Author: Film and Musicals Geek

Bette’s particularly thrilling in 1950’s All About Eve, portraying the middle age star Margo Channing, whose position is usurped by Anne Baxter’s Eve Harrington. The characters are written to perfection, it’s a well observed, behind the scenes piece. This film’s told in flashback and opens with a voiceover by George Sanders’ Addison DeWitt. I know I’m in for a treat when Eve begins her thank-you speech for the Sarah Siddons award she’s received.

In turn the camera cuts to Margo, Gary Merrill’s Bill Simpson, Hugh Marlowe’s Lloyd Richards, and Celeste Holm’s Karen Richards. Their facial expressions are priceless, all looking less than impressed. Immediately we’re hooked and wonder what Eve did to evoke such reactions. Bette delivers iconic lines in her trademark cutting style such as “Fasten your seatbelts, it’s going to be a bumpy night” and  “We’re all busy little bees, full of stings, making honey day and night, aren’t we honey?”

Bette’s deliciously mean as the title role in 1962’s gothic Whatever Happened To Baby Jane, alongside Joan Crawford playing her sister Blanche. It’s a larger than life performance. She wasn’t afraid of making physical transformations to reflect a character as written. Most actresses of that era wanted to appear glamorous at all times, and wouldn’t lend that level of authenticity to their roles.

A tremendous presence and alluring feline features describe Vivien Leigh perfectly. Born on the 5th of November 1913 in colonial India, she was a fine stage and screen English actress. (As a child her mother said the fireworks were in her honour). Vivien’s acting abilities were overshadowed by her breathtaking beauty early on in her career, and marred by manic depression and tuberculosis during her later career.

In England her early education was at a convent school. Her family travelled for a few years so she attended various schools throughout Europe, and became multi-lingual, before returning to England. Vivien enrolled at RADA, but left her studies aged nineteen to marry Leigh Holman with whom she had a daughter Suzanne. Her second husband was Laurence Olivier.

Vivien gave an outstanding performance as faded Southern belle Blanche DuBois in 1951’s A Streetcar Named Desire. She had played the role on the West End stage in 1949. Whilst on holiday in New Orleans I visited the location where Tennessee Williams wrote this play. The film was directed by Elia Kazan and co-starred Marlon Brando, Kim Hunter, and Karl Malden. Vivien earned herself an Academy Award, yet it was a stark contrast to Southern belle Scarlett O’Hara from 1939’s Gone With The Wind, for which she also won an Oscar.

Vivien conveys Blanche’s fragile, vulnerable yet excitable nature perfectly, and the steamy setting of busy New Orleans adds much to the atmosphere. Blanche’s suitcase of precious possessions reflect a deluded woman clinging to the past, at odds with the reality of her situation and the modern world. Her body language displays a constant struggle to maintain the facade of respectability.

Although I think Vivien was too young for the part, I always find her so believable and entrancing. Especially during the heartbreaking later scenes when Blanche has a complete breakdown after being raped by Stanley. She said this particular character took it’s toll on her mental health, which proves how seriously she took this work. Perhaps identifying too closely with the character’s emotional instability, loss of youth and beauty, nymphomaniac tendencies, and desire for refinement.

I’m also fond of the 1940 drama Waterloo Bridge in which Vivien played Myra Lester, a ballerina who falls in love with captain Roy Cronin during World War One, turns to prostitution to survive, and ultimately commits suicide. Apparently this was her favourite film role. She relishes the opportunity to progress from a naive young woman, who matures by finding love, then becomes disillusioned as her world dissolves around her.

The couple meet on Waterloo bridge during an air raid and feel an instant attraction. Myra invites him to that evening’s performance. Their assignations are thwarted by wartime obligations and the strict ballet mistress, which prevents them from marrying immediately. In his absence, Roy entrusts Myra to the care of his family. Myra’s desire for a life outside ballet means she’s fired along with her dancer friend Kitty who defends her. Work is scarce, and when Myra receives misinformation of Roy’s death she loses hope and becomes sick. Kitty becomes a prostitute to support them, and Myra decides to join her on the streets.

While plying her trade at Waterloo station, a shocked Myra sees Roy who’s home on leave. He wonders how she knew to expect him and there’s a short lived chance of rectifying the situation. They visit the family pile in Scotland where Myra’s sense of betrayal mounts. Guilt prevents her from telling Roy how she’s been living. He’d put her on a pedestal and she now feels unworthy, so runs away to London. Roy searches for Myra with Kitty’s help but she’s determined not to be found. The film comes full circle when Myra at her lowest point commits suicide on Waterloo bridge, the same place where her happiness began.

