzan slides neatly through a hole in a tree or cavorts among the heavily-shaded branches. But here, we are not merely witnessing the movements from a distance but tracking every single maneuver as it happens. We see everything. And everything we see is utterly breathtaking.

The voice cast is largely impeccable, though once again, Disney could not help themselves and had to throw in a couple of well-known comedians voicing funny animal sidekicks–Tarzan’s best gorilla friend, Terk, over-performed by a hammy (and loud) Rosie O’Donnell, and Tantor (Wayne Knight), an elephant whose personal insecurities are rivaled only by Toy Story‘s neurotic Rex. As for the other animal characters, Henrickson brings the right touch of menace and distrust to his vocalization of Kerchak, and Glenn Close is a soothing maternal presence as Kala (FYI–this was not Close’s first voice role in a Tarzan film–she also dubbed the vocals for Jane over thickly-accented Southern actress Andie McDowell in the 1984 movie Greystoke: The Legend of Tarzan, Lord of the Apes). As for the humans, Goldwyn and Driver are both simply marvelous–the former nails Tarzan’s hesitant acceptance of his human heritage and his determination to prove himself to adopted father Kerchak, while the latter is joyously daffy as fish-out-of-water Jane. Hawthorne is delightful as Jane’s intellectual goofball of a father, while Blessed’s performance as Clayton is somewhat reminiscent of Beauty and the Beast’s Gaston–the two could be blood brothers (Blessed also has a small second voice part in the film–he provides the vocals for Tarzan’s famous chest-beating yell). And though he doesn’t have a vocal role, another star played an important part in the development of the film–if Tarzan’s moves as he “skates” and “surfs” through the trees look somewhat familiar to you, it may be because those character movements were inspired by skateboarding legend Tony Hawk.

You can’t mention Tarzan without talking about its amazing soundtrack, scored by Mark Mancina with songs written by pop/rock superstar Phil Collins. The musician penned four popular singles for the film: “Two Worlds,” “Strangers Like Me,” “Son of Man,” and the obligatory love ballad, “You’ll Be in My Heart.” The latter song actually differs from many previous Disney love songs in that it is essentially a lullaby, sung by Kala to her newly-adopted son as a heartfelt reminder to the boy that he’ll always have a place with his “mother.” The tune has taken on new life in the years since its release, however, and has become a popular wedding theme. “You’ll Be in My Heart” won Phil Collins the Academy Award for Best Original Song–an achievement that was mercilessly parodied on the television series South Park (that show’s creators, Trey Parker and Matt Stone, had also been nominated in the same category for their song “Blame Canada” from South Park: Bigger, Longer, and Uncut. Their animated revenge included Collins’ Oscar getting stuck in … well, a place that isn’t all that sunny). Collins and Mancina, incidentally, went on to collaborate on another Disney score, for 2003′s Brother Bear.

Tarzan allowed Disney to end the century with a bang. Though it was ultimately the most expensive animated film ever produced by the studio–its budget ballooned to over $150 million (a total that was demolished with last year’s release of the $260 million Tangled)–Tarzan was a critical and commercial success. Its box-office take greatly surpassed that of the two films released before it, Hercules and Mulan. By most critics’ estimation, Tarzan marked the end of the Disney Renaissance period. Throughout much of the subsequent decade, the studio’s traditionally-animated films were, by and large, financial disappointments (with the exception of 2002′s Lilo & Stitch). Movies like The Emperor’s New Groove (2000), Atlantis: The Lost Empire (2001), Treasure Planet (2002), and Home on the Range (2004) barely broke even, if at all. It wasn’t until the 2009 release of The Princess and the Frog and 2010′s Tangled that Disney’s traditional animated films began making a mark once more at the box office. Tangled especially was a gigantic hit for the studio–in fact, it is second only to The Lion King as the highest-grossing film ever released by the Disney animation folks. The to-date modestly profitable release of this year’s Winnie the Pooh film notwithstanding, it remains to be seen if the company’s recent successes will usher in yet another “Renaissance” period of technical innovation, inspired storytelling, and sheer entertainment.

***

Well, folks, after almost an entire year (comprising 36 posts plus an introduction), we have finally reached the end of our examination of the classic Disney canon and the Disney Renaissance (albeit about two months behind our original schedule, which is entirely my fault–so Carrie and Nikki, aim all boos, hisses, water balloons, and coconut custard pies with whipped cream in my general direction). But never fear–our Saturday Morning Cartoons series will continue! Obviously, there is so much more to the world of animation than Disney, and from here on out, we will largely be focusing on work from other studios and production companies–shorts, snippets, feature-length presentations, etc.

