Tag Archives: kim novak

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.

Code breakers.

Posted on by under hays code, tcm spotlight

This evening, TCM is featuring three films labeled “code breakers,” movies whose provocative, mature themes and scripts contributed to the breakdown of the Production Code Administration’s influence in Hollywood.

I’ve made my feelings about the Production Code clear in the past; censorship may seem to be a necessary evil to some, but in my eyes, deliberately stifling the creative spirit over the moral qualms of a few is tantamount to impeding (and sometimes, outright destroying) art. Still, it’s interesting to look back at Code-era films and see the deft ways in which filmmakers subtly (or in the case of tonight’s lineup, not so subtly) challenged the moral strictures of the Code, whether through innuendo, camera tricks, or other means.

The lineup tonight features three films from the 1950s, the decade in which the first really substantial challenges to the Code emerged.

First up is The Moon is Blue (airing at 8PM EST), released in 1953 and starring William Holden and David Niven as a couple of Lotharios determined to rid Maggie McNamara of her pesky virginity. Director Otto Preminger had a fight on his hands with the Production Code office from the very beginning–the movie was based on a controversial play of the same name by F. Hugh Herbert, and Joseph Breen, the head of the Code office, objected to the racy material and the use of terms such as “virgin” and “mistress” in the script.

Preminger made the movie anyway, and when it was denied a seal of approval from the PCA, the studio behind the movie, United Artists, used the controversy as a selling point for the film. And it worked: The Moon is Blue was a smash hit.

Though this was the first time a studio had ever dared to release a film without PCA’s seal of approval, it would hardly be the last. The next film in tonight’s lineup, 1955′s The Man with the Golden Arm (airing at 10PM EST), also directed by Preminger, faced some of the same difficulties with Breen’s office based on the source material.

The film stars Frank Sinatra as heroin addict Frankie Machine, with Eleanor Parker as his crippled wife, Zosh, and Kim Novak as his disapproving girlfriend, Molly. It is based on the notorious 1949 bestselling novel of the same title, written by Nelson Algren. As the book (and, subsequently, the film’s script) deals with the effects of drug abuse and addiction in a gritty, somewhat realistic manner, the PCA was not exactly eager to grant the film its seal of approval. Once again, Preminger made the film he wanted to make, and as with The Moon is Blue, United Artists released the picture without the Code seal. And, as before, the film was a great success despite this lack of approval.

Also in 1956, director Elia Kazan adapted a screenplay by Tennessee Williams (based on his one-act play 27 Wagons Full of Cotton) into a black comedy named Baby Doll (airing at 12:15AM EST). Starring Karl Malden as Archie Meighan, the ineffectual, sexually frustrated husband of child bride Carroll Baker (the titular Baby Doll), the movie flirts with the themes of pedophilia, adultery, and sexual deviance.

And yet, surprisingly, the film was awarded a PCA seal of approval. Don’t ask me how; maybe Breen was off that day. Despite this, though, the film reaped its share of controversy when the Catholic Legion of Decency (one of the driving forces behind the establishment of the Code in the first place, interestingly enough) condemned the film. Several Catholic leaders even forbade their congregants from seeing it. Because of the Legion’s movement to ban the film, Baby Doll was ultimately the only one of these three films not to turn a profit.

As you will see while (hopefully!) watching tonight’s lineup, in various ways, each of these films contributed to the eventual collapse of the Production Code’s influence in Hollywood. Thanks to directors like Preminger and Kazan, who were willing to challenge the status quo in an effort to put more realistic portrayals on the big screen, cinema today has very few–if any, really–boundaries. And though some arguably take that freedom too far, and the debate between morality and artistic liberty continues, at least we moviegoers have the option to watch more “adult” fare if we so choose.

And isn’t that what it’s all about, truly–the choice to watch whatever floats your particular boat, and to ignore whatever sinks it?

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.”

A lovely day for a Picnic.

Posted on by under 3-star films, ahh romance, brandie's faves, classic disney, from stage to screen, lit adaptations

There is something about Bill Holden.

It’s something that can be hard to define. Sure, he’s a handsome lad, but there were handsomer stars. And yes, he’s a talented actor, but there were those whose talents exceeded his.

He excels in defying expectation on the screen. Holden is, in many respects, the very definition of a multifaceted actor. It’s amazing to me that his name is not nearly as recognizable to modern audiences as those of Cary Grant, Jimmy Stewart, or Henry Fonda. Just look at the list of films he completed in the early 1950s, the heyday of a storied career. He starts out the decade as the jaded boy toy of an aging, forgotten silent film star in Sunset Blvd. (1950); then he’s the hapless straight man to Judy Holliday’s dizzy dame in Born Yesterday (1950); the cynical POW (his Oscar-winning turn) in Stalag 17 (1953); and the charming, roguish playboy heir in Sabrina (1954). And that big-screen persona translated just as easily into the newly-emerging world of television, when Holden allowed Lucille Ball to douse him with pies in a classic Hollywood episode of I Love Lucy (a clip of which I am including below because it’s awesome and I want to).

