Film Theory, Film Criticism, Film History and Where I Stand

 

Someone posits the following question: Are you interested in critical film theory?

My first response is what even is “critical film theory?” And I know in academic terms they are probably talking about film theory or film studies and the many strands of thought and analysis that have come out of academia in the post-war years. That’s good and fine but I would say that I am not a steadfast adherent to film theory and I’m hardly a disciple of any singular dogma, but it got me thinking at least a little bit of where I’m coming from and what my influences are.

I’m educated but hardly an academic. If I’m a critic then some would undoubtedly criticize my less than critical style. As far as film history goes, I love it! If I had to choose between any of these three entities I think I would easily take the mantle of a film historian first and foremost, although in that discipline I am an amateur. But I am a passionate amateur, self-made, self-taught and the last half dozen years or so I’ve amassed a great deal of film knowledge cramming so many cinematic facts in my head, it sometimes amazes me that I can remember most of them.

But I love the way that film is both a historical and visual medium. It can act as a time capsule taking us to different eras, places, and worlds. Introducing us to every type of person imaginable involved in every type of story. And the beauty is that even when those stories are not exactly planted in reality, they have a backstory. Actors, directors, the historical backdrop. All that plays into the film no matter the subject matter. It’s that context that fascinates me. So yes, I would probably consider myself a historian.

However, in order to get others to listen, even if it was only a very few, the need to take on the role of a film reviewer and, dare I say, a critic seemed necessary. As I said before I am self-taught so my reviews are hardly analytical in the academic sense. More on that in a moment.

In passing a few critics that I’ve admired over the years are certainly Roger Ebert, James Agee, Francois Truffaut, and more recently Alissa Wilkinson and Justin Chang. From time to time, I’ve read Kenneth Turan, A.O. Scott, Richard Brody, Anthony Lane, Matt Zoller Seitz, Eric Kohn, Leonard Maltin, Pauline Kael, Manny Farber, Vincent Canby, Andrew Sarris, Kenneth Morefield, Jefferey Overstreet, Brett McCracken, Joel Mayward, Dennis Schwartz, Jefferey M. Anderson, Tim Brayton, and some of the other prolific Rotten Tomatoes reviewers who take the time for lesser-known films.

But going back to my point of view. There’s not one perspective that I feel attached to because that’s precisely why I enjoy writing. I can put on different lenses based on the context and what I want to say. I can be formalist in my admiration for a film’s structure and composition. I can take a more contextual or cultural approach which ties into my appreciation for history, but perhaps most important to me in the progression of my own writing is what might best be described as a humanist approach. I hesitate to use this term because I would not necessarily consider myself a humanist in the generally accepted sense but I believe this lens informs my own often spiritual perspective.

Because my baseline for watching films is ultimately what they can tell me about humanity and more exactly what a film can tell me about myself, broken and confused as I am. It becomes obvious that it’s easy to criticize this perspective as being emotional and unfounded in rational thought. But I would interject that this is why I try and temper this sort of approach with the aforementioned strategies, namely formalism and historical context.

Furthermore, if I had to tie myself down to one sort of thought I guess I would have to admit paying a debt to the auteur theory which indirectly ties back to formalism. Some people might scoff at this point and that’s alright. I never admitted to being an academic or a professional critic. I just love movies and I love writing about them.

But I would say that I was influenced by the auteur theory without realizing it at first. On a practical level, it’s easy to begin cataloging and categorizing films based on their directors. You begin to take mental notes and draw up distinctions. Certainly, there are not always clear lines drawn up since a film production is made up by a lot more entities than just a director. I am astute enough to know that the director being everything is simply not the truth.

However, I would concede that in general the director, more than the screenwriter, cinematographer, or even the actors, can be the author of a film if that is their impetus. Because film is a visual medium and as the orchestrator of that process it makes sense enough that the director can utilize the script, the camera, his actors, the editing etc. to realize a certain vision. This might be artistic, commercial, or simply for entertainment but such a quality is evident in many of the most noteworthy directors. Once again, it’s easy to grab hold of a director that we like because we see certain qualities or themes or even collaborators who we really appreciate.

Another thing about the champions of the auteur theory at Cahiers du Cinema and namely Francois Truffaut is that they seemed to be attempting to put film on equal ground with other classical arts. I’m not sure what I think about that or whether that even matters but I will say that film has been and still is a powerful outlet of artistic expression.

Furthermore, the fact that these men championed underappreciated directors but also those movies and genres that might be dismissed in other circles really intrigues me. It’s this idea that no film is inherently better than another whether an Oscar winner, a foreign film, a comedy, a drama, a black and white flick or a modern blockbuster. The fact that they are different makes them interesting and they can all have merit or weaknesses on their own. So I’m allowed to appreciate a pulpy B Film-Noir as much as a prestige picture. Whatever that means.

