Reviews

In its exploration of the surreal visually, alongside simpler, realist daytime shots of New York City, shows how that line can blur because of something like insomnia. The night shots of the city streets, bathed in different colored traffic or marquee lights, is both visually appealing for the audience and a way to show how Robert De Niro's character, Travis, sees the people who occupy the city.

As a cabbie, Travis sees the seedier versions of people, which, when added to his restlessness, turns him to violence, noble or not.

The lighting is everything I've been told to expect from footage of the 70s, and it serves the movie incredibly well. Colorful, but not too bright, and often even fluorescent, keeps the movie looking more like the sleazy New York that Travis sees, rather than a professional set.

Travis is caught somewhere between the uber-professional and "normal" world of Betsy(Cybill Shepherd)(shown primarily in daytime shots of "normal" buildings and people, and the seedy underbelly occupied by Iris(Jodie Foster)(shown in the nighttime, blurred by colorful lights, deep shadows, and violence). His ties to both are through wanting, he wants to occupy Betsy's world, and he wants to save Iris, so the combination of these two worlds is strange visually. They're tied together by Travis's internal narration.

The filmmaking gets less typical as the movie goes on. As Travis becomes more aggressive, there are scenes like the famous testing of lines in case of confrontation ("You talking' to me?"), clearly chopped together. They really come to a head after a particularly violent point in the movie, seemingly frozen in time.

Taxi Driver creatively and powerfully blurs the night and day to tell the story of an insomniac living within that blurry line. It's good-looking, witty, and aggressive (though it exists somewhere between awake and sleep).

Breakfast at Tiffany's is a very fun, fast-paced movie. The camera-work seems to take on the personality of Holly Golightly (Audrey Hepburn) several times. Golightly's life and quirks involve a lot of chaos, so there are nearly always many things going on on-screen during the movie.

Paul Varjak, as portrayed by George Peppard, seems to be a very normal man by comparison, thrown into this chaotic life. For this reason, the audience can sort of identify with him, as they feel overwhelmed by things like the first party scene at Golightly's apartment, full of people and movement(of props, people, and camera alike), something of a social Rube Goldberg machine.

Seeing Golightly through Varjak's eyes continues in scenes like the Moon River number, when Varjak leans out his window and the film cuts to a high-angle shot of Golightly singing on the fire escape, one of the only times she appears to have slowed down and been vulnerable.

This use of camera work, paired with beautiful settings and shots (see: any scene involving Tiffany's) make the movie visually unforgettable.

If no one had told me The Naked Kiss was a low-budget movie, I wouldn't have known. In addition to not appearing to be a low-budget movie, it also doesn't appear out of place in the context of today's movies.

Both the editing and movement of the camera were skillful. The film utilized techniques like ellipses and eyeline-matching to tell the story of Kelly (Constance Towers) not just well, but in a stunning manner. Take, for instance, the opening scene: a (mostly) POV shot of Kelly in the middle of an outrage, followed by the credits posed over her, fixing her appearance, the camera acting as the "mirror." This is the kind of stylistic choice that consistently adds to the power that Towers brings to the table throughout the film.

My largest complaints with the movie, however, are with Kelly's relationship to Griff (Anthony Eisley), a local police captain. Griff's character very clearly represents male expectations of and disdain for a non-virginal (and unapologetic) woman operating on her own whims, wants, and principles. However, he seems to be so arbitrarily hot-and-cold with Kelly, leading me to feel quite confused about his contradictory actions toward the end.

Maybe it's the independence of low-budget filmmaking that allowed The Naked Kiss to tackle the controversial topics that it does. Though the topics it covers even get upsetting, the film is somehow absolutely a feel-good movie. The prostitute-turned-saint-and-savior story told by The Naked Kiss isn't only what it sounds like, and the ride along the way is enjoyable from beginning to end.

The audience gets to see many different sides of Towers' character Kelly. Her "past" self, her desire to be "better," her kind actions and fantasies (one particularly sweet fantasy sequence during a story-telling session at the children's hospital comes to mind) and even what she is capable of. Towers' performance is excellent in all of these aspects.

The story told by The Naked Kiss, in addition to the way it was told, is still incredibly relevant and important.

