Big waists, bushy beards and large shoes to fill (Part One)

I love biopics! Ever since cinema came to be, it’s given us stories about real people–some dead, some living, some famous some infamous.  We can now witness famous figures as they had been, could have been, or–in many cases–should have been.  It’s like watching “Real World” except there’s something more extraordinary involved than ab muscles that flex without exertion.

I have come to know movies as “fiction” because no film (you hear me–NONE) should be taken as history.  Movies always take license.  Always.  Some movies contain a morsel of truth; give the illusion of who these people really were.  Sometimes facts are completely tossed aside for fiction–because it just makes for a better film.

Sometimes the facts aren’t scratched and repaved, but maybe smoothed over and adjusted.  Some of my most treasured DVD and bluray bonuses are documentaries that reveal exactly when liberties were taken. Occasionally, it’s pure guesswork.  In Titanic, we saw the captain drown in the bridge even though James Cameron admitted that his fate was never documented.  But when astronomers noted the wrong array of stars Rose gazes upon as she floated in the frozen waters, Cameron inserted a new shot for the re-release. (No Jabba the Hutt, though.) 

I don’t know enough to eye when license is taken, but something tells me that even the most extreme, fragile moments in our history never went to the lengths of their big-screen incantations.  For example, Apollo 13, a film I genuinely love, presented a series of jeopardies befalling our three astronauts during their failed journey to the moon.  Did the astronauts and mission control room ever break into a dramatic diatribe?  Don’t know.  Don’t care.

I doubt Nixon’s last night in the White House carried the same amount of self-reflection and emotional-coherence suggested in Oliver Stone’s 1995 film starring Anthony Hopkins.  There were tears, dimly lit rooms, and monologues prophesizing the President’s yet-to-be-determined historical significance.  It’s brilliant–even if it didn’t happen that way.

I’ve spoken with folks who believe the tag line “based on a true story”.  They walk in, sit in their seats and expect events to mirror exactly as they occurred in history.  That is impossible, of course.  These aren’t the people, this isn’t the time or area in which such events took place.  Films that play with history are entitled to do so–as long as audiences are fully aware that most movies were never meant to replay history, but to entertain, first and foremost.

I always hope films enable me to read and feel like famous figures.  But it’s one giant guessing game.  Even figures who had the good fortune to compose their own thoughts always lie, or keep certain elements private.  It’s impossible to be honest, even with ourselves.  For instance, Charlie Chaplin’s autobiography never penetrated deep into the mind of his craft nor the reasons he always chased younger (and occasionally underaged) women.  When Robert Downey Jr. donned the mustache and top hat in Richard Attenborough’s 1992 film, we were left still puzzled over what made the man tick.

 
Probably the best biopic is Citizen Kane, where Orson Welles presented a fictional figure, but many knew he was actually portraying newspaper mogul, William Randolph Hurst, who tried to have the movie destroyed.  Was Hurst obsessed with Kane because it represented a touchy, unfavorable, truthful portrayal?  Was it slanderous?  Or was it a combination of both?  We never know.  But Kane is brilliant because Welles affords himself liberties.  But offering a film on Charles Foster Kane rather than Hurst, he’s allowed to portray the man however he wants.  And he does so, by never fully fleshing out Kane.  Instead, we learn about him through the eyes of those he knew: his best friend, his business partners, his ex-wife–each with their own perceptions.  In the end, we’re left to make our own choice.  After 20 viewings, I’m still deciding.

In Part 2, I discuss the two big biopics of 2012: The Greatest President and The Greatest Director

Great Movies–Rear Window (1954)

Although Sight and Sound Magazine recently anointed my personal favorite movie, Vertigo as the greatest film of all time, my wife, Lisa, always preferred an earlier Alfred Hitchcock/Jimmy Stewart pairing, Rear Window.  Out of the two choices, it’s the more approachable and epitomizes Hitchcock’s directorial prowess better than any other film. 

Some have proclaimed Rear Window as Hitchcock’s ultimate tribute to both the power and limitations of the movie-going experience.  As mere observers, audiences are at the mercy of the film-makers, unable to change or interfere with anything that transpires within the realms of the story.  We must sit and observe.  In the film photojournalist L.B. “Jeff” Jeffries (Jimmy Stewart) is incapacitated, bound to a wheel chair, nursing a broken leg, unable to physically avert the course of the actions he witnesses.  Even when his girlfriend (also named Lisa) falls into jeopardy, he is powerless to stop it.

