Reviews

It was bound to happen again and, soon enough, in 1959 Disney came out with their third animated princess film. With another heavy production on his shoulders, Walt toyed with it for some time to insure that it came out clear and appealing. Finally released, it shocked and wooed whatever audience attended (as it was a relative bomb, reportedly) with fresh animation to compliment the classic tale. We see many carriages in pompous colors attending the King's castle to welcome his newborn daughter and princess-to-be, Aurora. Once grown up, both Aurora and her lover Prince Phillip are just an amalgamation of the two previous couples we've experienced (although of course everybody points to a myriad of similarities to Snow White, specifically).

The film has some variety in characters. The three good fairies have had a tough time breaking into pop culture, as nobody remembers that they are in one way or another the true protagonists of the movie: they raise Aurora in isolation trying to save her from a wretched curse cast upon her at birth. In the very first scene we meet Maleficent, author of such spell. By far the greatest asset of the movie, Maleficent is also a mix of previous antagonists. Nevertheless, her design is laborious and memorable, with green flames shaping her dark figure. If I were to compare her to a real actress, Angelina Jolie wouldn't be my first choice, but a raving Katherine Hepburn in her prime. The flames motiv is foreshadowing for her ultimate strategy of turning into a dragon for the iconic final battle. She's missing a villain song, though; Disney hadn't caught up to that one yet.

Aurora does very little once she is 16. She sings in the forest about her dreamt true love in the song 'I Wonder.' This is a painful equivalent to Snow White's 'I'm Wishing,' the first ever Disney song, which completely demolishes the other from every angle. Most if not all of the music was taken directly from Tchaikovsky's Sleeping Beauty. It might have been cool for the producers, but I actually think it harms the appeal the film is supposed to have with kids. You could say Sleeping Beauty is more Romantic in that way than the previous princesses.

We get to spend very little time with Aurora, making her a very flat damsel in distress. I will not shame a 1950s movie for having a conservative trope as such. I just want to clarify that Snow White and Cinderella, even with the many constrictions of their time, felt more modern and progressive. Prince Phillip, you could say, is a nickel more interesting because he is given a heroic task to accomplish, with the good fairies helping him defeat Maleficent by the end.

Some sources talk about the amount of detail that Walt Disney sought by having his hands on very early in production, other sources comment on his infatution with Disneyland by a later point, which dettatched him from the project. This contradiction tells on itself, and gives me mixed feelings. The picture is pretty to look at because it took a long time to make, and most decisions seem to come from precise and extensive re-writing, steering the momentum of the movie to exciting final moments. But when looked at more closely, nothing good in it doesn't come from Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. It is the post-embellished, watered-down version. There is no original music and no original characters. It is very short and still dares to put unnecessarily long sequences like the two Kings getting drunk and some other stuff with the good fairies. Its budget was bigger than their three previous pictures combined, and it pales in comparison to any of them. It tried very hard and there is a lot of commendable work in it, but in my opinion it did a disservice to little girls at the time: while boys had exciting and dynamic protagonists like Peter Pan and the Tramp, girls had to settle with... another resting lady.

6/10.

Ingrid Bergman plays an imposter of Anastasia, the daughter of the executed Tsar. Yul Brynner plays Bounine, a White Russian who finds her wandering the streets of Paris and decides to make her play the role of the missing daughter to collect a rich amount of money. The first half of the film is mostly about Bounine teaching her how to be Anastasia. They are both very well cast. Bergman is almost a type-cast at this point, having played a confused and pressured woman before in movies like Gaslight and Spellbound, but she is indeed very good at it. She can turn a smile into a frown in a matter of seconds, and takes the role as seriously as any other. Brynner, on the other hand, needs to be the straight man who exercises power over her, and frankly, I can't think of any actor who was more intense than him at the time.

Although you can tell the movie is taken from a play because of its steady nature, meaning it goes from point A to point B and so on, there are balancing aspects when it comes to establishing effective show-don't-tell. The romance between Bounine and Anna (her real name) is never shown on screen, but whenever they feel a certain attraction the camera gets closer to them, like when they learn how to waltz. It is also a movie that prides itself in that the two leads are distinct but it doesn't insist upon it. One of my favorite shots has the characters in opposite rooms, out of frame, with their doors open. Here you have different lighting in each door, as well as props on the floor of Anna's door to show that she is drunk. All of it combined gives the idea of a separation between them, but that they are still open to possibilities. By today's standards, it has become old-fashioned to never show the couple kissing even once (even for the time it was too prude; look at the misleading cover), but it is a respectable artistic choice.

The greatest issue I have with the movie is that of script. Not with the dialogue, which is okay if a little over-expositive, but with the intentions of the characters and the overall idea. Anna, for one, at first is very hesitant to play the part of Anastasia, but going forward there are many scenes where she is very confident and we are never explained why. There is a possible reason, which is that she is the real Anastasia and went through many trials and tribulations to end up in the mental institution. This is never confirmed in the movie even though there are a couple of hints (a weird scene in the beginning where she recognizes a boat only to excuse herself seconds after; never resolved and therefore probably with hidden meanings), but it doesn't matter anyways because we as an audience are never given an excuse to this, a textbook screenwriting tip for plot-twists: always have two explanations. If she isn't Anastasia, then many of her independent antics don't make sense.

Bounine is not very well-defined either. I feel like there are missing scenes of him coping with his feelings for Anna. I can't pinpoint the moment of the movie where he is shown falling for her, I think it should be clearer. And also, it wouldn't hurt to see a final scene where they finally meet up and leave together. The character of Maria or 'Grandmama' is also well-interpreted. Not only is Helen Hayes a fine actress who came out of retirement for this role, but she is also a key part of the movie with memorable moments such as the one where she is at the theatre, but says 'I came for the other performance,' referring to Anna.

The film becomes very hollow by the end. When the whole plot point of Grandmama welcoming Anastasia happens it takes up a significant chunk of the film, explains nothing, and is very hastily connected to the love story with Bounine. This leaves me with no intentions of revisiting the movie, especially because we are never going to know if she is in fact Anastasia. But with universal themes such as the construction of identity, commendable performances from Brynner and Bergman, and many beautiful sets and costumes, it is a comfortable movie to watch, for instance, with your grandma.

6.5/10.

When DeMille made his silent version of Exodus, he put a lot of heart and effort into the special effects sequences of the parting of the Red Sea and the inscribing of the Commandments. His interest in Moses as a character was clearly the driving force of that picture, of which the second half was about a different thing. This is probably one of the most proper choices for him as his last outing. He evidently was still hungry to tell the entire story of the Biblical figure, and with the advances in technology, he could make it with sound and color. The devotion from the filmmaking community to him also guaranteed Cecil was able to spend millions of dollars, hire actors of the highest caliber, and have four different writers who would all collectively pull a blockbuster that also followed the spirit of Catholic teachings. So it was written. So it was done.

It has been criticized by Biblical scholars and whatnot, but whenever I read their complaints it's mostly concerning little details and bits of scripture that maybe are not as detailed in the Old Testament, but who cares? This film does a decent job of showing you classic moments in Christianity, all of them with their messages intact (mostly about freedom and faith). The adoption of Moses, his relationship with his father and Rameses, both of his encounters at Sinai, and of course the last hour which features the Parting of the Red Sea and the sin of the calf. In that sense, it's a very mechanical movie probably best suited for Sunday School classes, as it goes from situation to situation to fit in as much from the Bible as it can, especially during something like the sequence where Moses goes back and begins cursing the city. He first does one trick, then another, then another; the point is: Yaweh is real! The same can be said for The King of Kings, which is DeMille's film on Jesus (I recommend).

The cast is mostly very good, although Heston's posturing throughout the movie makes Moses feel like a cardboard cutout at some points. Yul Brynner as Rameses is definitely the strongest asset the movie has, with a respectable villain. His character has much darker undertones than that of The King and I, as shown in the scene where he surrenders to Moses. Both characters, brothers, have become very recognizable figures by this point in the movie. The dirty red from Moses' cloth contrasts with the royal blue necklace that Rameses throws across the room. It makes the movie look like a painting, in equal parts fake and beautiful. DeMille had the art department meet his standards of production value, but because of his silent movie roots his camera is still very shy. There are a lot of wide-angle shots and whatever close-ups or tracking shots there are, they don't seem to come from an artistic or expressive standpoint, but rather from practicalities. What I mean is there are not enough moments where a character says an important line and the cinematography supports it. It's very theatrical to its detriment.

