Tag Archives: jimmy stewart

If I let you change me, will that do it?

Posted on by under blogathon, contributed post

Today, my contribution to The Lady Eve’s Month of Vertigo celebration is up at TLE’s Reel Life–all about Kim Novak’s sometimes underestimated contributions to the film. Thanks again, Eve, for inviting me to participate and allowing me the chance to revisit this film!

And for more things Vertigo, here are some thoughts about the film that I posted back in 2010.

Make sure to catch all of the entertaining and insightful posts that have been posted thus far–and will continue to be posted throughout the month–by the incomparable Lady Eve.

Dear friend.

Posted on by under best.films.ever., brandie's faves

I adore The Shop Around the Corner. I say that mainly to warn you that this post will feature much fawning and adoration for one of the best films I’ve ever had the pleasure of seeing. And the fact that it has become a holiday classic over the years is merely a bonus, meaning more and more people are exposed to its sheer brilliance every holiday season.

Released in 1940, Shop stars James Stewart as Alfred Kralik, salesman at Matuschek and Co., a store in Budapest. When Klara Novak (Margaret Sullavan) comes in looking for employment, she charms store owner Hugo Matuschek (Frank Morgan) and earns herself a position, much to the irritation of Kralik. The film explores their antagonistic relationship at work, juxtaposed with their growing romantic relationship as secret pen-pals. When Kralik discovers that the woman who drives him nuts at work is the epistolary woman of his dreams, his reaction sets off a chain of events that leads to the ultimate happy ending.

Seems like a simple enough movie, right? Yet The Shop Around the Corner is anything but. The film, directed by Ernst Lubitsch, is the premier example of what scholars and critics have labeled the “Lubitsch touch.” There is no true definition of what people mean when they label the director’s films as having that special quality. Generally, the Lubitsch touch represents an amalgamation of seemingly contradictory styles into one beautifully-rendered production. To that end, The Shop Around the Corner combines romance, drama, suspense, wit, melodrama, sophistication, and humor into one cohesive statement about the human experience. How many other films can do that–make you feel happy, sad, lonely, joyful, depressed, and vitally alive, all at once?

This is one of those movies in which the supporting cast is just as important as the leading roles. The Matuschek and Co. crew provide a heartfelt and sometimes sober backdrop for the romance developing between Kralik and Novak. Morgan, as their unhappily-married boss, is perhaps at his most brilliant in this film, engaging our sympathies as he stumbles through the movie. The subplot concerning Matuschek’s growing suspicions about Kralik’s supposed dalliances with his boss’ wife runs the risk of delving into the maudlin, but Morgan maintains a nice balance of melancholy and bluster.

The movie also features several standout performances among the other members of the supporting cast, including frequent Lubitsch collaborator Felix Bressart as Kralik’s friend (and Matuschek’s punching bag) Pirovitch, and Joseph Schildkraut as Vadas, the smarmy two-faced employee who is actually romancing the boss’ wife. William Tracy also provides a great comedic turn as smart-mouthed Pepi, the store’s errand boy.

True, there is a sense of sentimentality at the heart of this movie. You’d have to be the grinchiest Grinch in the history of grinches not to respond to the truly lovely romantic touches sprinkled throughout the script. And seeing as how the bulk of the action happens around Christmas, such sentimentality is to be expected. But Shop is so much more than that. It’s hard to put into words exactly what I mean.

All I can say is, this movie touches something inside of me. Sometimes, when times are tough, all we need is a reminder that love and hope can be found anywhere–in the friendship of an understanding pal, or a kind gesture from a figure of authority, or even in a heartfelt letter from an anonymous source, assuring us that someone–anyone–is out there listening and caring and believing in us. There is so much love in the world, and in The Shop Around the Corner, it’s encapsulated neatly into 99 minutes for our viewing pleasure. How can you beat that?

You know what? Here’s how much I love this movie–I, a notorious hater of remakes (as there have been so few that have actually worked over the years), actually don’t mind the two remakes this movie spawned. Granted, neither of them reaches anywhere near the levels of brilliance to which Shop ascends, but each has its moments.

1949′s In the Good Old Summertime stars Judy Garland and Van Johnson as the feuding pen-pal paramours. By virtue of its stars, this film has been injected with a healthy dose of musical numbers, and the action has been moved to a Chicago music store. If you are a consistent reader of this blog, it should not surprise you that one of the big draws for me in this film is the presence of S.Z. “Cuddles” Sakall as Garland and Johnson’s boss. The movie also features stone-faced classic film stalwart Buster Keaton–employing some deft physical comedy with Cuddles’ precious violin that recalls some of his more celebrated movie stunts–and the ever-appealing Spring Byington. The movie also marks the first ever big-screen appearance of two-year-old Liza Minnelli, Garland’s uber-talented daughter.