Hitchcock capitalizes by adhering to a disciplined approach: The entire film occurs within Jeff’s tiny apartment.  We never leave his side.  When he observes the square enclosure of his surrounding neighborhood apartment buildings, the camera almost never strays from what Jeff witnesses.  If there’s ever a closeup, it’s only because Jeff is glancing through a camera or binoculars. 

Hitchcock only breaks the illusion twice.  Early in the film, as Jeff sleeps, we’re presented one piece of visual information.  I’m not entirely sure why Hitchcock chose to reveal this except to add a shred of doubt to Jeff’s theories: Maybe he’s wrong about the murder.  The other is the only camera shot that’s taken from outside Jeff’s apartment: when the villain finally notices Jeff’s surveillance–and stares right back.  Suddenly, the voyeur is now prey to the same device.   

Hitchcock frames the shots of Jeff’s neighborhood based on his point-of-view.  The camera perfectly displays information crucial to the core of the suspense.  For instance, there’s a moment when the supposed killer returns home while Lisa searches his apartment for incriminating evidence.  Again, Hitchcock never places the camera inside the assumed killer’s apartment.  We’re right along side Jeff.  We can see both actions simultaneously through separate windows: Lisa surveying the apartment and the suspect killer approaching the apartment door.   The tension builds because neither party is aware of the other.  As the killer gets closer to the door, Jeff and the audience are experiencing the exact same response and are incapable of doing anything to prevent it. 

The singular plot gimmick alone makes Rear Window a brilliant thriller, but the story stretches even further.  There’s also the subplot about Jeff’s waning relationship with the beautiful, high-society fashion consultant Lisa (Grace Kelly).  Rear Window’s screenplay by John Michael Hayes, based on a short story by Cornell Woolrich, really strikes cords on the universal fears as well the keen contrasts between the sexes.  Lisa is rich and wants Jeff to give up his international photography escapades in order to strengthen their relationship.  Jeff foresees issues–smugly denouncing the very idea of marriage–believing he and Lisa’s mismatched lifestyles will inevitably doom their love: a series of romantic interruptions and frustrations that strike true even after 60 years!

Before the murder plot initiates, Lisa arrives with a gourmet dinner prepared to celebrate Jeff’s last week of a recovery.  With every extravagance Lisa gives him, the further she pushes Jeff away.  The conversation erodes into the time-old argument between men and women when neither is fully able to understand the other.  She asks Jeff, “You don’t think either one of us can even change?”  He says ‘no’.  She storms out.  That same evening, Jeff hears the harsh cry of a woman screaming and suspects fowl play.  Lisa soon returns and assists Jeff, endangering her own life in order to solve the mystery–and possibly prove her tenacity and independent spirit to Jeff.  As the story carries on, Lisa soon manages to prove her worth as the adventurous, tenacious woman he always wanted her to be.  The subplot never distracts from the main story.  But Hitchcock continuously instills subtle hints over the Jeff’s growing affection has as Lisa faces increasingly dangerous moments.  Also, it begs the question: Would Lisa have put herself into such circumstances if she had nothing to prove?

That also poses questions for Jeff.  Is he really concerned about whether a woman is murdered?  Is he subconsciously hoping there is a murder in order to maintain his adventure-seeking even within his humble dwelling?  Or maybe it was validation for his voyeurism.  When Jeff finally confirms that a murder did occur, we somehow feel relieved, don’t we? 

There’s also Lisa’s famous first moments, which remain some of the most iconic and alluring series of frames in the history of cinema.  Jeff wakes from a nap and sees only Lisa’s beautiful face.  Hitchcock shoots her up close as she stares luminously back at him.  His eyes widen, she leans forward and kisses him.  Hitchcock uses a surreal mix of slow motion to emphasize the effect.  He allows the audience to fall in love, to fall under her spell, before she even utters a word.  In just a few brief moments, Hitchcock cements the character and her relationship with Jeff. 