Even in exterior scenes most of it still feels very safe. Take the scene where Rameses goes to farewell Moses in the desert, a sequence clearly shot in two locations. We can see that Brynner is in some kind of studio background while Heston is facing an actual desert. This doesn't seem like a difficult thing to shoot from two sides on location, but then again, practicality. The Ten Commandments was already one of the most expensive films ever made and that money needed to be distributed wisely. Why was it so expensive? Because it's long. And it doesn't have to be. Especially in the first half, a lot of fat could be trimmed and Moses' evolution would still be viable. This filmmaking mindset from back then is basically to film a play. It's a very easy way of scheduling and executing a difficult picture, but it makes for very poor pacing that creeps up in the middle of every other scene (the opposite philosophy of, say, Citizen Kane). You could also cut Joshua's romantic story which is flat-out boring and must eat up about 20 minutes. The sin of the calf makes for a very humdrum and uninteresting ending. Edward G. Robinson's role as Dathan oversteps the movie and only comes in when it's necessary. I feel like there's a better 150 minute movie within.

The Ten Commandments is a lot of flare. Its existence is a miracle, in that all of it came together to have a competent full-length representation of the Hebrew myth, which is something very valuable. But for all of its effort, it does look quite pre-ordained by a studio with a Christian audience to feed. There is very little in the way of artistic autonomy. DeMille is actually the perfect choice for such a film. He was part of that audience, and his movies had always featured big stages and lots of extras instead of personal, shocking moments. For something as profound and touching for so many people as the Bible, the sweat, blood, and dirt of this movie does not feel real, but just... like a movie. This is why the second half is more fun. Instead of having the character talk and talk with the camera staying still, we get to see many party tricks and special effects. The Parting of the Red Sea is an admirable feat. Everybody talks about how incredible it is for its time, which it is. But few people know that this scene was also the main attraction of the original silent film. My main point is that even the best thing about The Ten Commandments had already been accomplished by DeMille, and quite impressively. I think a movie like Ben-Hur serves Heston as an actor better telling the same kind of slavery redemption story with a religious angle, and fits all of that material into 3 hours with a lot less filler and a lot more punch.

7/10.

Anna, groomed into a Lucy-looking hairdo and outfit, arrives at Siam with her son at the beginning of the film and sings the first song to him called "I Whistle a Happy Tune." The song is a definite non-starter because it is also long and winding and irrelevant to the rest of the movie. Roger and Hammerstein's music ages badly in my eyes most of the time because it emphasizes perfection and beauty over entertainment. The production value, on the other hand, is the film's most admirable feature. They must have spent half the budget on 10,000 buckets of gold paint for the main entrance.

Deborah Kerr's performance is quite plain, which should have fit the story, but she lacks a certain glare. I don't buy her when singing about her dead lover, not only for the immediately forgettable melody but because she seems sexless. This was the case as well for An Affair to Remember, an even bigger snooze-fest. It ruins things for me because she brings more of a motherly nature that could only appeal to children born before 1960, yet she is the love interest of three different characters; other than her husband, Edward is a translucent character, bearing no personality only than to make the King jealous, and the King has only one scene of sexual tension with Anna in which they dance. It is cleverly overshadowed by the second half of the scene in which the King must whip one of his wives called Tuptim for trying to run away with another man. This storyline has the potential of providing a ruthless side to the story, but it is abandoned much too easily with Yul Brynner repenting in shame. The clandestine love would also be more credible if the boyfriend they present halfway through the movie wasn't a stud who utters great English. It was sort of ludicrous.

Brynner's whacky presence always overshadows Kerr. You can tell it is a film aimed at kids by the time he is introduced. His mannerisms and expressions are robotic and exaggerated in an effort to ridicule the character. It is a performance hard to reject. He is amusing to watch and many of his lines are funny, including the "etcetera" bit that gets exploited too much as the film goes forward. I find it his most memorable but I don't know if I would give it an Oscar. It's more on the level of a very committed Smosh sketch extra. There are redeeming qualities to the portrayal of the King, such as his open-mindedness regarding science and a desire for prosperity.

The movie is also too clean in presenting a different culture, making it difficult to escape its imperialistic misconceptions. It is tricky to tackle this subject because I don't know squat about 19th-century Siam, so it would be ignorant of me to tell Anna Leonowens what the subjects of the King knew or didn't know about English culture or world history (which is what Anna gives lectures about). However, even with my limitations, I caught King Mongkut singing about "Buddha Lord in Heaven" and telling Anna that Christians are pagans in the eyes of Buddha. These already showcase a gross anglicization of Buddhism, a non-exclusionary religion with no deities. I can't imagine what else is in there that I don't know. That is precisely why "The Small House of Uncle Thomas" is the greatest bone the movie will throw at you. Not only is it elaborate and beautiful from a technical standpoint, but it's also particular in that it blends two cultures, neither of which is white. It's evocative just for the fact that it lets you see a simplistic "good v evil" interpretation taken from a piece of work that is much more nuanced than that. Add to it the fact that it also serves the main plot by putting Tuptim at the forefront to plead for understanding, interrupting the performance.

The death of the King was not good, mainly because it came out of knowhere and he looks kinda fine moments before he passes and the "broken heart" explanation is corny. It's obvious it did happen because if it was fiction his character would have lived to marry Anna and live happily ever after under 1950s cowardly Hollywood. Also, remember Anna's son? He doesn't appear for the entire middle section until the final sequence. It's a mess of a movie, with useless songs scattered throughout, that intends to tackle cultural differences yet time only shows it to be condescending, mechanical, and a bit of a bore.

4.5/10.

The film opens on Christmas when a faceless husband gives a cocker spaniel as a present to his also faceless wife. Named Lady, she is only a puppy and we see her crying the first night when she is left to sleep alone. Jim Dear (the husband) refuses to let her sleep in their bed, stating "We have to be firm from the very beginning." Lady manages to push the blocked door open and go up the stairs step by step, and the couple decides that she can stay for one night because they are too tired to deal with it right now. Then there is a transition to Lady as an adult still sleeping in bed with them. This is the first of a string of gags about dogs having charming and silly behaviors. For any dog lover/owner many of these will make them crack a smile, and the most sensitive hearts will have no problem falling in love with most of the canine characters, among them Jock and Trusty, a comedic relief duo that lives next door to Lady. The animation sells all of it incredibly well, with a thorough study of animal movements balanced with human expression in their eyes and mouths. Being one of the main reasons the project was green-lit, Lady's design is one of the prettiest dog designs ever done and easily helps her win over audiences in the opening minutes. Also, her naive and happy-go-lucky attitude as a privileged pet is well established since the beginning, as she is treated by the owners like one of their own (Side note: don't give coffee or donuts to dogs; I don't know what they were thinking). The music enhances her action, and the overall score is some of Oliver Wallace's best work. I love that allegretto melody that plays every time she runs.

Like many of the early Disney productions, Lady and the Tramp was first discussed much earlier than when it was actually released. The idea was shelved because it only contained the character of Lady and her adjustment to the baby didn't constitute enough to make something full-length. This is kept in the finished film, as Lady's masters begin ignoring her because of the pregnancy. I admire the subject matter because it tries to make a comparison to a child whose parents are having another baby, giving families a movie to help them deal with the feelings that can arise in such a situation (whereas nowadays the closest thing is The Boss Baby). The sequence of months passing by does for a great transitional point, accumulating scenes of the humans seen through the eyes of Lady and building up to a peaceful moment of realization in which she meets and starts caring for the baby. Taken out of a short story, the Tramp was the addition to the script that delivered the action Disney thought was missing from the original idea, making for a perfect marriage of the comfortable with the dangerous. His introduction is a contrast to Lady's perfect life and makes for a less gullible character. He opens the cage for some stray dogs who will reappear later, lures the dogcatcher to another location, escapes successfully, and then meets Lady.

The way they meet and relate is super organic. In fact, there are no romantic signs the first time they talk; their closeness is only conditioned by events that happen later. When the owners are not home, Lady escapes. Aunt Sarah, who was supposed to take care of Lady, attempts to put a muzzle on her and it goes sour. Tramp finds her, frees her, and shows her adventure in the streets. The second act has a lot to offer: the Tramp takes Lady to a zoo, meeting many animals with their respective funny sequences. After that, they have a romantic dinner at an Italian restaurant's back alley and end up sleeping on a hill. One of the pivotal moments is when they wake up and the Tramp tries to convince her that she should never go back, leaving with him instead. We see a painstaking drawing of a village surrounded by mountains with the sun coming out behind them, making for a very tempting proposal even for the audience. Lady considers it but refuses in favor of going back to her owners, and here falls the most important comparison between the two main characters: although the Tramp has his reasons for distrusting humans, Lady has hers to trust Jim and Darling. When they are going back, the dogcatcher takes hold of Lady and she spends a night at the dog pound, where she meets numerous characters designed in cleverly distinctive ways. There is a manipulatively sad sequence with all of them crying, but the film itself shows that it is only a coverup while they are trying to break out. There is enough screen time for each of them to introduce their gimmicks, especially Peg, who sings a song about the Tramp to Lady letting her know of his slinky reputation. "What a dog!"