Christopher Cross, as portrayed by Edward G. Robinson, is mild-mannered, polite, and generally someone the audience can sympathize--or even identify--with. Throughout the film, I found myself cringing for him each time he was tricked into further complicating and upsetting his life.

Nearly every character is infuriating this way, which speaks to the acting and the writing. It's not a typical movie about serving justice in response to unjust actions; it says more about the cruel nature of the world.

In addition to that, the camera work and sets make for a really beautiful film. There was a lot of glass involved in the sets of Scarlet Street, and the cinematography made the most of it. The settings are often light-filled, beautiful, in direct contrast with the goings-on of the film (though in many ways reflective of Cross's deluded feelings of love). This puts it in a very strange place in terms of noir film, staying true to the genre in as many ways as it (generally visually) does not.

At its heart, though, that is exactly what it is. Though the visuals aren't gritty, the story elements and tone certainly are. Cross is a man deceived, and then haunted. The employment of non-diegetic, internal sound to represent that haunted feeling Cross has makes the audience feel as many things as watching Cross be deceived earlier in the film.

Scarlet Street is unforgettable because it's so powerful.

Citizen Kane is tremendous, to say the least. The film feels larger than life. Not just conceptually, not just in the sum of all its parts, but also through smaller things like sound design, camera movement, set design, lighting, moving performances and even tiny scraps of dialogue.

When each component of a movie serves that movie so well, they can be forgotten. The final product seems to transcend equipment and technique, though they are obviously imperative to the film the audience ends up seeing.

The sense of space conveyed by the film is incredible. The larger-than-life feeling that even strikes the audience plays well to the character of Charles Foster Kane, as well as to the "point" of the movie itself. The spaces within the movie get bigger and bigger as it goes on, and as Kane's life goes along and his riches grow. Those in the film who are searching for the meaning of Kane's last words are moving into bigger and bigger spaces, in the company of more and more important people, but getting no closer to the point. In many ways, this is how Kane's life itself is portrayed to feel. All of the money, statues, square footage in the world could not lead him to a meaning, to a sense of fulfillment. One scene in particular comes to mind in relation to this: a conversation between Kane and Susan in a parlor of their mansion. They need to shout across the room to one another, and their echoes show the audience how empty material pleasures can be.

The performances in the movie are fantastic as well. Small and simple movements or expressions carry dialogue that seems small but feels quite heavy, even to those watching. This is the result of that rare combination of excellent writing acted out by just the right actor.

In many of these "smaller" factors, Citizen Kane seems to have hit the lottery. Each aspect is great in its own right, and fits just perfectly with each other piece. There aren't many other movies like that.

This movie (though often a sort of caricature of women) is the only one I had heard of, of its kind. The idea of a movie starring only women as long ago as 1939 was exciting, and even though The Women features cat-fight after stereotypical cat-fight, it exceeded my expectations in many ways.

The elephant in the room when it comes to discussing The Women is the gorgeous color fashion-show sequence. It was such a change of pace from the constant snappy dialogue, and the burst of color was nothing short of shocking, but that isn't to say the sequence was jarring (maybe a little lengthy, but one can see why they'd spring for such an extravagant sequence). The garments and movement were fully utilized by adding color to that sequence.

Light effects ran rampant through this movie, full of three-point-lighting close-ups on many of the main actresses. In addition to this, many of the featured gowns, accessories, and set pieces involved dazzling metallics, gem- or rhinestones, mirrors, and glass to constantly play with light throughout the film.

The sets cannot only be mentioned when it comes to light, either. The sets used on The Women (the salon and boutique come most readily to mind) were beautiful. In the salon, for example, statement pieces like a hand fountain sculpture stand out and give the environment the leading women operate in an air of opulence. Venues like the boutique allow for interesting camera work. The cinematography in Mary's (Norma Shearer) dressing room during the scene when Sylvia (Rosalind Russell) convinces her to confront Crystal (Joan Crawford) across the hall was some of my favorite work in the film. The camera follows Mary to the mirror and around the room, with Sylvia in the background, her expression only visible to the audience through the mirror. It's a scene that sets a standard for expertly made film.

In short, I don't know why I had never heard of The Women before. The pacing is great, the technical aspects are solid (and in many ways, extraordinary), and the film doesn't *feel* all that old, once you get back some archaic women vs men thinking. All in all, a really great and enjoyable film that's interesting to look at from a modern perspective (especially a modern woman's).