Still further, rewinding a bit, it is the formalist theory that allows us to appreciate the work of an individual director because we can begin to pick up on and decipher themes, styles, and the like which become pervasive in their oeuvre. For instance, Hitchcock always had cameos, maintained a droll sense of humor, worked in the thriller genre almost exclusively, was concerned with innocent men on the run, crammed his plots with psychological tension, and almost always cast icy blonde actresses. On top of that, he was always one to experiment with inventive techniques and gimmicks. It makes him almost instantly recognizable. In other words, it doesn’t take a genius to latch onto his genius.

But going back to the boys at Cahiers du Cinema, I think I appreciate them not simply because they formed the backbone of the cinema-shattering Nouvelle Vague but because they put their money where their mouths were in a sense. The fact that they went from being mere critics to actually creating on their own seems to lend some credence to their words. Francois Truffaut is a striking example of this because out of all the men who came out of the movement he is probably my favorite. His films are personal, entertaining, and accessible. He loved movies too and he left his mark on each picture.

So does that clear up anything on where I stand with Film Theory, Film Criticism, and Film History? Probably not but all I ever claimed is that I really appreciate movies and that I get the privilege to write about them. Even if that writing is only for myself. That’s quite alright because I believe that I have been allowed a God-given passion for film, history, culture and the like. It’s this joy that I want to share with others to cultivate relationships and dialogue with all sorts of people. Because each one of us has worth, despite our very shortcomings. Once more, that’s once and for all why I watch movies (Side Note: This is also why I write humanistically).

Thanks for listening to me pontificate on this seemingly arbitrary topic. I promise this will be one of the few times. After all, that’s not what I want my modus operandi to be. Soli Deo gloria.

4 Living Legends Part 1

800px-danielle_darrieux_five_fingers_2I said a while back that I wanted to acknowledge a few living legends who are still with us in a series of short posts and I’ve finally gotten around to it. Enjoy!

Olivia De Havilland (1916 – )

One of the famed sisters who starred in numerous Hollywood especially in the 30s and 40s, Olivia De Havilland will always be synonymous with her pairings with swashbuckler Errol Flynn and my personal favorite with always be The Adventures of Robin Hood (1938). Other films of note included Hold Back the Dawn, The Snake Pit, and The Heiress.

Norman Lloyd (1914 – )

I regret to say that I don’t know more about Mr. Lloyd and I  have yet to watch Hitchcock’s Saboteur (1942) which has been on my to-do list for some time now. St. Elsewhere is also on the watchlist.

Kirk Douglas (1916 – )

The credits belonging to Kirk Douglas as an actor and producer are long and illustrious. He started out in film-noir with such films as The Strange Love of Martha Ivers (1946), Out of the Past (1947), and Champion (1949). However, his career continued to evolve including a lifelong collaborative partnership with Burt Lancaster and landmark films such as Ace in the Hole (1951), Paths of Glory (1957), and Spartacus (1960). His son Michael Douglas has continued the families acting dynasty well into the 21st century. He was named # 17 on the AFI list of greatest actors of all time for good reason.

Dannielle Darrieux (1917 – )

A mainstay of French cinema as well as Hollywood films, Darrieux is especially memorable for her work with Max Ophuls and I personally know her for roles in both the thriller 5 Fingers (1952) and Jacques Demy’s lovely musical The Young Girls of Rochefort (1967).

 

Last Year at Marienbad (1961)

lastmarienbad1As I’ve grown older and, dare I say, more mature, I like to think that I’ve gained a greater appreciation for those moments when I don’t understand, can’t comprehend, and am generally ignorant. Now I am less apt to want to beat myself up and more likely to marvel and try and learn something anew. Thus, Marienbad is not so much maddening as it is fascinating. True, it is a gaudy enigma in form and meaning, but it’s elaborate ornamentation and facades easily elicit awe like a grandiose cathedral or Renaissance painting from one of the masters. It’s a piece of modern art from French director Alain Resnais and it functions rather like a mind palace of memories–a labyrinth of hollowness.

There are figures existing in a defined mise-en-scene without voices or at the most backed by puzzling voice-overs. Almost behaving like specters at times against this backdrop of baroque ornateness. Still, the loose narrative, following a solitary man and aloof woman he’s convinced he met only the year before, is firmly planted in the worlds of architecture, sculpture, and painting in so many ways overlapping and coinciding with this cinematic creation of the moving image. In fact, there is the juxtaposition of images, two figures in the bar, low light only to be contrasted with the gaiety of a girl bathed in sunlight within a bedroom. Later it is followed by a rapid repetition of shots of that same woman.