And, of course, we’ll undoubtedly be revisiting The House of Mouse again in the future, because our collective love for all things Disney will likely never die.

“You don’t meet a girl like that every dynasty.”

Posted on by under brandie's faves, disney renaissance, saturday morning cartoons, they made movies after 1970?

Well, folks, we’re back with another, long-delayed installment of Saturday Morning Cartoons! What can I say–it’s been a busy summer. We still have two films left to cover in our examination of the “classic” Disney canon–the final two movies released during the period popularly known as the “Disney Renaissance.” This week, we’ll be tackling 1998′s Mulan, and next Saturday, we’ll wrap up our Disney series with a post on 1999′s Tarzan. After that, we’ll be moving on to look at other, non-Disney animated films from the classic Hollywood period … shorts, features, and everything in between.

For more than sixty years, since before the 1937 release of Walt Disney’s first full-length animated feature, Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, the center of the studio’s animation department had been in California. Quartered in Burbank and originally dubbed the “Disney Brothers Cartoon Studio,” Walt Disney Animation Studios (as it is now called) was responsible for the bulk of the production on all major Disney animated releases. In the meantime, the Florida branch of the department, working out of the latest addition to the Disney World theme park, the Disney-MGM Studios (opened in 1989; redubbed Disney’s Hollywood Studios in 2008), had little to do. The animators had contributed nominal portions to some of the Disney Renaissance films and had been responsible for the 1990 animated Roger Rabbit short “Roller Coaster Rabbit,” but their main job seemed to be to serve as live “props” on the Disney-MGM studio tour.

That changed in 1993, when production began on Mulan. When the film was released in 1998, it became the first full-length animated feature produced almost entirely in Florida. Before the Florida studios were shuttered (as a cost-saving measure) in 2003, they would produce two more features: 2002′s Lilo & Stitch, and Brother Bear the following year. But Mulan was undoubtedly the highlight of the Florida studio’s admittedly limited output.

The protagonist of the film is a young Chinese woman named Fa Mulan (voiced by Ming-Na). Her mother and grandmother try to prepare her for womanhood by taking her to a matchmaker so an unwilling Mulan can find a husband. The meeting is a disaster, however, and the matchmaker denounces Mulan, telling her that she will be a “disgrace” to her family. Soon after, the emperor (Pat Morita) must pull together an army to fight the invading forces of the Huns, led by the dreaded warrior Shan Yu (Miguel Ferrer), and orders that one male from every family in China must enlist. Mulan’s father, Fa Zhou, a crippled veteran of past wars, proudly steps forth to represent his family, much to his daughter’s horror. In the middle of the night, she cuts off her hair, steals her father’s sword and armor, and runs away to join the army in his place, disguised as his “son,” Ping. Knowing that Mulan will be killed if her ruse is discovered, Fa Zhou prays to the family’s ancestors to protect her, and by mistake, a tiny, temperamental dragon named Mushu (Eddie Murphy) is sent to serve as Mulan’s guide. Though life in the army is a difficult adjustment for Mulan, she eventually earns the respect of her fellow soldiers and their captain, Li Shang (B.D. Wong). The troops are tasked with preventing Shan Yu’s march into the Imperial City, and a quick-thinking Mulan saves the day and becomes a hero–until her ruse is discovered. When she discovers that Shan-Yu is still on the path to the City, Mulan must convince her former “brothers in arms” to help her stop the villain from killing the emperor and conquering China.

The flower that blooms in adversity is the most rare and beautiful of all.

Mulan is based on a Chinese legend related in the poem “The Ballad of Mulan,” which dates back as early as the sixth century AD. The Disney adaptation took some liberties with the tale, changing some of the facts to suit their version of the tale. For example, originally, Mulan had a younger brother who would have had to take their father’s place if Mulan had not stepped in. The characters of Mushu and Cri-Kee, Mulan’s animal helpmates, were added to appeal to younger viewers (as we all know, it’s next to impossible for Disney to produce a film without an adorable animal sidekick or three). Disney also changed one crucial point: in the folk tale, Mulan is never discovered to actually be a woman, while the film’s climax centers around this revelation and its aftermath. The final act of the film, in which Mulan faces Shan-Yu one-on-one in an attempt to save the emperor, was staged specifically for the movie. The romance with Shang was also added to give the film a romantic subplot (because, again, it’s not Disney unless there’s some lovin’ going on somewhere).

My little baby, off to destroy people.

In order to capture the authenticity of the film’s setting, the animators spent several weeks in China, taking numerous photographs and sketching potential backdrops and character ideas. The stylization of the animation pays homage to Chinese artistic tradition, giving the film the look of a moving watercolor painting. The movie also incorporates elements of computer animation: hordes of Huns were computer-generated into the snowy battle scene, and the final scenes in the Imperial City were created by ingeniously superimposing live crowd footage onto the animated set-up.