There are some carefully distributed musical sequences. One of the first is the Siamese cats' song. Although it contains Asian stereotypes, it's not clear that their villainous component comes from the Thai origin of the Siamese breed, and probably has more to do with the fact they are cats. Acknowledging this and putting it aside, this is a creative, hilarious scene, if somewhat irrelevant in the end. The Spaghetti scene is one of the greatest romantic scenes ever made. Their embarrassment at the moment they kiss is so expressive that it is hard for me to think of a human couple that has achieved something as relatable in a movie. Lady and the Tramp is a superlative romantic story in part because their physical and ideological differences don't get in the way of them enjoying a meal, glancing at each other. It's also crazy that two dogs eating noodles isn't somehow a nasty sight.

My main praise might be that the film has a solid back-and-forth. Lady goes from rejecting Tramp to falling in love with him, but in the end, stays true to her owners. Once she gets out of the pound she rejects the Tramp again, and it is not until there is a last flash of danger that the plot resolves itself. You see, this rat that bothered Lady at the beginning of the picture re-emerges to torment the newborn and the Tramp fights it off. The climax is a phenomenal piece of animation, showing sped-up images of the Tramp and the rat fighting in the shadows, achieving awesome realistic movements. The last trouble concerns Jock and Trusty rescuing the Tramp. When they succeed, Trusty appears to have been hit by a car but he later turns out to be fine. By the tone of this last sequence and the insistence on his old age, I was expecting him to die, and even though Disney had killed main characters in previous films, I guess I was demanding too much from a 75-minute kids' film about dogs. Although it's small, I've always found it to be one of the tightest in the Disney catalog. The widescreen animation presented new opportunities, seized with a variety of settings from stylish, colorful indoors to muddy and shadowy streets. I have praise for the vocal work as well, especially the Tramp who is pure charisma, and Peg with her stellar jazz performance. The music is rock-solid, the themes are clear but tasteful, and the character design is pleasing to the eye. Lady and Tramp is one of my favorite animated movies because every time a new element is presented it's often for the benefit of the story. It progresses teaching the characters lessons or different points of view, and the ride is eventful without being overwhelming for children.

9.5/10.

Disney's Peter Pan adapts a play and a novel that focuses on dreaming when you are young. The main characters are three children who get visited by Peter Pan, the ultimate child. Peter never grows and neither do his friends the Lost Boys, who all live in Neverland. Wendy Darling, the protagonist, is a relatable young girl whose courage and empathy are key to her relationship with her brothers John and Michael. The narrator tells us Wendy is the eldest and the authority in Peter Pan stories. John is a smart young man and Michael is almost a baby so there is a consistent gimmick of Michael repeating what John said without realizing it. They have enough comedy and personality to carry their scenes. When they first appear, they are playing make-believe posing as Peter Pan and Captain Hook already. I suspect their mother told Wendy and her brothers the stories. Mr. & Mrs. Darling are polar opposites, the father being the logical type who shuns their imagination. He is humiliated and ignored by his family because of his negative attitude, but when he is punishing the dog Nana he shows a more compassionate side.

Once the parents leave, he mentions Peter Pan as he appears flying above the roofs of the house. He is only a silhouette at first until Tinker Bell lights up his face. This is a magical moment, followed by Peter entering the house claiming to be looking for his shadow. Wendy, who had the shadow kept in a drawer, stitches it back to Peter Pan and is invited to Neverland as a reward. She and her brothers learn how to fly with the dust of Tinker Bell, who is jealous of Wendy's attempt at kissing Pan. I don't find any songs from Peter Pan to be very good or memorable. "You Can Fly" is the only one I remember because they repeat it about three times in the movie.

I feel the island of Neverland is the key issue. It's the first thing we see in the movie: the Second Star to the Right. When the kids go flying into it there's a great transition from a star into a solar system, which is upside down given the island is sitting on a sea in the sky. We meet Captain Hook, whose clothes and personality compose one of the great iconic Disney villain designs. I think the film succeeds in the representation of Pan and Hook. Their ongoing rivalry is something fun to pay attention to. Peter Pan is arrogant and sort of a scoundrel but you are always on his side, and even though Captain Hook was made by design for children to laugh at his misfortune, he is beloved as well. My main critique involves that the things that Peter shows to Wendy, her brothers, and the Lost Boys do not awake any sense of wonder in me. I think there was a very high bar to clear in adapting a magical place called "Neverland" where kids never grow old and adults are the enemy, and the film runs short of ideas after meeting some Mermaids and the "Indians". The Native Americans are drawn with exaggerated features, they are called "Injuns" and there is an entire musical sequence called "What Made the Red Man Red?", yet the most offensive thing about the portrayal is the simple idea that one of the "magical creatures" of the island (and the one that takes the most screentime) is this excessive stereotype. If you are going to alter the culture of a people in this way, you might as well create a fictional inhabitant for the island. There's no need for them to be Natives if you are going to say that their skin is red because one of them blushed one day.

The quarrel between Peter and Hook features good scenes like the one where he saves the chief's daughter Tiger Lily. She's actually the only well-proportioned facial representation of a Native because drawing ugly women has never been Disney's strong suit. The fight between Peter and Hook is exciting, and we see it reprised in the climax of the film. The most boring sequence is Wendy singing the song about mothers. It reminds me of Mary Poppin's "Feed the Birds". Who thought this was a good idea? The kids don't want to see the characters singing slowly standing still. And Peter Pan is an hour shorter, there's even less room to do this. One of the best character designs goes to Tinker Bell, who emanates light and flies in a string of pixie dust. She serves a purpose in the story once Captain Hook sends his second-in-command to steal her. They then persuade her to betray Peter, and out of jealousy, she complies. Hook then imprisons her and kidnaps Wendy and the Lost Boys. He sends a bomb to Peter Pan, and Tinker Bell manages to escape just in time to reach Peter when the bomb is about to go off. I hate this part because the bomb literally explodes in Peter's face. The characters in the boat hear the explosion and assume Peter Pan is dead. It's true that you should lead the audience to believe Peter is dead (which of course he isn't), but making him survive a bomb explosion without a scratch is not the solution to that problem.

Peter fights Captain Hook and out of compassion decides to forgive his life, which shows honor in his heart. Hook betrays his trust and attempts to backstab him, and in response, he gets what is coming to him when he falls on top of Tick Tock the Crock, a crocodile who's been tormenting him throughout the film. He does not die on screen, leaving the door open for possible sequels; the ongoing repetition of the events is a common theme in the movie. The film reminds me of The Wizard of Oz: at the beginning Wendy goes flying into the world she's always dreamed of, and when she goes back home her mother sees her waking up at the side of the window. Probably in hopes that young children wouldn't come away feeling cheated, the allusion the movie makes when Wendy's father recognizes Peter's ship is that Peter Pan visits once in a generation and "growing up" makes them forget him, Peter Pan representing the "spirit of youth". The opening lines of the film are "All this has happened before. And it will all happen again." This is a wonderful sentiment, I just hope that the next time it happens the adventure is better.

6.5/10.

All About Eve is an enormous movie that has inspired numerous works for the past fifty years. The story surrounds Broadway and all the characters are theatre people or adjacent to them. The reason for its popularity to me lies in a most interesting proposition: Bette Davis in her undisputed best performance plays an actress called Margo Channing who meets the titular Eve, a fan of hers who sneakily tries to get into the world of acting, upstaging Margo. Eve's slow turn from admirer to saboteur gives the film a pulse, although Anne Baxter's performance gives her away too soon. Despite what I read in other reviews, I never sympathized with Eve because Baxter doesn't sell the devotion that she is supposed to have for Margo organically. She only has two modes: the obsessed compliant fan & the cold ambitious understudy. Written by Joseph L. Mankiewicz, it begins with three or four characters expressing thoughts through voice-over narration. This persists but is done very sporadically throughout the picture, rendering it inconsistent regarding its pace and gimmicks.

Most characters aren't interesting. The film's record 5 acting nominations are blown out of proportion. On the one hand, Bette Davis is excellent. Although she's always been good, this part also benefits her physical characteristics. I find her reactions natural, even if stagy because she is supposed to be an intense, passive-aggressive actress. The first time we see her she is not fixed up, and is in fact taking her makeup off. This humanizes her and puts her at a disadvantage against Eve, who in her first scene is looking lovely while telling a tragic story that leaves everyone in tears. This works as foreshadowing for how Eve will later try to steal Margo's thunder. Anne Baxter is not bad at all, but as I've said I think she oversells it. Thelma Ritter is another great actress whom I respect, but she has extremely little screen time to be considered for any Oscar. Celeste Holm, who plays Margo's best friend, Karen, is only fine, and by today's standard, her nuance is non-existent. Finally, George Sanders as Addison DeWitt plays the most unmemorable white-man-in-a-suit he could. He looks like an actor who got rejected for the part of Batman's Penguin and broke into the studio next door. All three male leads pass through this movie with no glory. While the film does a good job of particularizing the women, the men seem to be all the same in the eyes of Mankiewicz. You could swap the three actors around and there would be no difference.