Grace Kelly made three films with Hitchcock before retiring from acting to become the Princess of Monaco, where she remained until her premature death in 1982.  In Rear Window, she gives Lisa a strong-willed edge.  She’s willing to please Jeff by going along with his murder theory without compromising her own individualism.  

The trademark blondes of Hitchcock’s films tend to be women who inevitably cater to the demands of their men.  In the latter film, Vertigo, Kim Novak changes her very identity in order for her man to fully reciprocate her love–at least creating the illusion of mutual affection.  Lisa isn’t as constricted, but is just as eager to appease Jeff.  In the final moments, there’s one last trademark Hitchcock joke that tells us Lisa has limits to her accommodations, even for the man she loves. Who says Hitchcock didn’t appreciate women’s lib?

Hitchcock started directing during the waning years of the silent era, yet always managed to make films that favored basic visual elements to tell a story.  The surrounding apartments have a bevy of characters: the flirty ballerina dancer, Ms. “Lonelyheart”, the struggling piano musician, the finicky elderly woman, the newly-wed couple where the groom resurfaced through the window sill only to be pried away once again by his uber-affectionate bride.  Hitchcock creates a sense of place before any nefarious activities ensue.  He even allows Lisa and Jeff to play out their drama long enough so we’ve established character and setting.  Like Alien and many of the best thrillers to follow, Hitchcock’s patience merits grander rewards and suspense. 

Inevitably, it’s Hitchcock’s reservation that works so well for Rear Window.  Aside from the opening and closing credits, all of the music is ambiance from Jeff’s apartments, where the piano player infuses a haunting quality to some of the most intense moments.  There’s also the final showdown in which Jeff is alone and helpless, who, like the audience, are prey to wills of a murderer–and the Master of Suspense, Alfred Hitchcock.

Countdown to Prometheus Part 1: "Alien"

“In space, no one can hear you scream…”

Recently, a close friend of mine had just watched Alien for the very first time in order to build anticipation for next’s month’s Prometheus.  He confessed that, although he enjoyed it, the film did not scare the crap out of him.  He was aware that a disgusting creature would erupt out of John Hurt’s chest well before he popped in the DVD.
  

Alien‘s success has become a double-edged sword: Its popularity has diluted its impact.  The film is now so deeply embedded in the cultural spectrum that it no longer carries the same surprise element that sent movie-goers into shock convulsions during its debut in 1979.  Many copycat horror films have followed (monster discovered, runs ramped, wipes out a bevy of people, and is finally destroyed by a lone survivor before the credits roll) hoping to repeat its success.  The monster-loose-on-a-spaceship soon became cliche’ as masked killers with knives.  Even the film’s most famous sequence–the “birth”–has been parodied and referenced in almost every conceivable medium.  Unless you are blind, deaf or an alien yourself, you know this sequence.   

Despite the now-predictable grandiose entrance of the antagonist, Alien remains a classic above almost all films in the genre.  Originally conceived as a cheap B-movie, Roger Corman knockoff, Alien was given the red carpet treatment after an earlier sci-fi epic, Star Wars, soared past box office records.  However, the director, Ridley Scott, borrowed more ingredients from 2001: his outer space is desolate, slow, lonely, and frightening.  Even the ship’s central computer, MU-TH-ER, hearkens back to HAL.

Scott took an already familiar monster-movie premise and invigorated it with a new sense of realism, seriousness and dread.  Also, very few horror features–then or now–contain the same consideration for the human cast or the build-up between attack sequences. 

Let’s consider the film’s opening–which wouldn’t pass with today’s studios lack of faith in audience attention spans.  Alien doesn’t start with a bang, but with a subtle hum.  A huge space carrier is shown trans-versing the bleakness space.  Jerry Goldsmith’s eerie credit music is suggestive enough to reveal that this will be a horror movie.

The camera creeps slowly around ship’s foreboding passages, establishing the vastness of its interior and establishes many possibilities where the not-yet-introduced villain could hide.  With a whisper, the ship’s hyper sleep chamber opens and the seven members of the crew begin to wake up, after months of slumber during their return voyage.  When Kain (John Hurt) slowly rises, it’s subtlety communal, almost symbolic when you consider his ultimate fate. 