There’s immense power here, because there is no tie to any narrative strand, allowing complete freedom to go any direction it may so choose. There’s the ambiguity between fantasy, reality, truth, and fiction, all the while backed by the wailing organ music that becomes almost exhausting with its persistence. The camera is constantly tracking, the “story” shifting between time and place with ease.

It’s art at its most unadulterated and audacious, although it does admittedly lack a general geniality or heart. Its predecessor Hiroshima Mon Amour feels imminently more personal and intimate, compared to this truly somber affair. It’s not quite so stiff and stuffy, but Marienbad is still masterclass in other ways.

lastmarienbad2In fact, although this film was shot on estates in and around Munich, I have been on palace grounds similar to the film. There’s something magnificent about the sprawling wide open spaces and immaculate landscaping. But still, that can so easily give way to this sense of isolation, since it becomes so obvious that you are next to nothing in this vast expanse. Marienbad conveys that beauty so exquisitely, while also paradoxically denoting a certain detachment therein.

With some films, it becomes hard to decipher fantasy and reality but there usually is at least some initial dividing line before distinctions get fuzzy. That often holds true for the works of Bergman or Fellini. However, here such a dichotomy seems of little consequence. Instead, images become fascinating, architecture is to be examined, and there is hardly a need to know everything. As an audience that frees us up to be mesmerized and truly entranced by what we are being met with.

lastmarienbad3Do we understand this bit of interaction at this stately chateau? Probably not. In fact, I’m not sure if we are meant to know the particulars about last year in Marienbad. That doesn’t mean we still can’t enjoy it for what it is. Because Alain Resnais is perennially a fascinating director and he continued to be for many years. Whether you think this is a masterpiece or a piece of rubbish at least give it the courtesy and respect it is due. Then you can pass judgment on it, whatever it may be.

I for one am still mesmerized by that mathematical strategy games, but that’s only the half of it. When it is all and said and done, I have no cogent, well-informed answer. The most striking thing that stayed with me is how Last Marienbad is rather like strolling through a gallery of art. Each framed image acting as its own distinct entity, crossing mediums and really engaging with the viewer. While I am all for Film as a purely visceral form of entertainment, there’s seems to be a necessity for such visionary pieces as Resnais’ work here with screenwriter Alain Robbe-Grillet. What they did is extraordinarily remarkable. That’s the best I can do. You need to see it for yourself.

4.5/5 Stars

Catch-22 (1970)

catch221It’s the bane of my literary existence, but I must admit that I have never read Joseph Heller’s seminal novel Catch-22. Please refrain from berating me right now, perhaps deservedly so, because at least I have acknowledged my ignorance. True, I can only take Mike Nichol’s adaptation at face value, but given this film, that still seems worthwhile. I’m not condoning my own failures, but this satirical anti-war film does have two feet to stand on.

It reads like a cast of millions: Alan Arkin, Martin Balsam, Richard Benjamin, Art Garfunkel, Jack Gilford, Buck Henry, Bob Newhart, Anthony Perkins, Paula Prentiss, Martin Sheen, Jon Voight, Bob Balaban, Peter Bonerz, Felice Orlandi, Jack Riley, Marcel Dalio, and even Orson Welles. And in truth, no one character disappoints, because no one character has to carry the brunt of this narrative.

Certainly, Yossarian (Alan Arkin), the disillusioned WWII bombardier, is our protagonist, but he needs people to react to and bounce off of. It’s the likes of Colonel Cathcart (Balsam) and Lt. Colonel Korn (screenwriter Buck Henry) his neurotic superiors and the pragmatic wheeler-dealer Milo Minderbender (Jon Voight) who make him that way.

Their world of bombing missions, valor, medals, and “The Syndicate” are utterly absurd just as they are, but they don’t seem to recognize it. That’s where the satire stems from, the critique of war, and all the wit. It seems like no coincidence that Mike Nichols released this film during the Vietnam Era. Like its compatriot, Robert Altman’s M*A*S*H, it finds a wickedly dark sense of humor in war. Because what is there to do with death and violence, but laugh and try to find some way to grapple with it?

catch222The Chaplain (Anthony Perkins) doesn’t feel like a man of the cloth at all, but a nervously subservient trying to carry out his duties. An agitated laundry officer (Bob Newhart) gets arbitrarily promoted to Squadron Commander, and he ducks out whenever duty calls. Finally, the Chief Surgeon (Jack Gilford) has no power to get Yossarian sent home because as he explains, Yossarian “would be crazy to fly more missions and sane if he didn’t, but if he was sane he’d have to fly them. If he flew them he was crazy and didn’t have to; but if he didn’t, he was sane and had to.” This is the mind-bending logic at the core of Catch-22, and it continues to manifest itself over and over again until it is simply too much. It’s a vicious cycle you can never beat.