This movie, though a little too-full of some recycled, long-winded dialogue, has a lot to say. At a socially progressive and supercharged time for tension, Guess Who's Coming to Dinner makes a lot of points about the changing world.

Though many are frustrated with Mr. Drayton (Spencer Tracy)when he disapproves of his daughter's imminent interracial marriage. But Tracy brings more complexity to the character than that. It's not simply about making interracial marriage more commonplace or even whether it's legal all over the country (the Draytons are a liberal family), it's about the stigma. The film uses the perspective of each dinner guest to show that in 1967, when the film was produced, it may have been more widely accepted, but interracial marriage was still heavily stigmatized, and often dangerous for both spouses. Subtext such as this may not be spelled out as apparently by the dialogue, but it is clear. The film is well-written, even if some of the dialogue gets a little repetitive.

In addition, though the movie happens in very few places (mostly the Draytons' home in San Francisco), the visual aspects of the film are dynamic and bright. Special attention was clearly paid to the set (as one would hope when it is largely the entire setting for a longer movie) to allow for dynamic movement of the actors and cameras as they drift from one perspective or conversation to another.

This movement between people feels natural, as films go, and gives every character in the film a chance to compare their viewpoints and feelings to each other character. This was a very clever way of showing a take on race relations in such a chaotic time that I had not seen in film before.

There are several strange sequences, such as Dorothy (Barbara Randolph), Tillie's (Isabel Sanford) assistant, dances off-screen to catch a ride into town. These sequences, however, provide a greater context for the conflict occurring inside the Draytons' home. It's a sort of meeting place for the external and internal to show that, "Hey, this isn't the only crazy thing happening. It's an extremely crazy time for social issues." If nothing else, this movie is important. It should be revisited as society progresses, as it shows important things happening during an important time, and that context is something to consider historically. Historically significant and an example of good film, Guess Who's Coming to Dinner is a film that Americans should still be watching. If not for a better understanding of the country's roots in social issues, then for some great entertainment that might even strike a chord emotionally.

This film is haunting in so many ways.

To start, Robert Mitchum's performance as Harry Powell is genuinely frightening. Mitchum really brings a menacing demeanor to the character, which combined with his booming voice, really says nothing but "villain." Being aware of his alignment and plans from the get-go, it's easy for an audience to want to shout "No!" and the like at the screen, as one would traditionally do in a horror movie. His intentions may be what people fear, but it's really Mitchum's performance that makes the movie such a thriller.

The images themselves are haunting as well. The shot of Willa Harper (Shelley Winters) dead in her car, underwater, is scary and beautiful. The ethereal light and movement of Willa's hair that mimics the underwater plants directly contradicts the harrowing and frightening nature of the scene. Other scenes as well, such as one when John (Billy Chapin) is telling a story to his kid sister, and Powell's shadow suddenly looms over him on the wall, use plays of light and shadow to reach that surreal place where beauty and fear can meet.

In addition, the fear John feels long after he is (what most would consider) safe, brings a level of realism to the movie that frightens in its own right. These children have now been conditioned to believe the world is unsafe, and struggling with life after that is a whole new battle entirely.

This film is sure to strike a nerve with a parent or child. The collision of fantasy and very real fear is a difficult thing to play with in film, and The Night of the Hunter does this so well. On several different levels, this film certainly is a thriller, and an extremely well-made one at that.

Singin' in the Rain is one of my absolute favorite movies. It seems to occur at this point where absolute technically sound filmwork meets whimsy and flat-out fun. This is a very tough thing to achieve, considering the technical planning that goes into such choreography and camera-work (see: Make 'Em Laugh).

This film is so full of elaborate sequences (elaborate in their choreography, lighting, sets, dynamic elements of camera-work, sound, set, and props) and great dialogue that it's clear to any viewer how much work went into each component of Singin' in the Rain.

The movie only loses its over-the-top enjoyable qualities during one sequence toward the end. The ballet sequence seems ham-fisted, and goes on for far too long. I find myself wondering when they'll get back to the movie when it's going on, and I'm sure that's no filmmaker's intention for any part of a film.

