Category Archives: drama

SUtS: John Mills

Posted on by under drama, lit adaptations, summer under the stars

Brandie’s choice: Goodbye, Mr. Chips (1939)

Airing at 6:00AM EST

Though John Mills was an acclaimed actor in his own right, he is perhaps best known by modern audiences as the father of actresses Hayley (The Parent Trap) and Juliet (the over-the-top soap opera Passions). And while he was undoubtedly proud of his young thespians (he costarred with each of them at one point or another), it’s a shame that he is not better known on his own merits. Throughout a long and varied career, Mills played a series of memorable characters and worked with some of the biggest names in Hollywood.

The bulk of Mills’ work, however, was in his native Britain, and he excelled at playing stalwart young men in a series of dramatic roles. One such early, though relatively minor, role came in 1939′s Goodbye, Mr. Chips, one of the best films to come out of one of the most fruitful years in Hollywood history.

Chips, based on James Hilton’s novel, stars Robert Donat as the title character, a teacher named Charles Chipping. The story of his almost 60-year career is told in flashback, beginning with his arrival at the English boys’ school Brookfield as a brand-new Latin teacher. His initial kindly demeanor allows his rambunctious students to take advantage of him, and Chipping forces himself to become strict and unyielding, a persona he detests but finds necessary to maintain order in the classroom. On a holiday in Austria with the school’s German teacher (Paul Henreid), Chipping meets Kathy Ellis (Greer Garson in her star-making role) and they fall in love. Kathy, who nicknames her new husband “Chips,” encourages him to open up. When he returns to Brookfield with his bride, her love and encouragement allows him to blossom as a teacher and finally gain the admiration and respect of his beloved students and his fellow teachers, a change he maintains despite the tragedies that soon follow.

I first saw this film in high school and I fell ass-over-teakettle in love with it. Let me just warn you: if you’re a sap like me, you will cry. A lot. It’s impossible to watch this movie and not feel at least one little tear building up. The ending of this movie especially makes me bawl like nobody’s business. I think every teacher wants to feel as though they have made a difference in their students’ lives, and seeing the parade of students who call Chips a mentor and a friend is enough, by itself, to get the waterworks going.

The glue that holds this film together is Donat, who ages over the course of 60 years (from age 25 to 83) throughout the movie. He is simply magnificent as Chips. Not only does he handle the monumental task of convincingly aging on film (with the help of a killer mustache), but his utter sincerity shines through the performance. He nails the uncertain young teacher’s classroom demeanor, is remarkably genteel and self-questioning as Garson’s middle-aged courtier, and dodders about in his elderly age with a repressed eagerness that perfectly fits the character’s personality. Though I loved Clark Gable in his nominated performance as Rhett Butler in Gone With the Wind, I understand fully why Donat squeaked out the win for the Academy Award for Best Actor. It is the very definition of a career-defining performance (side note: Donat only completed twenty films in his rather abbreviated career before dying at the age of 53 due to chronic illness).

The supporting cast is just as strong; Garson, who received her first of seven Oscar nominations for this role, is wonderful as Kathy, and Henreid is memorable as Max, Chips’ only friend in his initial teaching years. Mills, as the adult Peter Colley, one of Chips’ former students, makes a mark in his small role. And Terry Kilburn, a very winning child actor who is perhaps best known as Tiny Tim in the 1938 Reginald Owen version of A Christmas Carol, shines in his multiple roles as several generations of the younger Colley children.

Don’t miss this excellent film. And make sure you’re stocked up on tissues before you sit down to watch it.

Carrie’s choice: Hobson’s Choice (1954)

Airing at 8:00AM EST

I have to confess: The reason this originally caught my eye was because of the name “Hobson,” which reminded me of the butler in Arthur (1981).  So, I recorded this one a while back and watched it–and I wasn’t disappointed.

The plot of this film is a little different. Three daughters work and essentially manage their father’s bootshop.  Their father (Charles Laughton) spends all of his time in the nearby pub and demanding much of his daughters. After realizing how much a marriage settlement can cost, he declares that none of his daughters will ever marry. His eldest daughter (Maggie, played by Brenda De Banzie) and right-hand then decides to elope with his best boot-maker, Willie Mossop (John Mills). Her ambitions lead Willie to become not only a competitor in boot-making, but a superior competitor. Slowly, the new Mrs. Mossop gains enough leverage to overthrow her father and then set each of her sisters to marry their chosen suitors.