You missed! How could you miss? He was three feet from you!

Mulan is one of my favorite films from the Disney Renaissance period. In large part, this has to do with the characterization of the title figure, who is one of the more proactive Disney heroines. She demonstrates bravery, loyalty, and determination, and a willingness to sacrifice herself to protect not only her family and friends, but her entire country. Her struggles to “fit in” and meet the standards set for her by her family and by society as a whole are greatly relatable–after all, who hasn’t ever felt out of place? Plus, Mulan is a bit of a smart-ass, which makes her appeal to me even more (it is weird to me, though, that Disney now considers Mulan one of their signature “Disney Princesses,” even though she isn’t royalty and, in truth, isn’t all that “princess-y”).

Who is that girl I see, staring straight back at me?

However, I wouldn’t go so far as some critics in calling her a “feminist” role model for young girls. True, through her actions, Mulan shows that girls can do anything boys can do (and, as Annie Get Your Gun told us so many years ago, they can do it better, too), but in order for Mulan to even get the chance to break out of her prescribed gender role, she has to … well, change genders. It’s only through disguising herself as a man that Mulan is able to prove her worthiness, for, as we see in the opening scenes of the film, Mulan is considered a failure as a woman. The song “Honor to Us All” sets up the premise that “a girl can bring her family/great honor in one way/by striking a good match,” but the subsequent episode with the matchmaker shows how ill-suited Mulan is to the overtly feminine “virtues” necessary to land a husband. As she reflects on the disastrous meeting later, through the song appropriately titled “Reflection,” Mulan muses that she “will never pass for a perfect bride/or a perfect daughter,” and wonders, “When will my reflection show/who I am inside?” When she joins the army, Shang promises to “make a man out of you,” and those adopted masculine traits are what eventually define her character and her actions throughout the remainder of the film. Still, it is amusing to note that the tables are turned somewhat in the end, as three of Mulan’s soldier buddies, Yao, Ling, and Chien Po, must dress in drag as concubines in order to infiltrate Shan-Yu’s defenses and save the emperor.

Does this dress make me look fat?

Mulan not only out-grossed its predecessor, 1997′s Hercules, but also met with more positive critical reception. However, like Hercules and The Hunchback of Notre Dame before it, the soundtrack to Mulan did not reach the levels of musical success as earlier Renaissance films The Little Mermaid, Beauty and the Beast, Aladdin, The Lion King, and Pocahontas. The soundtrack features one mainstream radio release, Christina Aguilera’s pop version of “Reflection,” which is credited with launching the erstwhile pop princess’ career, but it was not a major hit. The film’s version of the song is performed by Lea Salonga, who also provides the singing chops for Princess Jasmine in Aladdin. And Donny Osmond provides the singing voice of Shang–he is instantly recognizable belting out “I’ll Make a Man Out of You.”

You ... you fight good.

Overall, Mulan is an infinitely-watchable film with a great story and engrossing, fun characters. The voice cast is impeccable–even Eddie Murphy, whose shtick normally makes me want to poke things in my ears, is endearing as the lovably annoying Mushu (though, in retrospect, I can’t help but hear Shrek’s Donkey when listening to the character). Mulan’s not a perfect heroine (is there even such a thing?), but she’s inspiring and entertaining, and in the end, what more could you ask for from your lead character?

Happy centenary, Ginger!

Posted on by under brandie's faves, natal day

Today marks the 100th birthday of the fabulous Ginger Rogers! I have to admit, I’m somewhat surprised that TCM is not marking the occasion with a day of Ginger-centric films—after all, there’s no dearth of great movies from Ginger’s extensive filmography. She could do it all: melodrama (1940′s Kitty Foyle), romance (1945′s Weekend at the Waldorf), physical comedy (1952′s Monkey Business) … the list goes on and on. And while I love (most of) Ginger’s pairings with Fred Astaire, for which she is perhaps best-known, I have always felt like the actress was a somewhat underrated comedienne, and therein lies her great appeal for me as a film fan.

So I will spend this evening watching three of my comedic favorites: The Major and the Minor (1942), Stage Door (1937), and Bachelor Mother (1939), all of which I’ve reviewed here on True Classics in the past. Admittedly, I’ve seen all three of these movies more times than I can count, to the point where I have most of the dialogue memorized. But every time I see these movies, and watch Ginger play an overly hormonal Swedish teenager, spar with Katharine Hepburn, or teach David Niven how to feed a baby, I laugh like it’s the very first time … the mark of a truly classic actress.

What are your favorite Ginger Rogers films, and why?