Beside this, however, the movie is thoroughly captivating, not just enjoyable. The playful use of sound to emphasize it as a story element is apparent in scenes like Don Lockwood's (Gene Kelly) flop of a movie premiere, as well as one scene where he and Lina (Jean Hagen) struggle to act with a microphone. These scenes are not only humorous and fun but also speak to the strange transition that filmmaking underwent after the advent of sound in film.

Singin' in the Rain is great for so many reasons. To be such an example of excellent filmmaking and also be so purely enjoyable is an incredible combination of things to get out of a movie, and this one has both, with so much more.

Mildred Pierce is an elaborately told story of manipulation and social climbing. The title character, Mildred (Joan Crawford), is a resilient and hard-working woman, and Crawford brings all the necessary determination, ferocity, and maternal concern that the character needs. She plays Mildred very well. The audience is proud of Mildred's accomplishments, afraid for her at the police station (even if the beginning sequence does lead us to believe she's a criminal), and frustrated by the manipulation that she so frequently falls victim to.

Mildred's eldest daughter, Veda (Ann Blyth), is also an example of an excellent on-screen performance. Blyth plays Veda as not just diabolical, but blunt about it. Her manipulation isn't subtly puppeteering--it's knowingly hurtful, calculated but upfront. The acting between Blyth and Crawford is actually, for lack of a better word, electric. I don't know if any other combination of actors would have brought such a combination of heartbreak and fury to audiences watching the dangerous relationship take its toll on Mildred.

Technically, the movie is completely solid. Throughout extensive flashbacks, the cinematography and sets are beautiful. The sets bring their own kind of emotion, one that Mildred often misses out on in her struggle to please her daughter. For instance, Mildred should (and the audience does) feel proud to have found a place in the restaurant where she initially works to provide for her daughters, but Veda's shame overshadows Mildred's hard work. Once again, when Mildred has opened her own restaurant, there is a sense of accomplishment about the place, but Mildred misses out again as it will never be good enough. The sets go on like this throughout the movie, contributing to the frustration meant to be felt for Mildred.

Overall, The filmmaking is extremely sound. The work with light is beautiful, the camera-work solid, the acting excellent. Mildred Pierce even passes the Bechdel test, so it is certainly progressive on top of being a generally good film.

Nearly every aspect of Casablanca is striking and impressive. From the sound design to the lighting to the performances, the film doesn't even give you time to stop and process the imagery, witticisms, or technical tricks. This is not to say that's a bad thing. Casablanca, as a result, has great rewatch value.

That's not to say that the film has too fast a pace, either. It moves a long logically, just packs so much into each scene. It respects its audience and their ability to "understand," or at least think about what they have seen. Personally, this makes a film that much more enjoyable for me. I think its cultural significance and peoples' timeless care for Casablanca speak to that as well.

The chiaroscuro in Casablanca is a constant source of awe. The lights and shadows work off each other in ways that are menacing, playful, and even romantic. The tone-setting and story-telling done with the lighting alone could (and probably has) be the subject of a long, thoughtful paper.

The performances, too, are so impressive in their subtext. It isn't typical to see such nuanced emotional storytelling layered in with the more blatant acting we're used to seeing. The backstory between Rick (Humphrey Bogart), Ilsa (Ingrid Bergman), and Sam (Dooley Wilson), is told (in addition to the flashbacks) in reactions and facial expressions (such as Rick's reaction to the song Sam is asked to play by Ilsa, or the scene where Ilsa confesses her love to Rick after holding him at gunpoint for passports), rather than ham-fisted "remember when we all met?" Due to clear high quality work on the part of the entire cast and crew, Casablanca is frankly timeless. It's entertaining and artful, and seems like it will remain relevant for a very long time.

Cary Grant is doing what he does best in His Girl Friday--gruff-but-witty comedy. The realistic dialogue between him and Rosalind Russell as they play ex-spouses Walter and Hildy adds a lot to the sincerity of the comedy in the film. In fact, it's so fast-paced that the jokes alone seem to be moving the story along. When the other noise factors are considered, including (near constantly) ringing phones and the like, it can get almost overwhelming.