Most of the film is spent at social gatherings for theatre people. The conversations that the main characters have are written in a theatrical way, that even though suffices given their occupation, it turns very annoying after a while. There's lots of references to acting stars and projects for it to feel natural, and their unbearable self-referential talk about art and life reflecting each other is stupidly gratuitous. There is a transitional issue in the way the story moves. Even though Eve keeps appropriating more and more from Margo, the actual scenes in which she is supposed to show her dark side are not interesting ones. With poorly established tension, it's hard to think of an iconic moment in the whole thing. I blame this mainly on the expository style of writing. There are far too many lines to count in which the characters state truths about themselves or the people they are talking to or about, often with a witty reference to theatre jargon. To put it plainly: it lacks any visual or cinematic substance. With no clue as to what am I supposed to feel about these people, I end up disliking them in their hegemonic arrogance. All About Eve does not at any moment attempt to explore them from an anthropological view, for example. The filmmakers and 20th century American audiences genuinely seemed to think all this melodrama was engaging.

By a pretty advanced point in the film, Eve goes berserk and tries to steal Margo's boyfriend away from her, with him refusing. After these events, all four main friends stop bickering and gang up against Eve. This makes the last half hour of All About Eve absent of a climax, with Margo and everyone happily accepting that Eve will triumph. Margo is happy being married to Bill and that's that. Not that the story necessarily has to feature a betrayal, but considering how empty of conflict this portion of the movie is I was expecting at least one of Margo's friends to... I don't know, do something. What we see instead mostly concerns Eve being discovered by DeWitt. She is an effectively intriguing character (which is a good sign given her name is on the title), but when she reveals her true intentions there doesn't feel to be any revelation. The simple fact she acknowledges it proves that Mankiewicz just can't keep his mouth shut. If someone could only tell him that we already knew she was lying and conniving.

If one of these characters represents the movie as a whole is probably DeWitt. He is dull, confident, and quite useless to the plot. Whatever he does regarding Margo and her friends has no domino effect. He is just a bystander, who only talks to make forced analogies like all the other characters. He becomes important in the last section because he finds Eve's story to be lies. But we are never shown why he starts suspecting and how he finds out, which is instrumental for the audience's engagement. He's only a mouthpiece that exists because someone has to find Eve out as the film can't do it by itself. The last scene is very creative in concept. The assumption that Eve is unique turns out to be a lie when a young fan of Eve called Phoebe breaks into her home to do to her what Eve did to Margo. The circular nature of this proposition is a good way to subtly establish some sort of comeuppance in the future for Eve. However, it would be better if Phoebe didn't run into DeWitt. DeWitt actually asks her "Do you want someday to have an award?" to which she responds "More than anything in the world." Thank you, Joseph, how could I have known otherwise? The next time you want to do something so obvious, write a novel.

5.5/10.

I think that as it stands, Cinderella is a classic because Disney was trying very hard for it to be. The fairy tale itself has many variations, and for that reason they could take full liberty adapting it however embellished they wanted to. It was in development for almost ten years and it was going to be their second princess. The similarities to Snow White are obvious: her stepmother is the villain of the story, tries to sabotage her and forces her to do chores at the house. Cinderella's only allies are the animals who she can talk to. We get to meet two mice named Jaq and Gus, a frankly uninspired fat-and-skinny comedic relief duo. They quarrel with the stepmother's cat Lucifer. Their Tom and Jerry sketches fill a considerable portion of the movie. There are three of them to be precise, each one serving a different purpose in the plot.

The first sequence with the mice is very long and unrelated but it eventually works as an introduction to most characters, and establishes the transition from big to little that will be constant throughout. Despite Cinderella working helplessly for her ungrateful family, a mouse ends up inside a tea cup of one of her ugly sisters. This is where we get to hear them and their mother talk. There is no nuance to their evilness, but Lady Tremaine is a slightly less overt antagonist than Snow White's stepmother, who wore her evil gown everywhere. The animation feels more human and grounded, too. Although there are a ton of animals in this movie, what sticks in my mind has more to do with the evil stepmother's subtle gestures.

I am just now realizing how short Cinderella is as a full screenplay. If we position all the events in a progressive order the whole story could last 48 hours in total. If you take it that way, the film is just a day in the life of the protagonist. There is a good animated sequence where a set of multi-color bubbles reflect Cinderella as she sings. You can feel that the writers are focusing more on the plot, so the attempts at "whacky sequences" like the ones in Dumbo or Snow White become less invasive, displaying beauty passively. Soon enough there's a ball to find a maiden for Prince Charming. The mice have their second sequence when they make a dress for Cinderella, eventually trying to steal a necklace from the claws of Lucifer. Cinderella thinks she will not make it in time until the animals show her the completed dress. The sisters in response tear apart the dress to the approval of the evil stepmother. This is the point at which we truly start to feel sorry for Cinderella. She makes for a good princess because she's selfless but also dreams big and steps up to chances. This theme is tied to a song called "A Dream Is a Wish Your Heart Makes". Along with "Cinderella" and "So This Is Love", these Oscar-baity tracks are not outstanding at all and reveal a pre-ordained nature to the artistic development.

It's important to remember Cinderella gets a lot of help as well. It is when she is most distraught and not even the animals can help her that the Fairy Godmother appears and sings the well-known "Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo" song to invoke a new dress and a carriage. Although there's nothing unnecessary in the film per se, this excessive need for outside forces to help Cinderella robs her of chances to prove herself. This isn't helped by Prince Charming. Not that they make a bad couple, but the moment they meet the movie has to shift the attention first to the King and then to Lady Tremaine. We never get to witness any chemistry or back-and-forth between prince and princess. I feel it would be a better movie if there was more time to develop them both separately. That would put it above Snow White, which has a similarly empty love interest. The Prince shows at first that he is uninterested in finding a wife. If Cinderella were to arrive at the ball for a different reason than to find love, she and Prince Charming could meet unexpectedly and bond over shared frustrations regarding their families. At this point I'm writing my own interpretation, but what I'm arriving at is that a lot of potential resides in a story like this, and after a decade of development, it's disappointing that they could not subvert their "flat alpha male" issue.

Cinderella leaves her glass slipper behind and the Prince is determined to find the foot that fits it. I know, I know, "can't different women have the same shoe size?" I guess, but it's a classic element from the story that I can suspend my disbelief for. The evil stepmother locks Cinderella in her bedroom, and the mice's final sequence consists on stealing back the key to unlock her door. This is another crucial moment at which Cinderella is doing nothing but expecting others to come and save her. In an odd double-finale, the evil stepmother breaks the glass slipper but Cinderella pulls out the other one. I have a few problems with this. First: isn't the point of trying the original slipper to make sure no one else pulls out a different-sized slipper? Cinderella was not lying but The Duke couldn't have known that. Second: why does she have it? Wasn't it all going to disappear after midnight? And third: why didn't the slippers disappear at all after midnight, actually? This is the sort of thing that I cannot suspend my desblief for because it relates to rules established by the Fairy Godmother herself. What is the point of making up some rubbish rule if the main story is going to quickly contradict it? I think many conflicting concepts make the story turn out inconsistent like that. It doesn't matter because it's a very short kids fantasy movie, aiming at our hearts rather than our brains. The story itself is told efficiently, confidently and with emotional resonance, but it stumbles when it tries to invoke a sense of wonder that it has stolen. It's not a classic because it did something new, but because it didn't do the same things badly.

7/10.

Black and white French version of Beauty and the Beast is a sudden attempt at adapting a fantasy story requiring great commitment. There's two things that have to be done right because they include the primary fantasy elements, and that's the Beast and his castle. The Beast, played by Jean Marais, holds power on screen and his make up gives the beast a cute kitty look which could be given a loving look under the right circumstances. His tone of voice is somewhat scary, but he is also a little gullible in how easy he lets people go. When a man comes to his castle he vindictively orders him to bring one of his daughters to live in the castle, or else he'll have to stay. The castle is alive and haunted, often with faces and limbs sticking out of the walls and furniture. Avenant, also played by Jean Marais, is the man who swears through the movie to kill the beast, and he eventually goes with Ludovic, played by Michel Auclair. Ludovic doesn't want him to seduce his sister, but as they quarrel they begin to hang out together.