Who composed this sublime score inspired by distinctly Latin rhythms? I subsequently found out it was the genius songwriting duo of John Kander and Fred Ebb. They have this amazing ability to create music which evokes a place or era perfectly. After previewing in Toronto it opened at the Shaftesbury theatre in the West End, before moving to the Broadhurst theatre on Broadway. It won an Olivier, and seven Tony awards in 1993.

Based on the 1976 novel by Argentinian author Manuel Puig, with book by Terrence McNally, it’s an interesting choice of subject matter for a musical. Set in an un-named South American dictatorship, it centres around Molina played by Brent Carver, who’s a gay window dresser in prison for corrupting a minor, and Valentin played by Anthony Crivello, who’s a Marxist revolutionary. Molina’s salvation is losing himself in a fantasy world of opulent B-movies starring the glamorous and beautiful movie star Aurora. He loves every role she’s played apart from the terrifying Spider Woman whose kiss is deadly to men.

Molina becomes sick after eating poisonous food intended for Valentin. He’s taken to hospital and given morphine which induces various hallucinations involving dancing orderlies, his mother, and the ominous Spider Woman. Upon his return Valentin also consumes poisoned food, once again Molina takes care of him so he doesn’t have to be admitted to hospital. Valentin now finds comfort in hearing Molina talk about his movies. We also realise how close Molina and his mother are, and the strength of Valentin’s political convictions.

Later Molina’s told he’s being released and Valentin urges him to make phone calls to his comrades. Molina doesn’t want his freedom jeopardised, so Valentin uses sex to change his mind. Although their sexual relationship is more complicated than it appears because Molina perceives himself as (or has a desire to be) a woman. The Spider Woman appears on her giant web, enthralled by the prospect of claiming another victim.

On the warden’s instructions Molina is followed, then caught and tortured to give names, but vehemently refuses to betray Valentin. Molina’s shot and becomes the star of his own movie heaven, being granted an audience with his family and friends. It ends with the guest of honour, the Spider Woman, bestowing her kiss of death upon him.

With a classy name to match the elegance of her dancing, this post considers one of the most dynamic female dancers to appear on film.

There’s some debate as to whether Cyd’s year of birth was 1921 or 1922, but she took ballet lessons from the age of six and worked with the Ballet Russe in her teens. One of her earliest sizeable roles was in 1946’s The Harvey Girls, where her sweet innocence hardly hinted at her true capabilities. Cyd really came to prominence after her turn as a gangster’s moll in 1952’s Singing In The Rain. Although extremely attractive, hers was a face like a blank canvas upon which various striking “looks” could be painted.

Eugene Loring and Hermes Pan choreographed the 1957 film Silk Stockings which was Cyd’s final major musical. She had an effortless style of dancing, and an uncanny ability to tell a story through graceful precise movements. In the title solo, set to Cole Porter’s magnificent music, her character Ninotchka Yoschenko learns to enjoy the pleasure of being aesthetically beautiful.

Firstly upturning the photograph of her Communist leader before tentatively embarking on this journey towards capitalism. Eyes downcast, clearly torn between Soviet life and the future possibilities offered by western Paris. We see her gently fingering and admiring the silk stockings that she’d hidden beneath a seat cushion. They’re the antithesis of her drab green dress and black tights and shoes. She’s completely transfixed by this delicate item, it’s an incredibly sensual sequence.

We sense she’s decided to take a risk and embrace change. The longing way she caresses the dazzling shoes, daydreaming about the luxurious lifestyle they represent. Her feeling of glee is obvious as she glimpses her stockinged leg in a full length mirror. And when she confidently emerges wearing both stockings, we know she’s ready for decadent experiences.

Cyd’s expressive limbs continue to glide across the furniture and floor, trying on various garments, searching for the ideal. Changing into pretty clothes behind a net curtain is indicative of her hitherto repressed existence. It’s filmed as a highly erotic close up of her legs. The unveiling reminds me of an ugly duckling style transformation. Her initial embarrassment is replaced by an acceptance that she looks stunning, which is enhanced by adding jewellery and perfume.

Ninotchka, now fully dressed, saunters like a cat feeling pleased with itself and knows she deserves happiness for its own sake. By the end of the number we’re presented with a dramatically altered woman! Cyd was a wonderful dancer who contributed so much to dance in film. The phrase poetry in motion describes her dancing perfectly. I feel her absolute brilliance doesn’t get praised as much as it should.