Sound as an emotional tool is something that I'd find more typical of a dramatic film. But the stressful, fast-paced, noise-filled aspects of this movie (that permeate what would normally be portrayed as some simple, straight-forward situations or conversations) has a lot to tell about Walter's personality, Hildy's true nature, and the often morally ambiguous (or often just corrupt) life and career of "newspaper men" that the film warns the audience about right in the beginning. It was completely effective in doing so, but it honestly made me very anxious, which took away from some of the jokes.

The jokes themselves, while witty, were sometimes quite topical, and I felt it aged the movie a bit. The story of things getting exploited and spun out of proportion by the press however, is fairly ageless.

The cinematography itself was very straightforward. Visually, there weren't too many artful decisions. Not in costumes, framing, light, etc. This was not exactly disappointing, however, as it is a straightforward comedy and to expect a ton more seems unfair.

Always a sucker for William Powell, who plays the title character Godfrey, I was flat-out in love with this movie from beginning to end. The dialogue was constantly laugh-out-loud funny, and delivered well by every member of the cast. It was a rather large cast, too, when you think about how many characters get a bit of screen time that shapes only them (though not likely totally independent of Godfrey).

The movie also made light of the Great Depression, which was still going on at the time of its release. This social commentary, rather than dating the film, is an important part of it. It drives a lot of the story and characterization in a timeless way. Though some of the jokes are more relevant to that point in time, most transcended the setting. From clever commentary, to witty repartee, to downright silliness (a busy and constantly funny scene that involves the most horrifying ape impression I have ever seen comes to mind), My Man Godfrey covers such an impressive range of tones--comedic and otherwise--that it's actually hard to get over.

On top of being a great comedy, My Man Godfrey is an extremely well-made film. The cinematography is consistently beautiful, elegant, and complementary to every other aspect. For instance, beyond the literal transformation of the dump Godfrey is "found" in, the cinematography is used as a great tool. From Godfrey's initial , depressing scene in the dump, to the sunny scene where he sees hope for it, and finally the light-filled reveal of the restaurant he has opened up there, the aesthetic transformation of the dump doesn't only have to do with the physical aspects.

Finally, the characters are just plain lovable. Not just the obvious, dynamic, all-around great Godfrey, but ditsy-and-privileged-but-kind Irene, her short-tempered father, her conniving sister, their cynical-yet-romantic maid. They all get a little bit added to them, subtly or not, that makes them more relatable, makes you want to see more of them. This is perhaps one of the best parts about My Man Godfrey, it leaves you wanting more.

This film was introduced to me as being low-budget, and while it made sense upon watching it, the White Zombie certainly exceeded my expectations. To begin with, the light/"color" effects were aesthetically pleasing. I say "color" because of how hard they drove it home that Madge Bellamy's Madeline would indeed be the "white zombie" the title referred to. This could be considered a cheesy or ham-fisted entity, but Bellamy was truly an entity with power on screen, though only in appearance.

The acting itself (and often the writing) is actually quite bad pretty consistently. That can have its merits though, especially in this genre. For instance, much of that acting contributes well to the horror/zombie aspect of the film; what would be considered a "classic" element of it today. Bela Lugosi takes it over the top, with his signature presence. While I have trouble getting genuinely invested in films of this nature, Lugosi is truly some sort of force of amusement. The cast is thoroughly entertaining, if nothing else.

On top of being a good "classic" horror/zombie movie, White Zombie had several independent merits, both creative and social. For instance, one scene when Neil (played by John Harron) is having something of an emotional breakdown after losing Madeline, and the use of shadows on the wall and noise itself are excellent. It's a visually engaging scene, and one that stuck with me, though White Zombie uses light and shadow extremely well throughout. Sound is a great tool in the film as well, such as the too-quiet scene in the sugar mill when Charles Beaumont, something of an antagonist, pays a visit to Lugosi's Murder Legendre. The grinding noise is striking, and builds to the tone of at least Lugosi's sinister character quite well.

Socially, White Zombie implies a lot about the colonialism that affected at the time through its treatment of setting, lore, and the actual people by Beaumont at his manor/plantation. This, however, has far more relevance than being simply a setting today than it would have when it was released, as nothing is explicitly said about these things in the film. But with a modern view, there's certainly something to be seen there.

All in all, White Zombie is simply enjoyable and at several points, artful. This is more than can be said for what we would generally think of as a "low-budget" horror movie.