John Mills as newly prosperous Willie Mossop

Don’t let the plot fool you–this is a comedy, even if it has pangs of the sad but true. John Mills does a brilliant job in portraying a talented, if slow and naive young man being led around by his new wife, who despite her rather diabolical plan, the audience cheers her successful coup. He also comes off as kind of adorably frightened out of his element (see photo above). Mills creates in Williee Mossop a very human comedic character who is very accessible and charming in his simplicity of mind. Charles Laughton leads with a great performance of a man who uses some odd logic to justify his preferred behavior and responsibility-free lifestyle–think Alfie Dolittle in My Fair Lady (complete with supportive posse at the pub) crossed with a respected businessman, and you basically have Hobson. It’s hard to really sympathize with his plight too much, because he is essentially thrust upon his own petard, as it were, and yet, it’s difficult to dislike him either. Sometimes it’s easy to believe that he is merely the product of bad advice and really not paying attention. So, watch and decide.

Far from a tear-jerker, Hobson’s Choice is an entertaining foray into dysfunctional family dynamics and those who survive–and sometimes improve–them.

SUtS: Paul Newman

Posted on by under 3-star films, drama, from stage to screen, hays code, lit adaptations, summer under the stars

Our choice: Cat on a Hot Tin Roof (1958)

Airing at 1:45PM EST

Once we realized this movie was in the queue for Paul Newman’s Summer Under the Stars tribute, we knew we had to recommend it. We have a connection to this film–tenuous, but important nonetheless–or, at least, to the source material of the movie.

Cat on a Hot Tin Roof is based on a play by Mississippi-born playwright extraordinaire, Tennessee Williams. The story centers around married couple Brick and Maggie (also called “Maggie the Cat”), whose marriage has crumbled because of a betrayal on Maggie’s part. Brick has succumbed to the lure of alcohol while mourning the recent suicide of his best friend, Skipper–a relationship that both Maggie and Brick’s father (“Big Daddy”) question as having been more amorous and friendly. As the members of the family fight over the inheritance of their dying patriarch, Maggie fights for a toehold in her relationship with Brick while trying to ensure Brick receives the bulk of the inheritance.

Williams was born in the town of Columbus, Mississippi, which also happens to be home to the first state-supported college established for women in the United States. That wonderful school, Mississippi University for Women, is our lovely alma mater.

I cannot tell you how many times I’ve driven past Williams’ birthplace, which sits on Main Street in downtown Columbus and serves as the welcome center for the city (it always makes me smile, because seeing that house, in a sense, is like a big ol’ “welcome home”). I have spent time sitting on his porch, watching the traffic go by. And I have repeatedly marveled at the fact that a city that once shunned its connection to the overtly homosexual Williams and his scandalous, outrageous body of work has now so thoroughly embraced the man that an entire week in September is dedicated to his memory and his work every year.

The play Cat on a Hot Tin Roof won the Pulitzer Prize for Drama in 1955 and premiered on Broadway that same year. The play was both celebrated and reviled for its frank depiction of homosexual lust and its blatant sexism in regards to the character of Maggie. Williams possessed a gift for honestly portraying some of the less attractive aspects of humanity (see also Stanley in A Streetcar Named Desire, or Violet in Suddenly, Last Summer), and in Cat, he constructs one of the most mendacious families to ever appear in literature. In the Pollitt family, everyone lies to everyone else, every person lies to him or herself, and truth is a commodity that no one seems to think even exists.

Yet, of course, when the play was adapted for the screen, changes were made to diminish nearly all of the references to homosexuality and sexual frustration per the rules of the Production Code, and the portrayal of some characters (particularly that of Brick and Maggie) was softened to make the characters seem more sympathetic to the audience. And in the end, the movie version suffers from those changes, because the searing intent of the original material was lost. In fact, Williams hated this film version so much that he actively encouraged people not to see it.

In this film version, Brick is played by Paul Newman, and this performance earned him his first Academy Award nomination (he would later win Best Actor for 1986′s The Color of Money). Newman portrays Brick with a barely-leased sensuality that ultimately works well for the character. His interactions with Elizabeth Taylor, who plays Maggie, provide some of the best moments of the film, particularly when he is rejecting her advances outright–he makes it seem like the most natural thing in the world to rebuff your beautiful wife when she’s offering herself to you without reservation. Marvel at the restraint.

For her part, Taylor delivers one of the strongest performances of her career as Maggie, brilliantly moving from bewildered hurt to strong-willed determination almost seamlessly (Taylor, too, was nominated for an Oscar for her performance–she would win her two statues a few years later, first for 1960′s Butterfield 8 and later for her monumental performance in 1966′s Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?). Taylor fully embodies Maggie, who is, to say the least, a difficult dramatic character to play, and she makes her real without engaging in histrionics (which, let’s face it, would be an easy thing to do with this material).