I feel like I'm forgetting about something. Oh! Belle is the protagonist. She's a woman, oppressed by her evil sisters. Avenant confesses his love for her, but she doesn't want it because she doesn't want a guy who is always telling her how much he loves her. Ludovic is his brother and Belle and their father share all one scene together at the beginning. When her father leaves, she asks him to bring her a rose, and he attempts to steal it from the Beast's castle. He then goes back home to which then Belle steps up and goes in her father's place. She shares the main story of Disney princess Mulan, but instead of going to war she is forced to be the housewife of a big cat. Once the Beast can no longer woo Belle because of his lack of personality, he starts to give her magic gifts that exist in the castle. Belle will use these to reach her father and, later on, the Beast.

I don't have any high praise for the performances, except maybe for Jean Marais who bore the makeup and still acted expressively. The Beast dresses with one single flamboyant outfit which contrasts bright color with shadow. The same goes for the castle, that is showed in a variety of capacities having magical features all around. An obscure atmosphere is certainly achieved. I find this film to be a very laborious cosplay exercise. This interpretation of the Beauty and the Beast focuses most of its running time in the main characters without ever building genuine chemistry. Belle, in particular, has no personality or autonomy. The people in her life are always guiding her decisions and she is always looking out for others, but they are absent from most of the movie and she is left empty of purpose. The Beast completely overwhelms her both in the story and in front of the camera. He tells her that he will ask for her hand in marriage every night, expecting her to say no. She says no every single time. However, throughout the film Belle begins to feel more comfortable around the Beast, because who doesn't want a guy who is always telling you how much he loves you?

She asks to go back to her family for a week. He gives her a magic glove of teleportation and a magic key that opens "Diana's Pavilion". She uses the glove of teleportation to go see her dad, and later her sisters steal her key. Ludovic and Avenant go to kill the Beast and throw away the key. A statue of Diana shoots Avenant as he is trying to break in, and he turns into a beast too. At the same time, the other Beast who was reportedly "dying of grief" at the arms of Belle breaks of his curse and turns into The Prince, a man that certainly looks like Avenant a lot because he's played by Jean Marais also. The film many times plays shots backwards to simulate magic. At the end the actors were shot falling and the tape is reversed to make them look like they are taking flight. It's a spontaneous ending that reminds me of Grease, the characters flying out to happiness forever. So corny.

The achievements in production didn't go unnoticed by me. The fanfare and the luxury of the sets that Belle and the Beast share scenes together in is contrasted with claustrophobic outdoor studio shots and the occasional house of Belle. The special effects for magic are modestly spaced across the film, and the strong atmosphere helps sell it effectively. Cinematography and framing gets especially pretty within the rooms of the castle. What is the problem, then? All of this rests on the shoulders of Belle, who's character, to put it politely, is a little stiff. In the end we find out the bar she had to clear was very low: the Beast explains to Belle that the act that would save him was "a loving look". Not accepting the proposal of marriage, not even a kiss, just looking at him with empathy. It's a profoundly bland resolution for a romantic film. Why wasn't it even established before? It caught me completely off guard and confused me as to why then Avenant turned into a beast at the same time. Is it poetic irony? The irony would be that while somebody looked at Beast nicely, someone else broke into his home, so they exchanged places... It's nonsensical. That's why I say it strikes me as an exercise. There's more posturing and emoting than a cohesive through line. The dialogue is proof of that. Events happen much at random and the characters just generally fulfill their basic roles in the story. This makes for a very visually expressive film that if you were to watch on mute you would still be able to tell what's happening (this is something Hitchcock talked about). As a sound film, it feels a little empty of content to run around, although director Jean Cocteau warns us by leaving a message at the beginning of the picture stating: "Children believe what we tell them. I ask of you a little of this childlike sympathy." I guess that it makes sense then that the film looks like it was written by a child.

6/10.

Usually centered around a single character, other Disney films from the time like Bambi, Dumbo or Pinocchio didn't come from the same place as Fantasia. For one thing, this is an anthology, and it could have been made anyway as a collection of Silly Symphonies. The popularity of animation was making Disney take risks, and with the original idea of making Mickey a successful character again, he took a chance on Fantasia. Also, as you already know, it consists of a repertoire of classical music, accompanied as always by often romantic and silky drawings. Presented by Deems Taylor and conducted by Leopold Stokowski as a mysterious figure, the first animation set to Toccata in Fugue turns slowly from real images made with the silhouettes of the musicians to actual animations. We see thin and bold brush strokes in what is essentially a moving canvas, along with other abstract images such as suspension bridges transforming into violin strings. It is a very gentle way of beginning the movie and it leads into the Nutcracker Suite, which is sub-divided into the respective numbers, but not in the original order. Classical musicians have put down this movie for re-arranging classical pieces badly. Although I am no expert, I must say that at least The Nutcracker and The Rite of Spring blend well into the movie. There are paused moments of tenderness and intensity, and the cuts or transitions in the music are unnoticeable if you are not familiarized with the songs.

The Sorcerer's Apprentice is quite short for being the main reason the picture was made. The mouse was re-designed into the standard look of Mickey that we know today, yet his sequence sees him as a lazy and mischievous apprentice who steals his master's magic hat in order to avoid work. It's an all right piece, but the animation is the least ambitious. There's a visual dissonance between Mickey Mouse and the rest of the film's aesthetics, making him look like an intruder, actually. But it acts as a staple so it makes sense that it sticks out like a sore thumb, because at the end of the day it's just a silly sketch. It also makes for a smooth segue for the center piece of the first half: The Rite of Spring. This is an astonishing piece of work by Disney depicting the formation of life, that begins with gravity acting upon particles to create the Earth. There is a constant zoom-in until we reach Earth in a prehistoric condition. We see volcanos morphing the planet, the water heating up and living organisms start existing to slowly become dinosaurs. The dinosaurs are drawn with a very simplistic western caricature design, but it proves interesting because it makes them look like toy variations of the evolutionary process, each having individual traits with which they co-exist. It all leads to the attack of the tyrannosaurus rex, who makes his entrance with a jump-scare and wrestles with one of the dinosaurs. Each time a cycle ends, the beginning of the next scene features the opening notes of the piece, which to me is used to represent monotony and renewal. The avant-garde and cinematic nature of the composition makes it look like it was made after the images on screen instead of the other way around. The entire sequence ends with an eclipse, which signifies the death of the dinosaurs. As an interesting fact, the film was made so long ago that there is no mention of an asteroid, since that theory hadn't even been proposed.

Right afterwards there's a short sequence called "meet the soundtrack", in which Taylor interacts with a tiny line which is supposed to represent sound. This is not the cleanest animation on the picture, but it's a harmless piece of experimentation that also gave people time to reach their seats after the intermission, I guess. The program goes on with Beethoven's sixth. A good pick that isn't as overused as the fifth or ninth symphonies, The Pastoral is an absolutely lovely composition to animate something. The visual material is some of the best; it expands along with the music. It begins with Pegasi playing and swirling around Mount Olympus. Since the length of the music requires patience from the animators, the whole segment is detailed to death. There is a precision in the drawings and an intent in the symbology that it takes the project into unbounded territory. Some of the most beautiful scenery you've ever seen is depicted, along with centaurs doing sort of a mating ritual. As in mostly everything Disney does, sex is equivalent to love even if it is at first glance. Of course there are no explicit images, but there is an interesting amount of nudity, presumably to emphasize an ethereal sense of mythology. One of the clearest examples are the cupid-like naked babies plotting to get two of the centaurs together. Zeus' apparition is impactful, presenting him as wicked and abusive, and sends the segment in a dark direction that escalates until a point of fantasy featuring several Greek gods playing with the landscapes of reality. As Deems Taylor previously had explained, it ends with "Diana shooting an arrow of fire that spangles the sky with stars". I didn't think that would be delivered, and I was wrong.

The next segment is Dance of the Hours, a quirky little ballet sequence. Its animation is as Classical Disney as The Sorcerer's Apprentice, with straightforward drawings of animals dancing and interacting. Putting aside that the composition is very nice and stands out, what mostly carries this sequence relates to the symbology of the ostriches, hippos, elephants and alligators representing morning, afternoon, evening and night, respectively. To close the film, there is a mashup of Night on Bald Mountain, which is a Russian composition about evil rituals, with the Ave Maria. At the top of this mountain stands a nasty looking fella called the Chernabog, who is described by Taylor as being Satan, luring evil specters into committing devilish acts. The Chernabog doing snake-like movements is hypnotic, matched with red and blue for lights and shadows. The whole dance is demonic and features many creatures from Hell dancing with the Chernabog, which takes the final spotlight of the film on what is its greatest visual achievement. A bell starts ringing, and all the evil creatures get slowed down by the light, sliding back to the depths from which they came. In comes the Ave Maria, washing away the mayhem. Watching those wide shots of monks marching towards a sunset in the context of the picture is very liberating. After minutes of burning bliss, the final notes make the movie end in a fade out. It doesn't have no credits, no final speech by Taylor, no The End, no nothing, it just ends there.