On many levels, I would call this movie grand. Between the talent level of the actors, the interesting and varied sets, and the questions posed by the story itself, the movie operates on a larger scale than one might expect based on the production value(adjusted or otherwise).

Colin Clive, for example, plays Dr. Frankenstein. Frankenstein is a man enthralled with the idea of creating life, without giving much (if any) thought to the consequences of such an action. Clive brings a dimension to this character that makes him hard to dislike. This manic, obsessive character complements Karloff's stoic, tortured monster in a way that strikes the audience, prompting thoughts of philosophical questions about consequences and "playing god." While the sets were not always perfect (today's standards aside), there was a lot to work with. There was a lot of movement in the movie, indoors and out, especially within Dr. Frankenstein's cramped laboratory. This set in particular was manipulated in such a way through clever camera-work to keep every shot within the small space fresh.

The timeless questions and themes, cinematography and consistently excellent acting have helped Frankenstein age extremely well. This movie remains relevant today, and certainly will for many years to come.

Barely a few minutes into this movie, I was confused as to why I was even watching it. The acting in the first scene between Jimmy and his mom is absolutely awful, as is the camera work. Jimmy's performance doesn't seem to improve at all. In fact, I cringed when Jimmy stares directly into the camera after his first exchange with Shorty when he arrives at the reform home. That was quite a choice to make, but as far as the performance goes, I believe it's the kind of acting that doesn't understand the difference between on-stage and on-camera. Bette Davis easily gives the best performance in this movie, and with the amount of screen-time she gets, I think that's saying something.

I also noticed the lighting being slightly inconsistent and overall, not great. The transitions, however, consisting mainly of the number assigned to Jimmy at the reform home being added to list after list of new duties, were something I enjoyed. It was one of the only things that made me feel sympathy for his character.

One scene I did really enjoy was Jimmy's first try at supervising the other boys, who have been instructed to stare at a line on a wall indefinitely. The shots of their shadows on the wall followed by the one boy fainting really made me feel something. Horror, injustice, sympathy, disgust. While it had its moments, I can't say I was engaged or thoroughly enjoyed this movie.

I Am a Fugitive from a Chain Gang is a movie of transitions. Muni's James Allen is taken through a veritable whirlwind throughout. At certain points, it almost seems as if every extended appearance by Muni on screen is only meant to introduce the next transition, into the next chapter of Allen's increasingly upsetting story. This pacing was off-putting for me, and at a couple of points, took me out of the story a bit. That said, the transitions this movie nearly relies on carry their weight.

Not only do they serve their intended purpose, they also instill in the audience a senses of hope, dread, anxiety, and righteous anger as needed. In addition to accomplishing all these things, they tend to use the same or similar noises: transportation vehicles, construction tools, the labor that Allen's character wishes to make something of himself with. Hearing them throughout the movie as time passed, I felt each of the above things for Allen. The strange pseudo-montages and the noises that punctuated them (such as the ringing of the chain gang's morning bell following Allen's disdain of answering to the warehouse bell following the military horn)served as an unexpected moon of sorts to ebb and flow the tides of emotion that this movie carried.

Several shots took me by surprise, including chase scenes and the underwater shot during Allen's initial escape. Though they were the types of things that are commonplace in today's film, I simply didn't expect them due to the release date. This was naive. I Am a Fugitive from a Chain Gang is a cleverly shot and recorded film that can stand next to many released today. Between these technical aspects, decent or higher performances across the board, and the ethical conflicts that ring true still, this film is hard not to like, or at least appreciate.

I think that any audience would see that this film is visually impressive and genuinely funny. It has aged extremely well, which can be hard to accomplish with the obsolescent nature of technology, filmmaking equipment/techniques included. Noting the set was created for the purpose of filming The Circus, the use of that environment made for really engaging shots on a consistent basis. The scene in the mirror maze comes to mind for me. I found it to be a really clever use of environment itself as a filmmaking tool, something I'm sort of a sucker for.

The humor is universally appealing. This is probably a key reason I found it to have aged so well. Chaplin speaks to all without actually speaking, and something so universal is bound to stick around. While it wouldn't pass the Bechdel test, this film has remained relevant, entertaining, and visually dynamic nearly a century after its making, and it's no surprise.