In fact, each man involved must cope with their duties one way or another oftentimes through prostitution, jokes, or an obsessive almost numb commitment to duty. Yossarian tries all of the above rendezvousing with an Italian beauty and receiving a medal without any clothes on.

catch224But the tonal shift of Catch-22 is important to note because while it can remain absurdly funny for some time, there is a point of no return. Yossarian constantly relives the moments he watched his young comrade die, and Nately (Art Garfunkel) ends up being killed by his own side. It’s a haunting turn and by the second half, the film is almost hollow. But we are left with one giant aerial shot that quickly pulls away from a flailing Yossarian as he tries to feebly escape this insanity in a flimsy lifeboat headed for Sweden. It’s the final exclamation point in this farcical tale.

M*A*S*H  certainly deserves a reevaluation, but Catch-22 just might be the best, or at least one of the best, anti-war films of the 1970s. Mike Nichols delivers once more with a wickedly funny indictment of global conflict using a classic of American literature for inspiration.

4/5 Stars

In the Name of the Father (1993)

inthenameofthe1We are met with a deluge of drums, explosions, and the unmistakable voice of Bono murmuring over the credits. The year is 1974 in Guilford England, the Irish Republic Army is as belligerent as ever, and right from the beginning director Jim Sheridan’s In the Name of the Father grabs hold of our attention.

But we actually become introduced to our story by backtracking. We meet our main hero and championing Gerry Conlon as a punk kid stuck in the thick of the IRA’s madness. His father, fearing for his son’s well-being after a close call, sends his boy off on a slow boat to England away from trouble, or so he thinks.

In England, Gerry and his bud Paul call on an old friend from back home and they soon become enamored by the world of free love, drugs, and communal living. Their soundtrack is the tunes of Dylan, the Kinks, and Hendrix. It’s a good gig sans bombs going off down the street.

inthenameofthe33But what follows is something out of some perverse nightmare. Upon a return trip back to Belfast Gerry finds his home raided and he ends up in the interrogation block being grilled by a group of less than sympathetic police attacking him with a barrage of insults and threats. This doesn’t just seem like an Irish-English problem. There’s so much hatred present and Conlon and three of his buddies get roped into signing confessions under duress.

It’s at this juncture that the film develops into a full-blown courtroom drama, but the nightmare is hardly over. Not only Gerry but his friends as well as his father, are all sent off to prison. Pleading innocence does no good. Being innocent is no good.

By the time he’s in prison, Gerry is all but fed up with the world. He’s hardened because as he sees it nothing in life is fair and so he will grin and bear it. He looks almost derisively at his father, a man still living as he always has, completely opposed to any rebellious or militant action. They have their share of familial conflict, but as Mr. Conlon becomes ill things begin to change, specifically in Gerry.

He resolves to take up the cause once again if only for the sake of his father, and an audacious solicitor thinks she might just be the one to do it for him. So he ends up in court once more for another round, but this time, proceedings are invariably different. Still, utterly chaotic but a lot has changed for the better in 15 years.

Regrettably, this is a rather disjointed narrative that feels more like shoddy storytelling than a complex plotting device. The most glaring example involves Emma Thompson who is shown multiple times in the first half of the film but does not actually become deeply involved in the storyline until well after an hour in. After a promising beginning, the film does seem to succumb to a bit of melodrama as well that gets remedied by a happy ending.

inthenameofthe3However, as he has the habit of doing Daniel Day-Lewis falls so seamlessly into his role as the Irish lad from Belfast who was wrongly accused. His Irish brogue is second-nature and he jumps between rebelliousness and fear with tremendous skill due to the emotional range demanded by the role.

Just like Conlon’s own struggles, this film is a long hard grind. It’s not always pleasant, not always gripping, but it does have staying power. In the end, the performances of Daniel Day-Lewis and Pete Postlethwaite are worthy of our attention alone. The truth of the matter is that they are a truly dysfunctional father and son combination, but that makes them a gold mine for emotional depth. Their relationship becomes the major point of contention as they grapple with topics of justice and compassion.

4/5 Stars

Advise & Consent (1962)

Advise-&-Consent-(1)This is an Otto Preminger film about politics. That should send off fireworks because such a divisive topic is only going to get more controversial with a man such as Preminger at the helm — a man known for his various run-ins with the Production Code. All that can be said is that he didn’t disappoint this time either.