There is a poster that I like very much in which Mickey's looking upward in his stolen Sorcerer outfit, and up there stands the Chernabog in a completely different animation style. It sums up the movie nicely. Against all odds, with its many contradictions, it comes together as a superior piece of cinema, that cracks the ceiling and puts the whole process of creation into question. Like what is animation, and how should it be used? It could be anything, special effects, impossible places, old folklore. Fantasia uplifts itself slowly, first with a couple of party tricks and then with sequences that are meditative and progressive, putting it past being just a Silly Symphony compilation. Its tender style with classical music gives it an elegant rhythm similar to 2001: A Space Odyssey. From worst to best, not counting "Meet the Soundtrack", I would rank the shorts beginning with The Sorcerer's Apprentice at the bottom, followed by Dance of the Hours, Toccata and Fugue, The Nutcracker, The Pastoral, Night on Bald Mountain, and Rite of Spring at the top, because it's long and very encompassing. Designed mostly as a roadshow attraction, there are parts that bound it to its time. For example, there are no claps at the end of songs because it was expected of audiences to applaude at the theatre, which I bet they did. There's also sort of a racist portrayal of Asians if you pay attention at the design of the mushrooms in Tchaikovsky's "Chinese dance". Although dated, Fantasia is a superlative anthology film because everybody can find something for them, and the overarching feeling is always triumphant. It's a landmark of its time, that came out of nowhere with nothing but dedication to show for it.

9.5/10.

Bambi seems like it was probably a fast decision for the studio. It was another adaptation of a novel and ended up running for just 70 minutes. It tells the story of the young prince of the forest, Bambi. Considered to be an environmental movie, it is set entirely in the woods, and you can see this from the first shot which travels through numerous trunks and branches. The whole thing looks like a Bob Ross painting, and similarly doesn't feature any drawings of humans. If I were to pitch this to the studio I'd say that the animals that followed Snow White would be getting their own movie. When the young prince is born he meets many characters, including an owl, a rabbit, and a skunk. Along with her mother, they will all grow and interact with Bambi as he comes of age.

The connection from the audience to the main character is as strong as the one in Pinocchio because we know them from birth and get to see all their first experiences. Being a deer, the first thing Bambi has to learn is to walk, and goes on with things like his first words and original thoughts a few days after, providing children with a quick, straightforward progression of his adaptive process as a newborn. Once the character has learned to live, he must learn to survive. "Man" has been placed as 20th in a list of villains by AFI and he only appears as a concept. The gunshots make all animals automatically run, and the only ones who get to see him don't live to tell it. The death of Bambi's mother is a very dark and pivotal moment in Disney lore because it has installed into animated movies a tradition of sometimes being rougher with children. As a kid, being able to process the loss of Bambi's mother, or Mufasa, or the wife of the old dude in Up, is a valuable tool in life that can only be gained through emotion and attachment, unlike any other lesson you can simply teach a child. Films are unique in that regard.

I don't understand why Bambi's father, the Great Prince of the Forest, needs to be such a mysterious figure. He appears briefly at the beginning, and then once again to acknowledge Bambi's existence. It is not until the Man kills Bambi's mother that his father decides to take care of him. I also don't understand why he is the "Great Prince" instead of the King. In any case, when it's time for Bambi to grow up the owl from the beginning makes an appearance standing in a branch that starts trembling. Right after, we see that it is Bambi, sharpening his horns. The rabbit Thumper and the skunk Flower are two very basic sidekicks for the film to give a face to the variety of wildlife. I wasn't sure on their gender until they met up again to show that they all have deeper voices now, and each one falls in love with a female of their species. So stupid of me to think it could stray away from the heteronormative.

This is were we go into the part with Faline, the female deer Bambi falls in love with. If the death of his mother and his growth in the center of the movie didn't signify enough resemblance to The Lion King, Bambi gets to pork a female deer. He meets her once as a child and then grows up and has to fight for her against another deer. The last problem that arises once Bambi and Faline are settled is a fire caused by a human campfire. They manage to escape the flames and everybody lives happily ever after until the studio decides to make Bambi II. The theme of the film is successfully universal. The "Man" that so viciously preys on the innocent is an outside threat that Bambi is incapable of comprehending. Leaving the human figures out of the frame provides a point of view of how other-worldly it comes off when the forest is all you have known since birth. On this note, the picture leaves a sense of scattered concepts throughout, but veers them generally towards a message of beauty in the wilderness and the deserved protection of natural habitats.

Luckily, the animation and the settings are some of the prettiest among the first five Classics. However, the music ranges from okay to weak, consisting of sleepy choirs with the incidental energetic track that is decent. The proof is nobody remembers a single song from this movie. Overall, it moves along easily because it explores the wonders of the forest alongside the main story, which step by step goes from Bambi's birth to the time he becomes a father, and it closes the circle with a final shot of the contemplative protagonist standing on a hill next to the Great Prince, who did the same when Bambi was born. It shares the same structural randomness as those other early Disney movies: it presents a character who gets to roam freely, then that character steps out of their comfort zone and reaches discomfort, and there's an unrelated climax with one last flash of danger. The plot is very bare-bones and the movie knows so, considering the limited dialogue for one, but the integration of this "natural" dynamic is so essential to what we expect Disney to be that a lot of the value of Bambi comes simply by the impression of it. It's a moving painting, containing flora, fauna, fire, water, smoke, snow, and it hinges its last leg on romance, the G spot of the Disney enterprise.

7.5/10.

The second animated feature released by Disney, Pinocchio went into production along with Bambi, which is a film I much prefer but came out a good two years later. Based on a novel, the title character is a puppet that comes to life, but differs in tone and shape from the original material. To add a connective tissue that could introduce the story as much as have a say in it, Disney created the character of Jiminy Cricket, who crashes Geppetto's house as he is building the puppet. The representation of Geppetto is that of a Ned Flanders-type carpenter who desperately wants to have a kid. Geppetto's puppet is a happy, innocent little boy with rosy cheeks, and when he first comes alive he meets Jiminy. As is the case for Snow White, there's only one pure female character modeled after realistic movement, in this case, the Blue Fairy, who puts life into Pinocchio. She then puts Jiminy in charge of being Pinocchio's "conscience", and leaves only to appear a few times throughout the film and advice him. Wonder why she couldn't be his conscience.

The musical sequences are sort of dry. The house in which they dance and go to bed has nothing more than a bunch of wooden clocks, a cat, and a fish, making for dull opening sequences that are overlong. "When You Wish Upon a Star" has become the de facto Disney song, scoring the company intro. On one hand, it encapsulates the themes of the film and Disney overall accurately, which I think is valuable, but on the other, they invited actor Cliff Edwards to do the voice of Jiminy Cricket so he could sing the main song but they never animated Jiminy singing it, so it cannot be related to any character except for those old school Disney choirs. This very low-oxygenated setup makes the film not so inviting as much as numbing.

A couple of mischievous foxes sell our boy hero to a puppeteer, sending him off on his first adventure. By the middle of the film he ends up caged and needs to be rescued by Jiminy, and gets visited by the Blue Fairy. This is the only moment in which Pinocchio's nose grows. Although it is a famous feature of the character, it is only included in the movie once, to make a single pun that teaches kids not to lie, instead of being of use in the story (another win for Shrek 2, I guess). Once Pinocchio is alone, all he does is smile through trouble by carrying his conscience when no one else will guide him. There is a smart dynamic of him trying to decide what to do, sometimes following his "conscience" and sometimes disagreeing with it, like the moment they both jump off the cliff. Once he gets freed, he falls under a different scheme by the same foxes. Although considered a coming-of-age analogy, Pinocchio doesn't grow unilaterally. The lessons he learns are unconnected, and Jiminy has trouble teaching them well to him. His path to goodness in the second act has nothing to do with what heroic decisions he takes eventually. Many of the early Disney films have this structure of putting complex sequences in the middle to puff up the film, putting the plot aside. The scenes involving the villains and the trouble they take to do evil things is very unimportant to me. They appear very little each so that no one gets to be the main antagonist, which gets settled when Geppetto gets eaten by a whale.