Summertime is the lesser of the two remakes. Transforming the script of a previously-produced film into a musical was not unheard of in Hollywood–look at the bulk of the Dean Martin-Jerry Lewis films, for instance–but some accomplished this much more cleanly than others. As the male lead, Johnson lacks Stewart’s earlier earnestness and demonstrates little of Tom Hanks’ later charms. Garland, whose legendary troubles had reached a pinnacle in the late 1940s, only seems to come alive during her musical performances, and even then, she lacks much of the spark that made earlier films like 1944′s Meet Me in St. Louis so memorably endearing. Still, though this remake is little more than a trifle, it is an enjoyable one nonetheless.

When Shop was reworked in 1998 for the Internet age, pairing golden film couple Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan for the third time, the screenwriters did a better job of retaining the spirit of the original. I’m not the biggest fan of Nora Ephron (who tends to wring the maudlin out of the most inane of situations), but I think this may be her best script ever, combining the influence of the original film and elements of Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice. Thankfully, the story does not lose any humor upon being translated from a turn-of-the-century period piece to a modern-day examination of the sticky intertwining of business and personal relationships.

Still, some of the emotion at the heart of The Shop Around the Corner is lost when the secret pen-pals are taken out of a shared workplace and put in competing businesses. Part of the deliciousness of the original is the close quarters in which Alfred and Klara find themselves, and though Mail throws Hanks and Ryan together as often as feasibly possible, the romantic tension takes longer to build, and it ultimately seems less vital, somehow, than the pairing of Stewart and Sullavan. That being said, Mail is quite entertaining, and makes one wish that Hanks would go back to his romantic comedy roots, as he embodies such roles quite nicely.

Despite their respective appeals, however, the remakes have nothing on the original. If you have never seen The Shop Around the Corner, you have deprived yourself of an amazing film experience. Make sure you catch this unparalleled piece of cinema history–it’s guaranteed to be a film you’ll remember.

Therapy Thursday: You Can’t Take It With You and It’s a Wonderful Life

Posted on by under carrie's faves, holiday picks, therapy thursdays

Hello, Classic Film World!  I apologize for my absence from the blog (and especially to Brandie and Nikki for leaving them to keep things going so swimmingly without help- *pause for a moment of applause*).

So, I’m getting back in gear with Therapy Thursday again… and I’m taking it a different direction. Today, I’m doing both a TT blog and a comparison blog- we’ll see how this goes.

James Stewart as George Bailey in It's a Wonderful Life

Now, I’m not personally a big fan of It’s a Wonderful Life, blasphemy, that I know it is. Still, I watched it with the family over the holiday. It’s good for a Therapy Thursday, for pretty obvious reasons. First, the whole karma-ness involved. George Bailey does everything he can to help those around him, trying to keep their lives from crashing down, eventually to the expense of his. Social work burnout, anyone? In the end, though, it comes back to him. We like this idea; it’s pretty warm and fuzzy. Also, it’s a pretty classic take on altruism. Many theorists don’t believe true altruism doesn’t exist- that we all want something in return, even if it’s just a “good feeling” about what we did. George comes pretty close to true altruism, but the moral of this story is that all his giving came right back to him, anyway, so it’s irrelevant. However, not everyone was like that, especially when he hit his low.

When George Bailey became hopeless, the world agreed with him.

Which brings me to my next thought: when he felt hopeless, the world became that way. No one helped him. People were mean to him. He made poor decisions. Things spiraled and got worse very, very quickly, until he hits rock bottom- and who likes to see Jimmy Stewart like that? However, after his “time of reflection” with Clarence, George Bailey realizes how important what he has is to him. It’s his life affirming moment; after that small change, his world puts itself back into place. Interestingly, this is how a lot of depression works. You can’t see the solution if you’re staring at the problem, which is the reason behind the now popular solution-focused therapies. People viewed him as crazy in the film when he was unhappy/miserable. However, they also were concerned with his ecstatic exclamations at “obvious” things. How could he be suddenly happy with so many problems?

Mr. Vanderhoff encouraged everyone to live for fun and what they truly want.

Interestingly enough, Frank Capra has an answer to this another of his films: You Can’t Take It With You. I love this movie for it’s humor and over the top characters. It’s just lovable. Again, we see Jimmy Stewart and Lionel Barrymore in film together, but this time Barrymore plays his future father-in-law. Martin Vanderhoff (Barrymore) has essentially come to the conclusion that George Bailey comes to at the end of It’s a Wonderful Life: that life is meant to be lived, and that’s what matters. However, he phrases it more along the lines of “Life should be fun.” The corporate world also finds Mr. Vanderhoff quite odd, because he is dedicated to living life for fun, not financial gain. It’s true- his family is very unusual. However, something very interesting happens with this family: the neighborhood adores them.