Who knew a film revolving around the seemingly simple task of passing the president’s nomination for the new Secretary of State could be so complicated and lead to such turmoil?  True, the nomination of Robert Leffingwell (Henry Fonda) might be controversial, but there’s a lot more to it than we initially conceived.

There’s the obvious political angle on Capitol Hill involving a Subcommittee chaired by majority member Brigham Anderson from Utah (Don Murray). Meanwhile, the majority leader is working behind the scenes to gather the necessary support, since he is loyal to the president, despite his share of doubts. However, old curmudgeon Seeb  Cooley (Charles Laughton) is prepared to unleash all his fury and political wiles to stop the nomination in his tracks. Soon it seems to be working well enough.

But that ends up being hardly the half of it. There’s perjury, the aging president (Franchot Tone) is biding his time, and Brig begins to receive threatening telephone calls at home. At first, they seem wholly unsubstantiated, but it seems there really are some dirty little secrets to be drudged up on him. As one who is faithfully looking to uphold their position and do a credible job accessing Leffingwell, it looks like someone really doesn’t want him to reject the nomination. Brig doesn’t end up having time to find out.

And so the day of decision in the Senate Chamber turns out to be an eventful one, bringing old rivals together and resolving the issue of the nomination once and for all. It seems that so much legwork was done all for naught, but that’s politics for you.

Advise & Consent is a fascinating representation of the political system because it involves so many interconnected, intertwining conversations and interactions going on behind the scenes. There’s the pomp & circumstance, the traditions that go with these posts, but it’s actually all the side conversations behind closed doors, in private, where the real work seems to get done. Preminger uses extended shot length to allow his audience the luxury of watching events unfold methodically while using a fluid camera to keep them from being completely stuffy. And his laundry list of stars great and small lend a depth to Capitol Hill.

Although Henry Fonda might be the headliner the film’s focus is wonderfully distributed by the well-balanced cast of players. In fact, you can easily make the case that this is Walter Pidgeon and Don Murray’s film with the decrepit-looking Charles Laughton (who unfortunately passed away months later) falling close behind. Murray is the principled tragic family man, while Pidgeon is wonderfully cast as a veteran white knight of politics. Laughton while beleaguered, still manages a wry performance worthy of his final screen appearance.

Preminger also includes his longtime collaborator Gene Tierney in her return to the screen in a small but crucial role and Lew Ayres as the benevolent V.P. Harley Hudson. Even Peter Lawford is involved in a role supposedly inspired by his real-life brother-in-law incumbent president, John F. Kennedy. Some notable inclusions in the cast include the formerly blacklisted actors Will Geer and Burgess Meredith. One notable part that didn’t end up being cast was Martin Luther King Jr. in a cameo as a Senator from Georgia. Although it truly would have been a lightning rod of a political statement, in reality, Preminger didn’t end up needing it. His film already used words and covered topics hardly touched previously thanks to the watchful eyes of the Production Code. It didn’t need more dynamite.

While Advise & Consent may not be the greatest of political films or the most stirring, it still certainly has its share of riveting moments. Most anything from Otto Preminger is bound to be interesting and this one is no different.

4/5 Stars

My Left Foot (1989)

My_Left_FootAs the film opens we watch a foot slowly wiggling its toes. It’s nothing extraordinary because we’ve undoubtedly seen this millions of times. If not on film then at least in our own lives. But it’s what the foot does that piques our interest. Quite dexterously but still straining, it manages to pull a record out of its sheath, set it down on the player, and lay down the needle before music finally emanates out. This simple act gives us some profound insight into the story that we are about to invest ourselves in.

My Left Foot, directed by Jim Sheridan and carried with an early tour de force performance by Daniel Day-Lewis, is an excruciatingly tortuous movie to watch at times. It follows the real-life narrative of Christy Brown, the future painter, poet, and writer who grew up in Ireland only capable of moving his left foot.

Neighbors in the community look at Christy as the bane of his family. He is his kindly mother’s unfortunate cross to bear. And true, his childhood existence is a humble one and his parents don’t quite understand how to empower him, but they still are devoted to him. His mother is the nurturing one and his father sees him as a cripple, but he loves him in spite of it.

As Christy is growing up there’s time for playing football, spin the bottle, and trying his hand (or rather foot) at watercolor. Because the truth is, Christy is a highly intelligent, creative mind only looking to express himself. And his mother continues to build him up with encouragement. In fact, Brenda Fricker’s performance brings to mind all the strong, grounded mothers in the vein of Jane Darwell’s Ma Joad. You can even find a little How Green Was My Valley or The Quiet Man in the family life.