I’ve chosen film for my first post. In my opinion Alfred Hitchcock’s 1958 psychological masterpiece Vertigo is THE greatest film! I’ve held this view since before it knocked Citizen Kane off the top spot of BFIs “50 Greatest Films Of All Time”. I must have seen it over a hundred times. This is partly what inspired me to visit San Francisco and experience many of the locations first hand. Such as Old Ford Point, the Mission district, and Coit Tower. These distinctive landmarks are such an integral part of the film. I was struck by how little they’d changed all these years later.

It’s such a treat to watch Vertigo in the cinema because I allow myself to spend two immensely enjoyable hours in another world. With each viewing I never tire of discovering something new and intriguing. There are so many metaphors relating to falling and losing control. It might be a motif, shot, prop, or section of dialogue that enriches the plot, or suggests something I’d never contemplated.

Vertigo’s overarching theme concerns the obsessive dark nature of humanity which I believe we can all identify with to some extent. The timeless San Francisco locations add another level of melancholy to the proceedings. Each scene being carefully planned and executed to build the sense of mystery and foreboding that drives the film. This is further enhanced by Bernard Herrmann’s evocative haunting score.

The memorable portrayal of the central characters John “Scottie” Ferguson and Madeleine Elster/Judy Barton, is testament to the top notch direction, and James Stewart and Kim Novak’s outstanding acting abilities. Look out for Hitchcock’s trademark cameo appearance outside the shipyard, just before Scottie’s meeting with Gavin.

Essentially the film can be divided into two parts; before and after Madeleine’s death. The first part carefully lays the foundation for the more complex second part. It begins with an experience that causes Scottie to learn he suffers from Vertigo. He discusses the implications of his condition with his university friend and ex-fiancee Midge. Next his university contemporary Gavin Elster asks Scottie to trail his wife Madeleine due to her increasingly disturbed behaviour, which stems from the suicide of her ancestor Carlotta Valdes. So Scottie begins following the enigmatic Madeleine.

First to the florist’s, the Mission Delores graveyard containing Carlotta’s grave, the Palace Of The Legion Of Honour art gallery displaying Carlotta’s portrait, and lastly to the McKittrick hotel after which the trail goes cold. This section contains music and very little dialogue, which allows us to engage more fully with Scottie’s character. It also includes us in this voyeuristic activity. The two finally meet after he saves her from drowning and their relationship deepens into love, but his Vertigo means he’s unable to save her when she falls from a tower.

Near the start of the second part, a devastated Scottie suffers a mental breakdown. He’s unable to live without this ethereal beautiful (yet unknown to him) manufactured woman. Upon his recovery one year later the San Francisco setting now appears slightly seedy and grim, reflecting his fragile emotional state. The obsessive tendencies he had are exacerbated and spiral out of control. He’s become obsessed with the past!

Scottie visits their old haunts and desperately wanders the streets, until he sees Judy who reminds him of Madeleine. He follows her to her hotel, tells her his story, and engages her sympathy to the point that she agrees to have dinner with him. The twist is revealed via flashback before the film’s conclusion so the audience aren’t kept guessing. Instead we redirect our perspective, and engage our imagination to consider how this scenario might play out.

I’m always fascinated by Scottie’s transformation of Judy into Madeleine, it’s undertaken voraciously and he’s never satisfied. He’s unable to arouse passion for her until she looks identical to Madeleine. The fact Judy kept Madeleine’s grey suit and necklace implies her belief that this character was real, and she wasn’t merely playing a part. This pairing of these two lost souls works because they’re trying to recapture a lost fantasy. Like most fantasies it can’t possibly live up to reality.

I love the sumptuous colour throughout this film; especially the deep reds, blues, and greens in the scenes in Ernie’s restaurant. Red signifies passion and death; a strong indicator of what’s to come. Green suggests rebirth, a precious and rare quality, but also envy and features heavily in the costumes and props of Madeleine and Judy.

When Scottie first lays eyes on Madeleine she’s wearing a shiny green wrap. Her car is green. Judy’s wearing an aqua green dress and holding a matching cardigan when Scottie first sees her. She wears a green pencil skirt when they go walking along the river, and a green flared skirt when Scottie takes her shopping. At night green neon light reflects on Judy from outside her Empire hotel room window in a profile shot. The same light surrounds Judy when she emerges reincarnated as Madeleine, injecting the scene with a supernatural quality.

On two occasions Scottie loses the woman he loves in similar circumstances, but both women were illusions. I always find it unsatisfactory that the husband Gavin Elster gets away with murder, not to mention his betrayal of a friend. Whereas the woman who is made over twice by men, losing her identity in the process, is fatally punished.