The supporting cast features excellent turns by Burl Ives as Big Daddy and Judith Anderson (so chillingly perfect as Mrs. Danvers in 1940′s Rebecca) as Big Mama. Jack Carson effectively steps out of his typical buddy-sidekick roles as Brick’s brother, Gooper, and Madeleine Sherwood is appropriately annoying as Gooper’s greedy (and perennially pregnant) wife, Mae.

Though it is far from loyal to the original text, the movie is nonetheless entertaining on its own merits. And though Williams will likely roll over in his grave at any indication of approval, we do suggest you give it a shot. At the very least, you can stare at Paul Newman’s gorgeous mug for two hours. Let’s face it … there are worse ways to spend your time.

SUtS: Ethel Barrymore

Posted on by under 3-star films, brandie's faves, carrie's faves, drama, lit adaptations, summer under the stars

Brandie’s choice: None But the Lonely Heart (1944)

Airing 8:00PM EST

I must admit that I wish I were suggesting another movie to you right now, a movie featuring the delightful Ethel Barrymore in one of her more effective supporting roles: 1947′s The Farmer’s Daughter, co-starring Loretta Young and Joseph Cotten. I adore this movie with every fiber of my being, and I am saddened that TCM did not put it on the schedule today in honor of Barrymore. Nor is it on their schedule in the near future, which is equally heartbreaking.

But I will console myself with this little gem, a dramatic deviation from Cary Grant’s typical comedic fare.

Now, to the depths that Carrie adores Gregory Peck, my heart flutters with wild anticipation whenever a Cary Grant movie is nigh. Was there ever such a combination of erudite sophistication and baffling tomfoolery to ever grace the screen? He could play high class and low with equal verve. He could tumble across the floor or flip over a couch without blinking, or stand in the street with his heart breaking in his eyes. He could sex you up and cool you down almost in the same breath.

Whew. What a man.

None But the Lonely Heart, adapted by playwright Clifford Odets (who also directed the film) from a book by Richard Llewellyn, stars Grant as Ernie, the Cockney son of a pawnbroker mother (Barrymore) who is secretly dying of cancer. Sounds maudlin already, right? Oh, it gets even better. Ernie falls in love with the ex-wife of the town’s most vicious mobster, while spurning the affections of the “girl next door” who has loved him from afar for years. When Ernie gets drawn into the dark world of organized crime, he must figure out how to turn his life around before it’s too late.

Grant was never fully given the opportunity to stretch his dramatic wings; as audiences greatly favored his comedic performances, studio heads in Hollywood were reluctant to allow their funny star to branch out and test his talents in other genres. None But the Lonely Heart gave Grant his chance to demonstrate that he was more than a pratfalling mugger, but at the time, critics were unimpressed, saying he had been miscast in the role. But, strangely enough, the character was so similar to Grant’s childhood in England, when he was known by the somewhat less debonair name of Archibald Leach, that Grant could have played the part in his sleep, and if you allow yourself to watch Grant’s performance without bias, you see that he nailed it. As melodramatic as the story ultimately is, this is the role that should have won him the Oscar.

Instead, the film brought a much-deserved Oscar to Barrymore, for Best Supporting Actress. By this time, Barrymore had built quite a reputation for herself; she was considered one of the greatest actresses of her generation, and of course the Barrymore surname denoted her membership in one of the most talented acting families ever to grace stage or screen.

After spending years trodding the boards on Broadway and making a name for herself on the stage, Barrymore moved to Hollywood, appearing in more than a dozen silent films and a handful of sound pictures before appearing in None But the Lonely Heart in 1944. That role began a second phase of her career, as she would go on to appear in supporting, often matronly, roles in such films as the above-mentioned Paradine Case and Farmer’s Daughter, Portrait of Jennie (1948), Pinky (1949), and Young at Heart (1954) before her death in 1959.

Even if you’re not in the mood for a melodramatic examination of defeated humanity (you mean you don’t feel like being depressed tonight?), give this movie a shot. At the very least, come for that Cary Grant charm, and stay for, among other things, Barrymore’s smooth, shrewd portrayal of a woman who will do anything it takes to help her hopeless son find a new lease on life.

Carrie’s choice:  The Paradine Case (1947)

Airing 8:00AM EST

To begin, let’s be up front. I love, love, love Gregory Peck. He’s my HiH, as is Cary Grant (isn’t he everyone’s?).  Hitchcock fans might recall his performance in Spellbound (my favourite Hitchcock, which, I think is also coming on this month.)