However, it is speech therapy which becomes the next step in Christy’s development and his therapist does so much to open up his world. It’s hard for him not to feel attached and feelings of affection towards her. But as we find out over time, he’s as much a volatile creative force as he was an emblem of perseverance. Because he did not simply sit back, and when he learned to verbalize his thoughts there was a torrent of passion and perhaps even harbored anger that was finally released.

In no scene is this more evident than the one in the restaurant where his longtime therapist Eileen says she is going to marry another man, and aside from his pernicious words and his not ceasing to drink, Christy brings the conversation in the entire establishment to a standstill. In his defiance and anger, he breaks glasses, pulls off the tablecloth, and even threatens bodily harm.

But even when his pride is injured, Christy still remains faithful to his mother and father. His family life prospers even after the untimely death of his and pretty soon his career as an author flourishes after the publishing of his autobiography.

It’s up in question whether or not Christy Brownreal-lifeife received such a happy ending as this cinematic adaptation, but there is no doubt that the film gives the audience a jolt namely thanks to Day-Lewis’ complete dedication to his part. This film much like the likes of The Diving Bell and the Butterfly or even the Theory of Everything allows for great performances, but it also relies on these same actors to use constraints to their advantage. Watching Lewis is a masterclass education in what it means to truly don a role. In this case, My Left Foot truly benefits from it.

4/5 Stars

Finding Neverland (2004)

FindingneverlandposterPeter Pan was immortalized by Disney in 1953, but as with many of the great fairy tales that they have adapted, it’s easy to forget that there was an earlier spark. These stories do not begin and end with Disney. They have a far more complex origin story and ensuing history. So it goes with J.M. Barrie’s Peter Pan.

Finding Neverland has a satisfactory periodness that reflects a bygone era neatly and without much-added schmaltz. Johnny Depp turns out to be thoroughly charismatic as 19th-century writer J.M Barrie, the mastermind behind Peter, Captain Hook, Tinker Bell, and all the rest. But this is really the story about his inspiration for the fairy tale that defined his career.

Kate Winslet is a wonderfully benevolent free spirit who single-handedly raises a family of four boys. Her mother (Julie Christie) is a brusque rather domineering lady, but Barrie is still drawn to this family because they awaken his own imagination.

The film allows itself to be whisked away into glorious worlds, dreamscapes out of the minds of children with the wildest of imaginations, but it continually remains grounded in the story of these people: A writer, a lady, and her sons. It conjures up the fantastical whimsy of Tim Burton’s Big Fish while preceding similar narratives like Saving Mr. Banks rather effortlessly.

There, of course, are the expected difficulties. His latest play backed by the wealthy money bags Charles Frohman (Dustin Hoffman) was a monumental flop and neither one of them can afford another such showing. Barrie also has trouble connecting with his wife (Radha Mitchell) and they slowly drift farther and farther apart right in front of each other’s eyes. They know it’s happening and still there’s very little they can do. Meanwhile, Sylvia Llewan Davies comes down with a sickness that she refuses to accept treatment for, but it becomes completely debilitating. Continually Barrie’s home life and personal relationships are intersecting and butting up against this world that he has created: Neverland

But the night of the big opening of his play arrives with much anticipation. There’s the normal stuffy crowd until a crowd of orphan children files into the performance, on Barrie’s doing. Because in some ways, they are the best critics. They know what they like and they are not afraid to show their approval or their derision for that matter. Their laughter spreads throughout the great hall and the show winds up a monumental success.

However, perhaps more importantly, the film has some final wisdom to dole out to anyone willing to take the time to be still and listen. Even if time is chasing after all of us like the famous ticking crocodile, that doesn’t mean we have to grow up too fast or leave behind the wonderment of youth. There’s still so much to see if only we had the eyes to see them. The clear, credulous eyes of a child. That’s some of what Peter Pan taps into as with all timeless children stories. Because they aren’t really children stories at all, but tales that touch each and every one of us through life and even in death. Finding Neverland remains a fitting reminder of that. Each person needs hope in something greater. It’s finding that thing which is paramount to every existence.

3.5/5 Stars

What I Learned from 12 Angry Men

Recently I got the chance to sit down with a group of friends and watch 12 Angry Men together. Many of them had never seen it and hearing their reactions was immense fun for me. But as we talked for a few minutes afterward, I began to realize that really each of these characters represents something in myself or perhaps something I see in others. Each man represents a fault or a warning sign, or even a shining example for how I want to lead my own life. And like any film 12 Angry Men is far from perfect. One of my friends pointed out, rightly so, the glaring omission of any women in the film. And it’s true. The film lacks a high degree of diversity and yet at the core of each of these characters is something that I can take away.