Martin Vanderhoff even enjoys his crutches, because he had "always wanted to try to walk on crutches," and now was able to give it a try.

Mr. Vanderhoff is always kind to others, is even a local leader, and lives his life of fun not at the expense of others, but in encouraging others to be happy. Not unlike George Bailey, who sacrifices himself for others’ well-being and happiness.

Is happiness having what you want or choosing to be happy?

So, how do we become happy? By having what we want or deciding to be that way?

She’s a nice girl!

Posted on by under 3-star films, brandie's faves, hahas, screwball legends, wacky wednesdays

I’ve made no secret of my admiration for Ginger Rogers in the past–she’s an underrated comedienne, relegated in the minds of most moviegoers to a permanent place waltzing at Fred Astaire’s side. And while there is no shortage of entertainment to be drawn from the Fred and Ginger filmography, Ginger’s talent extends far beyond the dance floor.

In this installment of Wacky Wednesdays, we’re going to take a look at one of my favorite Fred-less Ginger Rogers roles: 1938′s hilarious screwball comedy Vivacious Lady.

Rogers plays Francey, a young nightclub singer in New York. When Peter Morgan (James Stewart) is sent to Francey’s club to retrieve his lovestruck cousin, Keith (James Ellison), Peter winds up falling for Francey. After a whirlwind night together, the two marry, and Peter takes Francey to his hometown, Old Sharon, where he is a botany professor at the local college. His father, Peter Sr. (Charles Coburn) and his former fiance, Helen (Frances Mercer) meet the pair at the train station, where Peter passes off Francey as Keith’s lover until he can find the right time to tell his father and his heart-attack-prone mother (Beulah Bondi) that he has married the girl. Cue the slapstick as Peter tries to clue in his parents, let down Helen gently, and find a way to consummate his marriage with his alluring new wife.

If this film is known for anything, it’s Rogers’ patio scrap with Mercer, a brilliantly-constructed fight that remains one of the greatest scenes in screwball history. Featuring all the hallmarks of the stereotypical catfight–hair-pulling, biting, kicking, name-calling–it builds to a chaotic crescendo as Helen, still unaware of Peter’s marriage, confronts the “interloper” in their relationship. Francey’s initial humoring of Helen is marked by Rogers’ trademarked brand of smart-assed repartee:

Helen: “Now are you going to mind your own business, or must I really give you a piece of my mind?”

Francey: “Oh, I couldn’t take the last piece.”

Helen, the self-proclaimed paragon of class, strikes first, slapping Francey across the cheek, and you know it’s on like Donkey Kong. All civilized talk gives way to a continued series of slaps and admonishments (“Shh!”) from Francey, two kicks from Helen, and, finally, a warning from a fed-up Francey to her tony opponent to “put ‘em up.” This in itself is hilarious, and yet Rogers kicks it up another notch, bringing to the scene a kind of dignified mortification at being caught in the act that makes her predicament ten times funnier. As the Morgans finally make their way to the patio, a sheepish Francey stares at Peter’s father in a brief moment of horror, then smiles, spits a rose petal out of her mouth, laughs with embarrassment, and tightens her chokehold. And when Helen decides to play dirty, poking her rival with a hatpin, Francey simply tosses the bitch over her shoulder and lays her out on the ground. Classic, feisty Ginger.

The fight itself is a blatant demonstration of the class struggle that is such a central theme to the film, as the forces of high class react poorly to the infiltration of the “common.” Peter, though deeply in love with his new wife, does not quite know how to introduce her to his family, and Francey fears she does not meet the requirements to be a professor’s wife and to fit into the Morgans’ stuffy world. Peter, Sr., repulsed by Francey’s perceived corruption and contemptible morality, almost destroys his son’s marriage due to his own preconceived biases. But as in most screwball comedies, the higher-class Morgans are shown to have just as many–if not more–issues than “average girl” Francey, and when the Morgans are brought “down to earth” (so to speak), love is allowed to win over class concerns in the end.

The solid casting of this film works heavily in its favor. Coburn and Bondi, as Stewart’s parents, are gifted comic sidekicks and stand out in their scenes on screen. Ellison, as sly cousin Keith, is a charming second banana. And Stewart, in one of his first major roles as a leading man, shows glimmers of the stalwart, capable performer he would become in the ensuing years. But make no mistake: Rogers run away with the picture. Lady is undoubtedly a showcase for its lead actress, designed to separate her from the specter of Fred in the minds of the moviegoing public.