The reason the analogy of growth from Pinocchio is resonant has to do with how he steps up to save his father. We never get to see how exactly he ends up inside a whale which is frustrating because the tone of the movie shifts dramatically, although the mediocre level of entertainment stays about the same. Once the characters are inside the whale, which was because of utter luck as they did nothing substantial to find Geppetto, the sequences inside the beast are not that interesting. Other than dancing joyfully, Pinocchio and Geppetto's relationship has had no development up to this point, which is what the middle portion of the picture should have been doing, and never finishes doing because there are only twenty minutes left for the characters to get out of a whale. Just like Snow White (again), Pinocchio dies and is resurrected in the end, only to give a fake shock to children from the 1940s. The ending happens so fast that the Blue Fairy doesn't even appear physically to turn Pinocchio into a real boy, and at that point, he and Geppetto do the only thing they know how to do: dance together joyfully. Jiminy awkwardly lowers the curtain. He is the only character with an interesting personality, being an insect added for comedic relief in pre-production, incidentally establishing a common trope of happy-go-lucky sidekicks such as Mushu and Zazu, and he doesn't even get to sing the final song.

When my brother was four, my mother used to play him Pinocchio so that he would fall asleep. To this day he denies having ever seen it, and so does my mother. I have seen it a couple of times, and even to do this review it took me a couple of sits because I kept getting sleepy, I don't know why. It is nocturnal and small and kicks off with two sequences of characters going to bed. Later on, I have trouble engaging further. Pinocchio is a flat character, way too naive to be relatable to any kid today. Geppetto is not given much to do either. One of his only motifs is repeated three times, where he will witness Pinocchio doing something and will not acknowledge it for a bit until he jumps out all surprised. This is not funny, or useful, and feels even less realistic than getting stuck inside a whale. There are aspects to admire about the animation breakthroughs, be it of water or light. The depressing atmosphere provides scary moments in good conscience like the scene where kids turn into donkeys for misbehaving. This is also based on a pun, and even though is quite a frightening sequence, it is an arbitrary use of magic to punish children, who should be treated as the victims of misleading adults. It also breaks with the idea that the miracle it took to create a living puppet is not an everyday occurrence, since magic events seem to be happening left and right. Overall, I just find it to be inconsistent. Besides several decent jokes, little bits of animation, universal themes, and recognizable concepts, Pinocchio very forcibly takes the title character through a cohesive moral overcoming, has a contorted pace that makes it feel like it ends abruptly, and most of it is hard to even get at in the first place if I fall asleep every time I see the opening 20 minutes.

5/10.

221 minutes of film based on a novel of about a thousand pages, Gone with the Wind was influenced by the hand of many writers, directors and producers, many of them unknown, some of them you might've heard of (George Cukor, Victor Fleming, David O. Selznick). The Civil War drama depicts the Georgian land of Tara, owned by the O'Hara Estate. Vivien Leigh as Scarlett O'Hara is shown as a young girl desired by numerous men of the Confederacy, who entertain her while they consider the possibility of going to war. "Fiddle dee-dee - war, war, war..." are her first words. This is one of her catchphrases along with "Tomorrow is another day" and "I'll think about that tomorrow." They define her personality, which is that of escaping hardship by taking the easy way out. The story revolves around her relationship to her father Gerald, her friends Ashley and Melanie, and her lover Rhett, among numerous characters in the midst. Vivien Leigh is so good in her performance, that she makes the intense nationwide hunt for the part of Scarlett O'Hara seem fulfilled. Other actresses I'm crazy about considered for the part like Katherine Hepburn and Bette Davis could not have given Scarlett the intensity and range that Leigh provides. She and Clark Gable are one of the strongest duos ever to battle on screen.

When Scarlett is young, all of her problems revolve around love. She doesn't want Ashley to get married to her cousin and jealously tries to steal him away. When they're alone, they both confess that they love one another, but Ashley decides to marry Melanie anyway. He leaves the room and Scarlett throws a vase in anger, at which point Rhett Butler emerges from behind a couch having heard the entire conversation. Mr. Butler, played by Gable, is not the regular leading man. When he first speaks, he's the only one who claims the Yankees are more prepared to win the war, to the disagreement of the Confederate men. Shortly after, war is declared. Everybody at the party is excited as the men go to enlist, but Scarlett is upset that Ashley is leaving. She marries another one of the soldiers out of spite; he dies in battle by the next scene. Rhett doesn't go to fight for the South, and stays in Tara making love to Scarlett. She volunteers as a nurse and lives through the horrors of watching men die, while fearing for the life of Ashley. Melanie, pregnant with his baby, becomes ill and is having a difficult birth. The first half of the movie before the intermission becomes increasingly tense, as it combines the troubling pregnancy of Melanie with the takeover of Atlanta by the Union. Once Melanie has the baby, the Yankees attack the town. Witty as ever, Rhett Butler is the one who saves the women and the baby. When Scarlett forgets to lock the door, she asks Rhett what he's laughing at and he answers "At you, locking the Yankees out!" The fire generated by the raid becomes ubiquitous in the sort of sequence that makes you forget the age of the film, and I will nominate the image of the burning building for best shot in the whole movie. By the time they're safe, their silhouettes are black behind a red sky, in the scene where Rhett forces her to kiss him because he will soon die in the war.

Then she reaches Tara. By the end of the first half, Scarlett's mother has died and her father has become insane. This is a key turning point. After all the hunger Scarlett has gone through to go back to her comfort zone, she realizes there's nobody there to help her, and from now on she will have to stand by herself. At her most desperate moment, she goes out onto the dirt and, crouched like an animal in a dark shadow, eats a raw carrot because there is no food. This is my second nomination for best shot in the whole movie. Compared to the pretty dresses and pink cheeks at the beginning, this is the moment at which the story darkens a lot, because Scarlett does so. First appearing to be a spoiled and careless girl, the War cuts through her story and forces her to become a grown woman. Responsibility and loyalty unwillingly put her at the head of the family. She evolves similarly to Michael Corleone, and being a woman it is more impactful to watch her dig her way out of struggle. She kills a man at the beginning of the second half, and with Melanie they do what they can to keep afloat. When the war is over and Ashley comes home, Scarlett still insists. She hypocritically asks Ashley to leave with her moments after she had hit one of her sisters for disrespecting Tara. Ashley keeps being faithful and Scarlett marries another man, who dies shortly after. When she is mourning, Rhett proposes to her, and she accepts.

During the last years of Rhett and Scarlett's marriage, their daughter is the only reason they keep being together. Rhett becomes increasingly jealous because Scarlett keeps thinking of Ashley, and they fight often because their personalities are too strong, giving Leigh and Gable thrilling material to develop onscreen. When Rhett says to Scarlett "no door could keep me out" and kicks the door open to prove it, the camera follows him inside as he pours himself a drink. This is my third nomination for best shot in the whole movie because of the beautiful painting of Scarlett at which Rhett throws the drink, but also the rest of the set, the intensity of the argument and the music that goes with it. Gone with the Wind is perfectly tuned in all areas cinema had developed up to that point. There isn't an artistic fall to be found. Although it is long, each scene always affects the next, many twists and turns keep the plot cooking, and there's a great amount of cohesion in the way the tone changes from scene to scene. Scarlett's obsession for Ashley reaches a boiling point when Rhett threatens to break her head in a drunken stupor, and then rapes her. The portrayal of Rhett Butler as a chauvinist is consistent as he kisses Scarlett many times without consent, eventually taking her up that long red stairway to darkness in my fourth and final nomination for best shot in the whole movie. With Scarlett pregnant again, Rhett offers her a divorce and takes their daughter Bonnie away to London, but has to console her in the middle of the night because she wants to go home. Later in the movie he mentions that Bonnie reminded him of Scarlett, and this is reflected by the scene in which Rhett consoles Scarlett when she has a bad dream. Just like Bonnie wants to return home, Scarlett says to have been dreaming about "looking for something she couldn't find". What could that be? Her father? Her land? Love?

It is important to recognize the film does engage in revisionism and criticizes the Union without mentioning the fight for the abolition of slavery. The portrayal of "Negro Northerners" is negative overall, but some stronger racist concepts from the novel are removed like the glorification of the KKK. This makes it much less outwardly offensive than another film it is often compared to: The Birth of a Nation. Despite the romanticization of the "Old South", I think Gone with the Wind, even if done by people on the wrong side of history, uses the backdrop of the Civil War only to enhance the central romantic story. Also, it's not actually that romantic, at least not in the way movies used to be back then. The characters are at the edge of an apocalypse, being robbed of everything they used to know. Before Rhett violates Scarlett, he tells her "We're not gentlemen. And we have no honor, have we?", and he's right. Scarlett is conniving and cold, and Rhett is a scoundrel. That's why the film remains so attractive. The main characters in any other movie from the time would have been Melanie and Ashley, doing everything with good will. Those would be a dull four hours. This picture, instead, is mostly a tragedy. The final blow comes through a series of deaths. First Scarlett has a miscarriage, and then their daughter Bonnie dies in a riding accident, the same way Scarlett's father died. Melanie is the last one to go. Ashley still rejects Scarlett afterwards and she goes back to Rhett, telling him she loves him and never truly loved Ashley. He doesn't believe her, and why would he, at this point? As a spectator it's not easy to know when Scarlett means what she says, so watching Rhett leave her is cathartic. This whole ending sequence is one of the greatest ever written in history. Beginning with "I'm leaving you, my dear", Rhett laments that things never worked out between them. Once Scarlett chases him down the red stairway and asks him what to do, he slams her with the iconic "Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn." The line caused controversy because of the Hays Code, but it's strong within the context of the movie. After everything the characters go through, Rhett concludes their relationship in the most self-defeated and unromantic way possible, contrary to everything love stories were supposed to teach us. In the end, a glimmer of hope is given to Scarlett, who will go back to Tara, reminded of the words of her father. The constant emotional back-and-forth is bedazzling, and considering the extensive length of the film, the content is still consistent. There are controversial aspects to it, however the main story only takes notice of them as a character development device. If you like this movie because you subscribe to the Lost Cause, you're a negationist idiot. Every time I watch it I become impressed. The story is so encompassing, complex, and slowly nurtured by the assembling of its individual parts that it feels completely modern. It can kick the ass of any other historical drama 85 years later and counting.