So I would like to go down the line and pay a few words to each of the jurors. Because although they work so well on a collective level, it is their individual personality traits and characteristics that turn this courtroom classic into a fascinating study of human nature and interpersonal communication. Without further ado, this is what I learned from 12 Angry Men:

juror 1.png

Juror # 1 (Martin Balsam): He takes on the role of foreman and leads the conversations. He’s not  a big personality but he remains fair and level-headed. Even though he starts out on the guilty side of the verdict, I always deeply respect his demeanor. His feathers do get ruffled so he’s not impervious but he lends a nice degree of order to the proceedings. And that is needed within any body of people — someone who is willing to take the lead.

juror-2

Juror # 2 (John Fiedler): I’m a big fan of John Fiedler and he plays the type of character he was generally best known for. A timid bank teller who is easily dominated by the larger personalities around him. He’s also noticeably younger than many of the men on the jury. However, he reminds me that though I too am a quiet personality, there is still need at times to speak up and most importantly to stand by your convictions. Furthermore, never allow others to look down on you simply because of your years. You can still bring something to the table since you have a different perspective on life that is valuable.

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Juror # 3 (Lee J Cobb): He is always the antagonistic force of the film and his role in the film always acts as a bit of a reminder not to allow the root of bitterness infect my life so that it clouds my judgment. For your peripheral relationships to be healthy it is vital that your relationships to those closest to you are flourishing. Family is important. Do your best to foster those relationships whether it’s with parents, siblings or children.

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Juror # 4 (E.G. Marshall): Rational thinking and intellect are wonderful and necessary things in this world that we live in. After all, humanity is blessed with brains and it seems like a good thing to put them to use. However, it’s also important to not allow your whole existence run on intellect alone. Things like emotions and feelings have a place in life too because while we are rational beings we are also empathetic ones. We were not meant to live life like machines. Do not become a slave to intellect. Do not become unfeeling.

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Juror # 5 (Jack Klugman): Here’s a man who is fairly quiet and unassuming at first. But he’s a different sort than juror # 2. It’s less about his temperament and more the fact that he has probably lived his entire life in the shadow of other people. People who keep him down and tell him that his people are no good. But ultimately he gains resolve to stand up for himself. The way he was brought up and the convictions that course through his veins. He too is granted a voice in this forum and notably others begin to listen. He has his own kind of wisdom to offer up as do I.

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Juror # 6 (Edward Binns): While not the most intellectual of the men sitting around the juror’s table, there’s something quietly noble and upright about this man. He doesn’t talk all that often. He’s not one for deeply thoughtful statements. But he’s a humble, straightforward man who believes in a bit of chivalry still — standing up for others when necessary. That’s something I deeply admire in other people. I know I’m not the brightest mind in the room, but humility and genuine character goes a long way sometimes.

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Juror # 7 (Jack Warden): Jokes are a wonderful thing. Laughter is good for the soul and it can add tremendous richness to conversation and human interactions. But there’s also a time and place for playing the clown. We cannot just go through life making light of everything, trying to spin every situation into a joke, because life cannot function like that. There comes a time for being serious and growing a backbone for that matter. Don’t simply go along with others in an attempt to hang with the crowd or get by with the least amount of resistance.

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Juror # 8 (Henry Fonda): Obviously he is our hero as a man who is willing to go against the grain and be the voice in opposition of the norm. He shows tremendous integrity and courage to ask the honest questions and even admit his own doubt. That is a man to be admired. Because while he does want to talk it out and consider the gravity of the situation, he very rarely takes the unnecessary high road of self-righteousness. He openly admits he doesn’t know what the truth is but he’s willing to at least dialogue about it. Those are the people that we need more of. Open, honest, and genuine folks who are willing to talk, willing to listen to reason, and most importantly stand up for their personal convictions. That’s what I want to strive after in my own life.

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Juror # 9 (Joseph Sweeney): Here is an older gentleman who reminds us that there is a great deal of wisdom that can be gleaned from our elders. We should rightfully so pay them the respect that they are due because there is so much that they can offer us since they often come from a different time and place than we ourselves know. This differing perspective is something to be valued. They often carry insights and values that we might initially disregard, only to find out that they have a great deal that they can impart to us.

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Juror # 10 (Ed Begley): There are few things as abhorrent and insidious as narrow-minded viewpoints. Because it is these people — people who fall prey to prejudice and the categorization of others — who are quick to pass judgments. They allow bigotry to dictate what they say. There is no room for nuance or listening to other people’s voices. In fact, through their actions, they are inhibiting others and leaving no room for any type of dialogue. It’s this interpersonal dialogue which 12 Angry Men is all about and more broadly our own lives as well. I don’t want to be a person who is too closed off to at least listen to people and try to undertand where they are coming from.