Does the film succeed in that respect? For the most part, yes. After the initial nightclub scenes, in which we get a taste of dancing and singing Ginger, the film moves beyond the music and engrosses us in the comedy and the romance to the point that we don’t really miss the musical interludes so common in a 1930s Rogers film. And this film, combined with other Rogers solo vehicles such as Bachelor Mother (1939), Kitty Foyle (1940), Primrose Path (1940), and The Major and the Minor (1942), demonstrates that, unlike erstwhile partner Astaire, Rogers could actually craft a successful career outside the bounds of singing and dancing.

Will someone put this wonderful film on DVD already?!?!?

No, sir, I will not yield!

Posted on by under 5-star films, brandie's faves, politics ... not as usual

Frank Capra’s indelible brand of feel-good morality tales, sprinkled with romance and humor, has led to his films being labeled as “Capra-corn” by some critics. And it’s true that some of his most beloved and well-known movies tend toward the sentimental. But to deride Capra’s work as mere schmaltz is to ignore the sheer talent and craftsmanship that drove each of the director’s creations.

Though the perennial Christmas classic It’s a Wonderful Life (1946) is perhaps Capra’s best-known film, it is by no means his greatest. In my mind, that honor belongs to 1939′s Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, a patriotic, heartfelt American celebration featuring one of Capra’s most effective casts, including James Stewart, Jean Arthur, and Claude Rains.

Stewart stars as Jefferson Smith, a young, idealistic leader of the Boy Rangers, who is tapped to replace the recently-deceased junior senator of his state. The head of the state’s political machine, Jim Taylor (Edward Arnold), pressures the state’s senior senator, Joseph Paine (Rains), one of Jeff’s heroes, to keep the young man in line to ensure that Taylor’s political schemes remain in play. Paine tries to distract Jeff with his alluring daughter, Susan (Astrid Allwyn), and convinces Jeff to sponsor a bill in order to keep him busy. Jeff’s secretary, Clarissa Saunders (Arthur), who is initially skeptical about her new boss’s ability to do his job, is eventually won over and assists him in crafting a measure to build a national boys’ camp on some land near Willet Creek in his home state. However, unbeknownst to Jeff, Taylor has his eye on the same property, and has buried the graft in a Public Works bill being supported by the crooked Paine. When the Taylor machine goes to work destroying Jeff’s credibility, he takes over the Senate floor via filibuster in an effort to convince his fellow senators–and his constituents–that there are corrupt forces at play within the government.

This movie is, for all intents and purposes, a political fairy tale, wrapped up neatly–and somewhat unbelievably–at the end. Are we to believe that Paine, a seasoned politician with years’ worth of political shenanigans under his belt, is so moved by Jeff’s efforts that he first attempts suicide, and then confesses the entire scheme? It seems too far outside the realm of possibility to be realistic.

And yet, we believe anyway. This is a grown-up fairy tale, and one that those of us who have become jaded by “politics as usual” wish could come true. How different would our government be if all politicians believed as Jefferson Smith does–that liberty is both our right and our privilege, and that it is their sacred duty to uphold that construct on behalf of all of us, the forces of corruption be damned?

Smith shares several themes with the aforementioned Life, the most prominent of which is the notion that one person has the ability to make a difference in the world. But Life has a more cynical take on man’s existence than does Smith; amidst the subtle digs at government corruption and the political machine, there is an innocence to Jefferson Smith that Life’s George Bailey decidedly lacks. It’s fitting that both roles are played by Stewart, the everyman to beat all everymen. We believe Smith–believe IN Smith–because of Stewart’s very capable and passionate portrayal, and we feel for him and his fight as much as we feel for George’s despair in the latter film. Stewart was nominated for an Oscar for his role as Jefferson Smith, but lost to Robert Donat for Goodbye, Mr. Chips. He went on to win the Academy Award for Best Actor the following year for his performance in The Philadelphia Story–an award many in the industry felt was not so much for his comedic turn as Macaulay Connor in that film, but as an overdue recognition of the brilliance of her performance in Smith.

This film also marks one of Jean Arthur’s best roles as the street-smart Capitol Hill insider won over by Jeff’s corn-fed “hokum.” Arthur is sometimes overlooked in the annals of film history–for instance, it remains inexplicable to me how AFI could list the supposed “25 greatest film actresses” and NOT include Arthur–and to modern audiences, she is not among the more well-known film legends. It’s a shame more people aren’t familiar with her work, because Arthur was a truly great actress. More known for her comedic roles, particularly her deft hand at screwball comedy in films such as 1937′s Easy Living and her two previous films for Capra, Mr. Deeds Goes to Town (1936) and You Can’t Take It with You (1938), she was also quite good in more serious roles, particularly her final turn in the seminal 1953 Western Shane.