In a standard Hollywood film, each of the seven characters would be presented in series of closeups and brief dialog that touches on their histories.  Scott wastes no time on that.  The crew is introduced eating breakfast in a series of long-shots having a mundane conversation on the imbalance in pay distribution.  Even in outer space, class warfare exists. These folks aren’t glorified heroes–they’re grunt workers, eager to get home and take some R&R. 

Before the payment debate is settled, MU-TH-ER reveals that the ship hasn’t returned to earth, but was diverted to investigate an alien transmission from an uninhabited planet.  When the crew investigates, they unknowingly carry an intruder–gestating inside Kain’s chest.
 

Alien has one of the finest ensembles in a genre that typically limits the characters as fodder for the monster.  Although the film doesn’t establish individual story arch or backgrounds, Scott allows the brief interactions between the characters to invoke remarkable realism and intrigue.  In one scene, Ripley (Sigourney Weaver) makes promises to the technical grunts (Yaphet Kott and Harry Dean Stanton) that they will earn a share of the bonus, much to their doubt and bemusement.  The moment she’s out of earshot, they talk shit.  When the alien appears and begins taking out crew members, they sure as hell listen to Ripley.

The seven castmates should be familiar to today’s audiences: Ian Holm, as the cryptic medical officer, Tom Skerritt, as the laid-back commander, Hurt as Kain, Kotto and Stanton (recently scene-stealing the “Avengers” by warning Bruce Banner of his “serious condition”) as the ship’s disgruntled tech crew.

If Weaver was not the poster child for the Alien franchise, most first-time viewers would not easily guess that she would become the ultimate “hero”.  Weaver’s presents Ripley as a thorn in the side of her crew, arguing for following quarantine rules rather than allowing the unconscious Kain (possessing the alien fetus) into the ship.  If the other crew members listened, they would be alive–and there would be no franchise. 

Although the actual alien doesn’t make an “appearance” until the film’s mid-way point, the anticipation and suspense builds.  Scott leisurely hints at the characters’ worries without having them explain themselves.  When the space ship first arrives on the planet, the crew are making plans to walk on foot and explore the planet.  However, Lambert (Veronica Cartwright) is shown in a close-up sitting and smoking a cigarette while in deep thought.  What is she thinking?  Most directors would concentrate the camera on their conversation between the characters talking, but Scott constantly cuts back to Lambert, suggesting her inhibitions–suspecting that something bad is going to happen.

When Kain, Dallas and Lambert explore the planet surface, the atmosphere is eerie.  There are no fake scares, just the suggestion that danger lurks.

When the alien finally appears (in the most famous of birth sequences), he quickly vanishes, leaving the surviving crew members look for it.  At one point, Brent wonders alone (we know what happens next).  Although, this scene is the most obvious and cliched, it’s still effective due to the suspense Scott instills.  He again takes his time.

Brent moves further in the bowels of the ship.  The dripping moisture, clinking of chains and the subtle sounds of a racing heartbeat suggest that he’s in danger.  Scott invokes the Hitchcock formula: The audience knows something bad will happen, but the suspense comes from waiting and the build until it actually occurs.     

After the alien dispatches of three crew members, the survivors begin to unravel.  The actors react in realistic behavioral patterns: one wants to flee, another wants revenge, and another a secret motivation entirely.

Alien stands apart from the films that follows the most.  It’s formula has been copied, but never replicated.  No film today would allow a monster movie to invoke as much patience and suggestions of terror without actually showing it.

Scott allowed Alien to build–the suspense boils over at the point when alien finally strikes.  Many elements of fear are effectively invoked, such as the sense of claustrophobia as Dallas hunts the alien through the dark, cramped venting system, or the double jeopardy when Ripley rushes to evacuate the ship before it self-destructs, except the alien is lurking somewhere between her and the escape pod.    

If Alien were made today, the film-makers would forgo the opening credits and ambiance in order to tease a few seconds of Ripley running in terror in the third act.  There would be no faith in the audience’s patience or the capacity of their imagination.

As for the creature itself, it has become as iconic as Dracula or Frankenstein.  The original poster artwork reveals nothing of the alien’s appearance (in any of its incantations), which serves the story better.  Even throughout the course of the film, we never really see the alien, except for quick cuts.  It’s origins, weaknesses and motives are not explored–it’s just a perfect killing machine. Once again referencing Hitchcock, we don’t care about any of this information.  All that matters, is that if it spots you, it will kill you!  Our imagination does the rest.