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Juror # 11 (George Voskovek): He is one of the most notable jurors because in this day and age he represents so much. In the film, he is the one obvious outsider, the foreigner, the other, and yet he is represented as a thoughtful and articulate man. Most importantly he has a tremendous reverence for the American way of life and the statutes it was founded on. We can learn so much from him because he time and time again subverts most of the labels that are often put on people who are different. But, in fact, those “others” are often the very people we need. Because they bring yet another perspective to facilitate richer, deeper dialogue.

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Juror # 12 (Robert Webber): Let your ‘yes’ be ‘yes’ and your ‘no’ be ‘no.’ Don’t be a flip, flopper. This resonates with me so deeply. Sometimes even if you shy away from conflict or crossing others, it’s absolutely imperative to take a stand. Once again, jokes can be a wonderful way to ease tension but there comes a point where you have to face the reality. If someone’s life is hanging in the balance,  you have to come to terms with the gravity of the situation.

That’s some of what I learned from 12 Angry Men…

12 people means 12 different viewpoints — 12 perspectives that we can learn something new from. I will always return to this film for those very reasons. In many ways, it models real life for me.

What I Learned From George Bailey

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It’s a Wonderful Life is a perennial classic for many people but it was not until I saw it in a theater during high school and rediscovered it with new eyes that I  came to truly appreciate this film on a deeper level.

On subsequent viewings, so many scenes resonated with me and gained new profound meanings. However, one of the most prominent is really in the periphery. It came with looking closely at the wall of Mr. Bailey’s building and loan. Clearly visible on the wall of the old building is a short epithet. “All you can take with you is that which you’ve given away.” It’s a strikingly beautiful and pithy statement. I have no way of knowing who thought of having this quotation up on the wall but it perfectly encapsulates many of the central themes of the film.

More than anything, the rise, the fall, and the final redemption of George Bailey reminds me what the true meaning of life is. It is to strive to love others–loving them even as much as you love yourself if that’s your wife or your kids or the people that you cross paths with each and every day. Mary, Zuzu, Uncle Billy, Violet, Burt, Ernie, and yes, even the Mr. Potters.  Simple, everyday, common decency is something to be clung to. It might be unassuming and the people who wield it may remain unheralded but that hardly discounts their impact. They know what they’ve done and that’s enough. Trial and tribulation might come again and again, still they never tire of doing good.

“All you can take with you is that which you’ve given away.”

If we look at the life of George Bailey, he is precisely one of these individuals. This whole film is a culmination of his charity and love towards his fellow neighbors. He never wearies of doing good until the moment when his life comes crashing down on him. It’s at this moment where he finally begins to question the trajectory of his life thus far. He feels like a failure.

And this also speaks into our discontentedness as humans. Like George we want to do great things, gain acclaim, explore the world, and shake off the dust of our crummy lives. Often when life doesn’t wind up the way we want, we think that we’re failures. Our lives have seemingly become so mundane and insignificant. At least that’s what we tell ourselves. That’s what George tells himself for a time and he lets bitterness dictate his life.

But it’s precisely in those moments that he is reminded that no man is a failure who has friends–a community around him who is willing to lift him up and rally around him when he’s at his lowest. That’s why the final moments of the film always ring so sweet because to me they reflect the perfect community — surrounded by all these people that George impacted in one way or another. They are a testament to the life he led, all singing “Auld Lang Syne” in a joyful chorus. And the money they bring to bail him out is only a visible outpouring of their affection for him.

“All you can take with you is that which you’ve given away.”

Ultimately, George reaped the reward for all his sacrifices and everything he gave up for others. But it hardly seems like a matter of karma. George did these things because he truly cared about people. As his father did before him. He was never looking to gain anything from them. That was not his character.

And this always leads me to  a bit of soul-searching. George with the help of Clarence literally sees the world as if he never existed and we too can play this kind of hypothetical game. If I died tomorrow or disappeared off the face of the earth, would anyone care? It’s a sobering question, but if we look at George Bailey the answer is an emphatic “YES!” His not having existed has seismic consequences on his surrounding community. It’s entire identity literally changes when he’s not there.

George Bailey taught me and continues to teach me time and time again what it means to leave a positive impact on the world at large. In my life, every day, I want to make the most of the time I have with other people. Because each life has the opportunity to touch so many others. To put it another way, I’ve read before that there are no neutral encounters you either breath life into other people or you take it away. I do not want to squander the opportunities afforded me and George Bailey models that so exquisitely.

“All you can take with you is that which you’ve given away.”