Her performance in Smith is no exception; as Clarissa, Arthur is the perfect combination of the lover and the cynic, demonstrating a tenacious spirit that lights up the screen during her scenes. Watch her face as Jeff expounds on the preciousness of liberty. You can literally see her shift from skepticism to disbelief to a dawning sense of wonder. Simple, heartfelt, marvelous.

The supporting cast is equally admirable, led by Rains as the conflicted, yet determined Paine. Arnold provides one of his typically bullfrog-esque performances as the loathsome Taylor. And Harry Carey is a delight as the winking, far-seeing President of the Senate, whose quiet interference keeps Jeff on his fighting path.

Mr. Smith Goes to Washington is airing on TCM on Wednesday (the 10th) at 9:30AM EST. If you have yet to catch this lovely slice of film history, take advantage of the opportunity to do so, and see if you’re not cheering for Jeff, too, by the end of the movie.

*Face palm.*

Posted on by under anecdotes, banner update

You may notice that we updated our blog banner this week in a slight fit of housekeeping.

Yeah, I like to fuss.

When I was done uploading the new banner, I asked my friend Michelle to come look at it and tell me what she thought. This gave rise to my best Alex Trebek impression (which on a good day is still pretty bad) as I tested her classic movie knowledge …

Michelle [staring at computer monitor]: “Oh, it’s cute!”
Brandie: “Yay! I’m glad you like it.”
Michelle [pointing at screen]: “I like that one–that’s from Gone With the Wind, right?”
Brandie: “Yep. You know what this one’s from, right?” [pointing at screen]
Michelle: “Casablanca.”
Brandie: “And this one?”
Michelle: “Singin’ in the Rain.”
Brandie: “That one?”
Michelle: “Vertigo!”
Brandie: “Um, no. North by Northwest.”
Michelle: “Ohh … okay.”
Brandie: “And that one?”
Michelle: “Wizard of Oz.”
Brandie: “And that one.”
Michelle: ” … “
Brandie: “Just say ‘Fred and Ginger.’”
Michelle: “Well, I knew that. I just didn’t know which movie.”
Brandie: “It’s The Gay Divorcee. But we would have accepted just ‘Fred and Ginger,’ because who can keep all their damn movies straight?”

[Michelle walks away, then comes back a minute later.]

Michelle: “You know, I could have sworn that picture was from Vertigo.”
Brandie: “Vertigo was Jimmy Stewart. This is Cary Grant.”
Michelle: “No, it’s not.”
Brandie [staring at picture just to make sure]: “Yeah … that’s Cary Grant.”
Michelle: “No, it’s not.”
Brandie [disbelieving]: “I promise you, it’s Cary Grant!”
[Michelle takes off her glasses, puts her nose an inch from the computer monitor, and studies the picture. She stands and places her glasses back on her nose.]
Michelle: “Still looks like Jimmy Stewart to me.”
Brandie: *face palm*

Even after reading this entry and seeing pictures of older Cary and older Jimmy side-by-side, Michelle still insisted that Jimmy Stewart is the one running from that plane in the picture in our banner (though at this point, she’s really just saying it to be contrary).

And while she is good-natured enough to allow me a little bit of ribbing at her expense, in her own defense, Michelle would like me to add–

“Tell them that I knew it was Hitchcock, at least!”

My friends are awesomely entertaining.  :)

You shouldn’t keep souvenirs of a killing.

Posted on by under drama, obsession not romance, overrated?

Most critics–most modern critics, that is–rank Vertigo (1958) as Alfred Hitchcock’s directorial masterpiece. Influential movie critic Roger Ebert called the film “one of the two or three best films Hitchcock ever made.” Subsequent directors ranging from Martin Scorsese to Brian DePalma have reported being influenced by the film. And AFI has listed it in the 100 Years … 100 Movies list twice: #61 in the original incarnation of the list in 1997, and #9 in the 10th anniversary edition of the list in 2007. In fact, AFI has quite the love affair with this movie: it also ranks Vertigo as the #1 film in the “Mystery” genre, #18 in the list of best romantic films of all time, #18 in the list of most thrilling movies of all time, and #12 in the list of best film scores of all time for Bernard Herrmann’s peerless musical composition. The movie has also garnered acclaim for its cinematography, particularly for its use of color (the screen is awash in grays, blues, and greens) and the famed staircase shot, as Stewart stares down dizzily while climbing a long, winding flight of stairs.

But Vertigo, for all its accolades, has its flaws, and these prevent the film from becoming a true master work. This is not to say that the film is not good; the performances of James Stewart and Kim Novak are especially pitch-perfect, with Stewart masterfully demonstrating his character’s slow descent into self-damnation at the hands of Novak’s determinedly icy femme fatale. Still, there are some elements that sometimes make watching this film an exercise in discomfort (or, at the very least, confusion).