The Paradine Case from 1947, however, places Gregory Peck in his well-used role of attorney (think Atticus Finch, but without the wisdom beyond his time), or rather, British barrister.  He defends a newly-widowed woman accused of murdering her husband. Unfortunately, he falls in love with her, despite being happily married, and so begins the numerous twists and turns that creates the thriller genre.

Ethel Barrymore plays the wife of the judge hearing the case.  As such, she’s not as directly involved in the twists and manipulations that make this a Hitchcock piece. However, she assumes a commentary role, showing us, the viewers, the various viewpoints about the case. She sets up the frame for the twisted and conflicted characters to move about freely.  This allows the audience to follow the internal conflict better, because the facets of the case have all views expressed. Voicing the views becomes essential in aligning and re-aligning sympathy, which, as is true for many crime and trial stories, is part of what creates the drama and tension. We see this technique in everything from 12 Angry Men (the Henry Fonda version to be shown later this month) to the ever popular Law and Order. It also allows Hitchcock to accomplish the layers of manipulations, ideas, and metaphors that gave him his fame.

Barrymore and Peck perform alongside such illustrious names as Charles Coburn, Charles Laughton, and Ann Todd, making this one worth viewing for the cast, if no other reason.

He came to the wrong house. Twice.

Posted on by under 5-star films, best.films.ever., brandie's faves, drama, lit adaptations

I generally hesitate to spoil the ending of a film. It’s poor form to ruin a film before one has even had the chance to view it for him/her self. In many cases, it sours me on ever viewing the film in question; for example, when a friend (somewhat gleefully) spoiled the ending of The Sixth Sense (1999), I found I had lost the pressing desire to see the movie. Why watch it now, knowing that one of the most celebrated twist endings in recent filmdom has been ruined for me? (Despite this, I know I will eventually sit down and view this movie, despite my dislike for most of M. Night Shyamalan’s work–Lady in the Water? Please.)

However, in the case of The Heiress, I feel the need to discuss the ending in depth, so let this serve as a warning to those who have yet to see it. DO NOT CONTINUE READING THIS ENTRY IF YOU DO NOT WANT THE ENDING OF THIS FILM SPOILED FOR YOU.

The Heiress, released in 1949 and starring Olivia de Havilland and Montgomery Clift, is an adaptation of the 1947 play of the same name by Ruth and Augustus Goetz; the play, in turn, is an adaptation of Henry James’ 1880 novel Washington Square. Both the play and the film are relatively solid adaptations, though some tweaking was, of course, inevitable.

In the film, de Havilland plays Catherine Sloper, the accomplished yet plain daughter of a wealthy doctor. Encouraged by her aunt Lavinia (Miriam Hopkins) to enter the social scene, Catherine soon falls for a charming young man, Morris Townsend (Clift). Her father, Austin Sloper (Ralph Richardson), is initially pleased at the interest Morris shows in his daughter, but comes to suspect the young man of pursuing Catherine solely for her inheritance. When Morris proposes to Catherine, her father whisks her away to Europe in an effort to get her to forget him; in their absence, Morris, who spends most of his time visiting Lavinia, rallying her support behind him, begins to make himself at home in their luxurious brownstone. Upon their return, Catherine insists on marrying Morris, enraging her father, who finally tells her outright that Morris is only after her money, remarking cruelly upon his daughter’s lack of social graces and beauty. Catherine decides to elope with Morris, forgoing her inheritance and determined that she and her new husband will make their way through the world on their own. But when faced with the prospect of losing access to Catherine’s wealth, Morris abandons her, only returning years later after Dr. Sloper has died, having left all of his money to his still-unmarried daughter …

Olivia de Havilland is a beautiful woman, and still thriving, apparently, at the age of 94. On a side note, her younger sister, actress Joan Fontaine, is also still kicking at the age of 92. By most accounts, the sisters have not spoken in more than two decades, a rift that reportedly has its roots in their younger years. Joan, at her mother’s insistence, was not allowed to use the family name in her acting career, and when both women were nominated for the Best Actress Academy Award in 1942, Joan’s win over Olivia cemented the feud between them (never mind that Olivia would go on to win TWO–for 1946′s To Each His Own–another excellent film–and for her starring role in this film). Their acting styles are quite different; in general, Joan is more disposed toward romantic roles as in Rebecca (1940) and Letter from an Unknown Woman (1948), while Olivia thrives in dramatic ones. Personally, I happen to enjoy the work of both actresses, but Olivia, best known today for her work as Melanie in 1939′s Gone With the Wind, admittedly boasts the more impressive resume.

Getting back to my original point, with cheekbones to die for and wide, luminous eyes, it’s hard to see the lovely de Havilland as a dowdy spinster.