If I had to put my finger on what it is that’s so damn fascinating about Bill Holden, it’s this: there’s an aura of machismo that seems to cling to every fiber of Holden’s being. This, the universe tells us, is a man’s man. There are several stars who, with every performance, seem to soak the screen in testosterone: John Wayne, Clark Gable, Gary Cooper, Steve McQueen… and to me, William Holden belongs in that hallowed group.

There are, quite likely, some folks who would disagree. Holden’s not rough-hewn like Wayne or barrel-chested like Gable. He lacks Cooper’s silent swagger and McQueen’s utter cool. He’s almost too… well, pretty for this group.

But I would direct those folks to Holden’s electrifying performance in 1955′s Picnic, which in many ways marks a turning point in Holden’s film career.

Holden stars as Hal Carter, a drifter who has come to a small Kansas town to look up his old college roommate, a wealthy young heir named Alan Benson (Cliff Robertson). Before he makes his way across town to see his friend, he stops at the house of the kindly Mrs. Potts (Verna Felton) and offers to do chores in exchange for breakfast. While working, he encounters Mrs. Potts’ next door neighbors and discovers that the oldest daughter, the beautiful Madge Owens (Kim Novak) is dating Alan. Upon reuniting with Alan and securing the promise of a job with Alan’s father, Hal accompanies Alan and the Owens family to the town’s annual Labor Day picnic. Trouble ensues as romantic sparks fly between Hal and Madge, much to the chagrin of Madge’s clingy mother.

When Holden first appears on screen, he’s sweaty, grimy, and looks like danger personified. We quickly learn that there’s a lot more to this beaten-down bum than meets the eye, but who cares about that when he takes his shirt off to do yardwork?

Someone fan me; I think I just swooned a little bit. It’s like two dreams in one: a half-naked Bill Holden, and a man cleaning the yard.

Holden, as Hal, drips with masculinity in the role, deliberately placed in stark contrast to college friend Alan, who seems weaker and more feminine in comparison. But Alan is the wealthy one and, logically, the better catch for a small-town girl like Madge. Okay, sure, Hal’s hot, but why on earth would any self-respecting girl with a social-climbing mother even look twice at a disreputable bum like him?

I have just three words for you: mad dance skills.

No doubt, this is one of the most sensual scenes in film history. It’s lovemaking set to music, with everyone’s clothes intact. Who says real men don’t dance?

In actuality, the storyline, adapted from the 1953 William Inge play of the same name, was changed quite a bit for the screen, and this dance sequence is meant, in theory, to replace the play’s heavy hints that Hal and Madge have sex after driving away together for the night. And by all accounts, it was pure hell for Holden to film; he was not confident in his ability to dance, and though he rehearsed the number repeatedly, the actor still needed a few bolts of whiskey to make it through the scene. Nevertheless, Holden and Novak made beautiful movie magic together.

Holden plays well in the highly-sexualized role of Hal, and in subsequent roles, the actor moved quite easily between romantic leads and dramatic parts until settling into character roles with 1969′s The Wild Bunch, 1974′s The Towering Inferno, and 1976′s Network. But regardless of what he was doing, Holden always smoldered with barely-supressed virility, and that’s why you just can’t take your eyes off the man.

But aside from the charms of Holden, the film is a good one (and a noteworthy one) because of its deft and talented supporting cast. Picnic marks Kim Novak’s first major role, and she more than holds her own among her veteran co-stars. A young Susan Strasberg, daughter of “Method acting” guru Lee Strasberg, plays Madge’s brainy sister, Millie, who holds her own candle for Hal. Rosalind Russell, who plays the desperately lonely schoolteacher, Rosemary, had by this point moved into the second phase of her career, leaving behind ingenue roles and portraying the type of spinter-ish character she would revisit in subsequent films like Auntie Mame (1958) and The Trouble with Angels (1966). Cliff Robertson, who plays Alan, worked steadily in secondary parts throughout his career and had a bit of a career resurgence in the early 2000s as Peter Parker’s Uncle Ben in the Spider-Man film series.

But Verna Felton, who plays Mrs. Potts, is probably the most recognized of her co-stars by today’s audiences–at least vocally. Felton provided the voices for many classic Disney characters, including Mrs. Jumbo in Dumbo (1941), the Fairy Godmother in Cinderella (1950), the Queen of Hearts in 1951′s Alice in Wonderland (one of my favorites!), and the fairy Flora in Sleeping Beauty (1959). Interestingly (if only because of her years-long professional relationship with the Disney company), Felton died only hours before Walt Disney himself, in December 1966.

Amazon has the Picnic DVD for the ridiculously low price of $7.99 right now, but since the DVD is full-screen, why bother (unless you’re just desperate to see it… well, even if you are)? Wait until Picnic comes back on TCM on September 1st at 8PM EST, and catch it then. It’s worth the wait to see the film in all its wide-screen glory.