Stewart plays Scottie Ferguson, a San Francisco police detective whose vertigo led to the death of a fellow police officer during a rooftop chase. Scottie retires from the force soon afterward, but is contacted by a college friend, Gavin Elster (Tom Helmore), who wants Scottie to follow his wife, Madeleine (Novak). Gavin believes his wife has been possessed by the spirit of her great-grandmother, a suicidal young woman named Carlotta Valdes. As Scottie follows Madeleine, he becomes enamored of the young woman, beginning an affair with her, and he is despondent when his vertigo once again keeps him from preventing disaster–this time, Madeleine’s suicide. Scottie, heartbroken and insane with grief, is institutionalized for a brief time. But while walking down the street soon after, he sees a young woman, Judy, who looks just like his dead sweetheart, and Scottie goes about the business of recreating the girl as his supposedly-dead lover, uncovering secrets about her past–and Gavin’s involvement–along the way.

I don’t suppose, for regular viewers of Hitchcock, that it will come as any shock [SPOILER ALERT] that Judy IS Madeleine, and that the entire suicide situation was a plot orchestrated by Gavin, who killed his wife for some undetermined reason and needed to cover up her death somehow.

This film is a boon for psychoanalysts and film theorists; the obsessive themes in this movie alone are numerous enough to populate a book (several books, in fact). Some of these strike uncomfortably close to home, in particular Scottie’s recreation of “Madeleine” in Judy; Hitchcock himself was responsible for taking many a blonde (Grace Kelly, Novak, Janet Leigh, Vera Miles, Tippi Hedren) and crafting her image very carefully into the ice-cold princess with a molten center. Whether unconsciously or not, the film reflects the director’s own obsession with finding and molding the perfect blond archetype (though, just as Scottie does in the end, Hitchcock always lost his blondes–Kelly to Prince Rainier and retirement; Novak and Leigh to other directors and other roles; Miles–who was initially tapped to play Madeleine/Judy in this film–to pregnancy; Hedren to his own reportedly controlling attitude). For those who have an understanding of Hitchcock’s filmography and his preferred actress type, watching Vertigo can be a squirm-inducing experience–just substitute Stewart’s glazed expression at Judy’s final transformation into Madeleine for Hitchcock’s own, and you’ll see what I mean.

And let’s not even get into a discussion of the necrophilic aspects of Scottie’s recreation of “Madeleine” in Judy; I don’t think I have the stamina for it today.

But Scottie is not alone in his obsession, for Judy shares in it. Why else would she allow herself to be made over in a way that is so obviously discomfiting for her?

Judy: If I let you change me, will that do it? If I do what you tell me, will you love me?
Scottie: Yes. Yes.
Judy: All right. All right, then, I’ll do it. I don’t care anymore about me.

Such a healthy relationship forming between these two. And yet Judy welcomes the chance to transform back into “Madeleine,” because it means securing Scottie’s love once more. Hmm … changing oneself to fit someone else’s ideal. If that’s not obsessive (or just plain pathetic), I don’t know what is. At the very least, Judy knowingly enables Scottie’s delusion, and that alone ratchets up the uncomfortable meter from a “7″ to a straight “10.”

Personally, I’m still trying to figure out how this film was ranked #18 in a list of the most romantic movies of all time. Really? How does one figure? Because I don’t see blind obsession as being particularly romantic. Creepy, yes. But romantic? Please.

There are other elements of obsession in the film as well; to a lesser degree, Barbara Bel Geddes, in the thankless role of Midge, flirts with obsessive love as Scottie’s infatuated artist friend, never flagging even in the face of his determined love for Madeleine. And Gavin, obsessed with crafting the perfect crime, makes the monumental mistake of neglecting to tie up loose strings concerning his wife’s murder; he discards mistress Judy once the deed is done, leaving her in San Francisco for Scottie to eventually find (though American film audiences did not see Gavin punished for his crime, British audiences did, sort of; film censors there required a coda added to the end of the film in which Scottie and Midge discover that the authorities are searching for Gavin in Europe).

The brilliance of Hitchcock is that the central themes of the main story reverberate in even the quietest moments. There are tendrils of obsession touching every aspect of this film–it’s quite unsettling, when you sit down to think about it. Ultimately, Hitchcock takes viewers on a journey not just through Scottie’s psyche, but through their own. Watching Scottie’s behavior, witnessing the story unfold, we find ourselves growing somewhat obsessed, too, trying to figure out the complicated goings-on up on the screen. When Judy reveals the truth, well before the ending of the film, we become complicit in her guilt–we know something Scottie doesn’t know, and we must wait to see if he discovers it, too. As in Rear Window, the audience becomes part of the film; the lens of the camera is turned on us, implicating us in the mystery and involving us in its denouement. Weird, and yet strangely fascinating, right? No one could involve viewers in a film quite like Hitchcock could.