And yet, with the aid of severe hairstyles and dowdy clothes, de Havilland almost wills the viewer to believe it. She acts not only through her delivery of the script, but through her very being. She not only looks the part of the retiring wallflower, she embodies it, with the embarrassed glances, the sometimes-shuffling gait, the lowered brow and the pain-filled eyes. You believe that this woman, who is not at all unattractive, is nonetheless the plain, simple heiress of the title, an “entirely mediocre creature” (as her father calls her) with nothing of value but his money.

In adapting the play for the screen, Paramount insisted that leading man Clift’s character be written as less obviously manipulative in the interest of protecting Clift’s status as a romantic lead.

Ohh, baby.

This liberty with the source material was far from new in Hollywood; earlier in the decade, rival studio RKO had done the same in rewriting the character of Johnny Aysgarth in Alfred Hitchcock’s Suspicion (which, incidentally, won the Oscar for Fontaine) because, as far as the studio brass was concerned, Cary Grant could not play a killer. Thankfully, however, the pigeonholing that occurred with Grant, who was rarely able to step outside of debonair romantic roles or screwball comedies throughout his long career, did not repeat itself with Clift. Clift’s career, though relatively short in comparison, was nonetheless marked by a wider range of roles, most notably the social climber in love with Elizabeth Taylor in A Place in the Sun (1951), the doomed private in From Here to Eternity (1953), the psychiatrist in Suddenly, Last Summer (1959), and the faded rodeo star in The Misfits (1961).

The Heiress is, in large part, about a woman scorned, both before she is abandoned and afterward. Catherine spends her entire life in the shadow of her dead mother, implicitly compared to her in multiple ways–she is not as beautiful as her mother, as accomplished as her mother, as enticing as her mother. When she falls in love with Morris, she willfully overlooks her own suspicions and her father’s outright distrust of the man. When she finds herself standing in the parlor, suitcase in hand, Morris nowhere to be found, even still she wonders if perhaps she had made a mistake, that perhaps he would come the next day. It is not until she learns that he has fled to California that Catherine hardens. It’s an almost physical hardening, too; she holds herself so stiffly she might as well be carved from granite, her expression changing from that of the hopeful and loving girl to the cold and remote woman right before our eyes. And when Morris returns, he cannot see the change, fool that he is; he miscalculates the rage burning within her, and so secure is he in the worldly charms that beguiled her before that he cannot see the obvious path to her revenge.

Catherine: “He’s grown greedier over the years. Before he only wanted my money; now he wants my love as well. Well, he came to the wrong house – and he came twice. I shall see that he does not come a third time.”

And when Catherine finally obtains her revenge … truly a sight to behold. I have little doubt that the ending of this film–the last ten minutes or so–is what secured de Havilland her second Oscar.

Aunt Lavinia: “Can you be so cruel?”
Catherine: “Yes, I can be very cruel. I have been taught by masters.”

Her expression here, glancing up from her needlework, is hard and unyielding. She continues her work without hesitation, ignoring her aunt’s obvious dismay. She stands at the door, listening to Morris call her name, and you wonder, briefly, whether she will give in and let him back into her life. In an instant, though, the slight hesitation is gone. Her chin goes up, her jaw clenches, and the face becomes an impenetrable mask of dignity and strength. And when she begins to walk up the stairs to her room, listening to Morris pounding on the door, begging to enter his lost brownstone paradise, the slight smile on her lips as she ascends the staircase toward the camera is utterly chilling.

Catherine’s bitterness is not without cause. Yet, reportedly, when the film was initially released, the studio received negative feedback from viewers who wanted to see Catherine forgive Morris and live “happily ever after.” This attitude of a late 1940s film audience–that a woman should, for the sake of finding happiness, tie herself into marriage simply for the sake of being married–is unsurprising; hell, that’s the position Lavinia holds throughout the entire film, reflecting the era’s attitude toward unmarried, “loveless” women. But for modern audiences, the ending of this film is pitch-perfect; Catherine’s choice to pursue her own simple revenge is something to be celebrated. There is a certain satisfaction to watching a Victorian-era woman buck the norm and actually carve a different, solitary existence for herself. In many ways, it puts her on the same level as a man (and that may be why some members of the film’s early audience could not accept the ending). All told, it certainly brings a smile to my face.

After all, as they say, revenge IS sweet, isn’t it?

I would rank the ending of this film as one of my favorite endings of all time, right up there with Rick and Louis’ “beautiful friendship” in Casablanca (1942) and Jerry/Daphne’s “perfect” denouement in 1959′s Some Like It Hot. And even if I’ve spoiled it for you (hey, I gave you plenty of warning, so blame yourself), it’s still worth watching this amazing film.

I hope you love it as much as I do.