The Prometheus Factor

Like many, I am eager to see Ridley Scott return to the Alien saga.  I have doubts that the film will compare to the original in terms of imagination and suspense.  There will be many moments that harken back to the original feature.  Of course, the film takes place on the planet where the Alien was discovered in the original film. The cast of this new film features many beautiful actors.  Sigourney Weaver was no dog in Alien but she was still  believable as a space trucker.  Charlize Theron is not so believable.  But this isn’t 1979.

Up next…

“They mostly come out at night…mostly…”

The Perfect Hitchcock

In some ways, I don’t think we need a movie about Alfred Hitchcock, the master of suspense.  There are so many good books and discussions about the man that I already feel like I know him.  Despite his droll, stone-faced exterior, Alfred Hitchcock was inevitably an open-book.  Unlike many of his contemporaries, Hitch spoke freely on how he perceived his career and his films.  His personal life has been studied by countless critics and scholars; his childhood traumas and feelings regarding woman, especially maternal figures, has been dissected to the point that even he would have been surprised by their conclusions.

So, the new film, simply titled Hitchcock, has a lot to prove in order to overrule my initial fear that it will be little more than cable movie-of-the-week.  It does have one hell of a cast.

Casting Anthony Hopkins as Hitchcock seems like a safe bet.  Hopkins is an amazing A-lister whose starring credit might help entice casual audiences to see a biopic on a man who has been dead for over 30 years.  In the photo above, there are some staggering similarities thanks to today’s amazing makeup effects.

Now if I were to cast my ultimate Hitchcock, I would have selected Michael Gambon (Dumbledore in the recent Harry Potters) in the title role.  Gambon matches Hitchcock in both facial features and voice, and he’s an amazing actor in his own right.  However, Hopkins has proven me wrong before.  His starring performance in Oliver Stone’s 1995 film Nixon is as brilliant as his work was in Silence of the Lambs.  He may not have resembled Richard Nixon, but he encompassed the soul of the man–as far as I could tell.

The rest of the cast of Hitchcock are all talented stars, but these choices seem to be based on recognition value more than anything else.  The film is based on Stephen Rebello’s book, The Making of Psycho and naturally calls upon many recognizable supporting roles.  Scarlett Johansson is Janet Leigh, Jessica Biel is Vera Miles, James D’Arcy is Anthony Perkins, and Helen Mirren plays Hitchcock’s wife, Alma. 

I recently finished Rebello’s book, which was insightful, but I cannot wrap my mind around what form the movie version will take.  Hitchcock made Psycho at the height of his popularity.  It was a small gamble for Hitchcock; he used the crew from his television show and bankrolled the project himself.  He forbade critics from viewing the film early and even initiated a strict campaign that prohibited audience admittance after the feature started.  All of these caveats were unheard of in 1960, but this was Hitch’s way of ruining the movie’s secrets.  The gimmick pissed off critics, but lured curious audiences in droves.  The film was a huge smash, proving that Hitchcock could make a “small, B-picture”.

So why make a film about this stage in Hitchcock’s life?

There are some elements to be tackled.  Hitchcock was never the darling of critics until it was too late.  He never received an Oscar; his final nomination was for Psycho.  If I made a film about Hitchcock during this period in his life, I would explore his disappointment in being under-appreciated.  I would also probe deeply into the love of his life and the one critic whose opinion mattered–his wife and confidant (Mirren).

My primary reticence to a movie about Hitchcock is that Hitch is still such an iconic image that no actor, even Hopkins, can replicate the classic silhouette figure.  I may not gain much from Hitchcock when it hits screens next year, but if it can entice younger audiences to watch Psycho, or other classics like Rear Window, Notorious, North By Northwest, then should I really care if Hopkins doesn’t sound pitch perfect when he welcomes audiences with a hearty “Good evening…”

Note:  The Carolina Theatre in Durham will be showing some of Hitch’s finest for two weeks (May 18-31).  If you are in the area, please come out.  The Alfred Hitchcock Retrospective