Still, the complexities of the story, the almost snail-like pace of the plot (at least in the first half of the film), and the sense of incompletion with which viewers are left at the end of the film (after all that, Scottie has to watch her die AGAIN?) contribute, in my opinion, to an overall unsatisfactory viewing experience. Simply put, it’s just not one of my personal favorites. Unlike other Hitch classics, this is not one of the films I return to again and again. I firmly believe Vertigo pales in comparison to other films in Hitchcock’s repertoire such as Psycho, Rear Window, North by Northwest, and Shadow of a Doubt (the latter of which, I would argue, is Hitchcock’s true masterpiece … but that will wait for a future post).

But it’s hard to deny the impact this movie has had on modern cinema. Along with Psycho, Vertigo helped introduce a more analytical, psychological approach to filmmaking, emphasizing story elements and the development of character behavior over flash and verve. While Psycho handles this combination in a much more electrifying and ultimately satisfying way, Vertigo nonetheless indulges in an interesting study of emotional fixation that still has the potential to shock and surprise more than fifty years (and countless viewings) later.

This post is part of an ongoing countdown of Hitchcock’s twenty greatest films. Vertigo comes in at number seven on that list. For other entries, check out our category devoted to “Hitch.”

SUtS: Katharine Hepburn

Posted on by under 5-star films, best.films.ever., brandie's faves, carrie's faves, classic pairings, hahas, magnificent musicals, screwball legends, summer under the stars

Brandie’s choice: Bringing Up Baby (1938)

Airing at 12:00AM EST

There are a handful of movies I would personally label the funniest films of all time, and Bringing Up Baby would be near the top of that list. In fact, when I endeavor to introduce someone to the world of classic film, this is one of the first films I recommend viewing. It just sucks you in–in the very best way. And screwball comedy–of which this movie is one of the supremest examples–is always a great way to introduce a reluctant party into the world of classic cinema because … well, who doesn’t love to laugh?

Baby stars Katharine Hepburn as a dizzy heiress, Susan Vance, who falls head over heels in love with a hapless paleontologist, David Huxley (a sexily disheveled and bewildered Cary Grant). Through her machinations, David loses a very valuable bone–the “intercostal clavicle”–that belongs to the skeleton of a brontosaurus. Susan also inadvertently jeopardizes David’s attempts to secure a million dollars’ worth of funding for his museum. And to add to the craziness, Susan has recently received a rather intimidating gift–a large leopard named Baby–which she plans to take to her family’s farm in Connecticut, of all places. Add in a nosy aunt, a bumbling big-game hunter, a concerned psychiatrist, and an idiotic constable, and you can imagine the chaos that ensues.

Considering how hilarious and utterly charming this film is, it’s amazing to think today that this movie was once considered a notorious flop, even contributing to star Katharine Hepburn’s assignation as “box office poison” in the late 1930s. Hell, it’s difficult to think of a time when Kate Hepburn wasn’t considered a monumental success and a pinnacle of movie stardom. Her legendary career came complete with four Academy Awards for Best Actress–a feat unmatched by any other actress (or actor!) in the history of film–and a litany of iconic film roles opposite some of the biggest names to ever grace the screen. But once this film was completed, Hepburn, in the midst of a string of unsuccessful films, chose to buy out her RKO contract to avoid being cast in the low-budget drama Mother Carey’s Chickens (which had been assigned to Hepburn as a sort of studio punishment because of her poor box-office performance). She would spend the next two years on the stage until her triumphant return to the screen in 1940′s wildly popular The Philadelphia Story (also co-starring Grant; see Carrie’s rec below).

Hepburn and Grant made a total of four films together; in addition to Baby and Philadelphia, these included the delightful Holiday (1938) and the cross-dressing romantic comedy Sylvia Scarlett (1935). In each of their pairings, Hepburn and Grant are a wonder to behold–not only do they play off of one another very well, but their on-screen interactions demonstrate a true camaraderie and mutual respect that only heightens the chemistry between them.

And that chemistry was never more sparkling than it was in Baby. Grant, whose career began in vaudeville, takes a page from acrobatic silent screen legend Buster Keaton and throws his body around without reservation, all in pursuit of a laugh. And Hepburn is right there with him, shattering the normally reserved persona she had crafted in previous films and demonstrating a comedic timing that had heretofore only been hinted at in her career. Each brings out the best in the other, and neither was ever really able to capture that same effortless, effervescent magic with another co-star (though Hepburn came close with some of her later screen partnerships with Spencer Tracy, particularly 1949′s Adam’s Rib).

The film is not all about Hepburn and Grant, however; there are some great supporting performances, too. Charlie Ruggles is delightful as the befuddled Major Horace Applegate, who can’t understand why he’s hearing leopard calls in the middle of Connecticut. Walter Catlett, who plays the overzealous constable, Slocum, and May Robson, who plays Susan’s Aunt Elizabeth, are both sharply funny. And classic film fans might recognize the little terrier playing George, the dog who steals David’s bone: the same dog, Skippy, also played Asta in the Thin Man movies and almost stole the show in 1937′s The Awful Truth (also co-starring Grant).

It’s not hyperbole to say that Bringing Up Baby is one of the BEST DAMN FILMS ever made. If you have never had the opportunity to see this movie, this is your chance. You won’t stop laughing until the final credits roll.

Carrie’s choice: The Philadelphia Story (1940)

Airing at 2:00AM EST

I’m so excited- it’s Katharine Hepburn Day!!!!  Katharine Hepburn is one of my biggest heroines. She’s amazing, and I flat out adore her. The spunk. The attitude. The coolness. Her well-honed sneer and smooth sarcasm served her well in Hollywood, and especially in The Philadelphia Story.

I love this movie, and oddly, I love the remake High Society. It took me a while to decide which I preferred, and I’d like to take you through my debate very quickly. Actual debate took a number of years.

The Philadelphia Story has Katharine Hepburn playing a snide, wealthy young woman whose father has been discovered in a scandalous affair. To save face, her wedding (second marriage) is now open to the press, in particular a sleazy operation–with pictures. To make matters worse, her ex-husband is hanging around, “not” sabotaging the wedding. Father  believes he has done nothing wrong-no remorse–and Tracy (KH) wants to torture them all. Yes, cast KH, because, let’s face it, no one knows how to emotionally destroy with pitch-perfect style and class quite like her.  For this reason, she’s an awesome Tracy. Add to this that she’s starring …

… between Cary Grant and James Stewart, and the  most casual reader of this blog needs no further comments on the matter.

High Society: Bing Crosby, Grace Kelly, Frank Sinatra

Later, High Society does well, but Tracy, played by Grace Kelly (also talented and lovely, no argument) is not quite as, say, conniving and snarky as KH. Tracy is a little softer in this version, which has the added musical charms of Bing Crosby (Dexter, the ex), Frank Sinatra (Mike, the reporter) and Louis Armstrong (as himself, added to the plot because, let’s face it–he’s Louis Armstrong, and why not?) Because that trio is a trio I also adore, points to High Society. I also prefer the little sister (two different names in the different movies–go figure) in High Society. She’s just hilarious, and possibly a bit of a stronger character.

Yet, my winner is still The Philadelphia Story.  Don’t get me wrong–I’ll watch High Society any time I see that it’s on, and I own it. It’s great, but there is one essential element (other than the obvious–KH) that makes The Philadelphia Story work for me more than High Society.  That is a detail in the plot.

In the end (I guess a spoiler …), Tracy apologizes for her behavior and basically accepts a human fallibility. In High Society, she does this to her father, and while forgiving him and thus having a release would be acceptable, she actually capitulates and admits that she really is at fault and shouldn’t be angry that he humiliated the family by publicly cheating on Mother, even though he has never asked for forgiveness or admitted any wrong-doing. This bothers me. A lot. It always did bother me, but I pushed it aside.

Then I paid due attention to The Philadelphia Story. In this film, Tracy makes her admission to Dexter, who has actually done good things for her, and possibly was judged unfairly. He actually is there for Tracy and has some redeeming qualities, despite his imperfections.

Now, we can play philosophy a little here, for those who have seen these films. Part of the theme is loving someone unconditionally, even if unworthy. That’s great. Perhaps Tracy apologizing to her father was to solidify that, showing Tracy’s growth. She made a mistake and is still lovable, and so it’s a two-way street–Dad is lovable, too. Now, I’m great with forgiveness–it’s healthy. But they still went a little far. Tracy falls only short of condoning his behavior; she blames herself for how she felt about it and that actually seeing a problem with his long-term cheating is wrong, all the while actually taking responsibility for her single indiscretion. It does tie their parallels together, but not in any kind of realistic, human, very believable, or particularly healthy way (IMHO).

So, with her apology to Dexter, who actually is redeemed throughout the movie and who actually does show her unconditional love (which her father fails to do), I have to give the best of the two to The Philadelphia Story.

That said, definitely watch both. They’re fabulous.  And without question, make time for The Philadelphia Story. The lines are fabulous. The acting is fabulous. It’s a real winner and is Katharine Hepburn in a role written with her in mind–it simply can’t miss!