10/10.

When the movie opens, MGM's logo is colored sepia, like any other black and white movie. Dorothy's life in Kansas is limiting, spending her whole childhood listening to her parents. In her most intimate moment she sings "Over the Rainbow", a slow track that was almost cut out of the film, and later went on to win Best Original Song at the Academy Awards. It took me many watches throughout my life to realize the characters of the Scarecrow, Tin Man and Cowardly Lion appear in the first portion of the movie as some farmers. When Dorothy first escapes, she meets odd Professor Marvel who is played by Frank Morgan; Morgan later plays many characters in the land of Oz, including the Wizard himself. I do remember Miss Gulch, the bitter old woman attempting to have Dorothy's dog taken away from her, being the Wicked Witch of the West. This is made explicitly clear when Dorothy's house is swirling through the tornado and the old lady is seen flying in her bike, which turns into a broom as she is dressed in a stereotypical witch outfit. So it's a small cast, really. At least until the Munchkins appear, after Dorothy opens the door of her house to Munchkinland.

The catch is clearly that the Technicolor-filmed world of Oz brightens the movie as it does Dorothy's life. "Over the Rainbow" becomes a much more self-aware term if you think about it that way. Color represents the feeling of wonder and awe, and it could be said that the film was structured in such a way so as to take some viewers caught off guard. After all, not everybody who took their children to the movies may have seen the publicity for the picture, and could have thought the whole thing was going to be in black and white. The writers take advantage of Technicolor in a dozen ways. The beautiful witch Glinda first pops out of a PINK bubble asking the Munchkins to come out, because a young girl has fallen from the sky "and Kansas, she says, is the name of her star." The Munchkins all celebrate that the Witch of the East is dead, bearing different-colored outfits. Then the Munchkins tell Dorothy to follow the YELLOW Brick Road, which is more vibrantly colored than any other surface in the movie. Dorothy obeys, dancing in her bright RUBY slippers, travelling to see the Wizard of Oz, so that he can return her to Kansas. She will have to search for him past the forest, in EMERALD City, which exploits the color green in an extensive sequence before we reach the Wizard.

As Dorothy travels and meets the main characters, they all sing similarly tuned songs of "If I only had a brain/heart/nerve." I love the Scarecrow, who's search for a brain seems to be the most sympathetic, his movements the most visually appealing and even Dorothy says to him in the end "I will miss you most of all." The Tin Man's search is also noble, and I think he's the one who gets screwed the most in the end: the Wizard gives him a heart-shaped clock, which seems like the only thing they could find in the studio that could make any sense at all. The Cowardly Lion is a little annoying, and his costume design is definitely the worst. His acting leaves much to be desired, as he gives the least subtle performance. They give him the worst song in the entire film, which is the one in Emerald City about being King of the Forest, you know the one. It's over-long, and it re-introduces a character who's gimmick has already been established. The Wizard of Oz is not defined by its proficiency when it comes to writing, music, comedy or even acting. It appeals as a classic because it adapts a novel like "The Wonderful Wizard of Oz", which has all the best elements to be explored in a visual medium at this scale. The four main characters are widely different in design and tone, and they travel merrily through a world that is full of danger but also wonder. There are many basic melodies that are stuck in the collective unconscious, among them "we're off to see the wizard...", "you're out of the woods, you're out of the dark...", and "... in the merry old land of Oz."

The variety of scenery in the film is what makes it feel as big as nothing before it. The introduction to the characters is made in the depressing sets of black-and-white Kansas. What comes then is Dorothy meeting the people of Oz and travelling to Emerald City, which composes the second act. The third act, which for a kid's movie this long should last about half an hour, is considerably darker. It consists of the Wicked Witch's army of flying monkeys sequestering Dorothy (and her little dog, too). The main characters then must infiltrate a castle and save her. This final predicament is built upon with great pacing, as the Witch's army corners the main characters into different places in the castle. The sets and special effects of this whole sequence are considerably elaborate for the time, ranging from flying objects in the background to set compositions clearly made out of several layers combined, like the outside halls between the towers. Once the Witch of the West is dead, the final moments are less enjoyable. According to Glinda, all Dorothy had to do to get back home was a little dance, and the whole adventure was meaningless. After that, we find out that it was all a dream, the film concluding with the phrase "there's no place like home!", so it's doubly meaningless. All of this weird backing down at the end does not bother me, because The Wizard of Oz is not a thinking piece, it's not for the edgy movie-goer. I don't demand it to make a whole lot of sense, and take it mostly as a visual and sentimental experience.

It has proven relevant after many decades. It was one of two big and lauded pictures being made at the time, along with Gone with the Wind. One of the two most glamorous and revolutionary productions up to that point, The Wizard of Oz particularly offered to show the possibilities of kid's movies. With wholesome and dorky vaudeville that to this day is effective, it also features a somewhat scary and highly entertaining climax at the lair of the Wicked Witch. It's the oldest adventure film that still feels so enticing because it takes a main character that is dissatisfied with an unfulfilling lifestyle, and cannonballs her into a fantasy landscape comprised of several beautiful sets in which unique circumstances present themselves as the adventure moves forward. This general framework has influenced numerous modern classics, like Star Wars, Labyrinth or Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, among tons more. The Wizard of Oz has some sequences that I don't enjoy as much, as well as primitive aspects of 1930s children's entertainment that have become a little sterile, but it's still the main handbook of an entire genre. Its influence is undeniable. That intrinsic value still makes it come together strongly after all these years, easily making it the most universally appealing film of the Great Depression.

9/10.

Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs was the first full-length animated fairy tale adaptation by Walt Disney, which he spent years developing amidst a lot of pushback and disincentives. Out in 1937, it is the first animated classic, and holds more cultural relevance than any other Disney princess movie. The character first appears scrubbing the floors, happily singing a song. Starring a young princess in rags in the 18th Century searching for love, Snow White is a pure musical, which is astounding. Not Cinderella, nor Aladdin, nor The Lion King have as much music. As romantically vintage as it comes off, most of the dialogue rhymes, the characters expected to break into song frequently. The first song Snow White sings she does so to a wishing well. "I'm Wishing" has the most beautiful melody of the film, in my opinion; it fills me with nostalgia despite the fact I never saw this movie growing up. The worm's-eye view shot of her listening to the echo of the well slightly disrupted by water drops is still one of the most awe-inspiring images Disney has ever produced. It's a very sophisticated way of establishing the style of the film and it appears as though the animators are bragging about it a little bit.

Snow White is the perfect princess, because she loves everybody in the land. She shows compassion for the old woman, her stepmother, the dwarfs, all animals and creatures alike. The "Prince", who sings "One Song" by the wishing well, is the True Love that will give Snow White her true love's first kiss. The stepmother, simply named "Queen", calls upon the Magic Mirror and asks if she is the fairest in the land, only to be disappointed by the answer. Her menace is a strong point in the movie, giving children a scary villain to hold in contempt. She puts the plot in motion by sending a Huntsman to kill the girl, but he is unable. Not counting the animals, there are close to twelve characters in the film we get to know within a running time of 80 minutes. The Prince only has two scenes and one song, making him the flattest. Nevertheless, many others who appear a short amount each still display many recognizable features. The dwarfs come to life as soon as they appear. Chosen from a pool of dozens of gimmicks, the seven personalities of the dwarfs came to be during the production of this version. Everybody at least remembers Doc, the leader, Grumpy, the mean one, or Dopey, the black sheep. Singing the "Heigh-Ho" song, we see them walking back from work holding their pickaxes and tools on their shoulders in probably one of Disney's most recognizable shots.

Although the age of the picture is evident, there's a variety in its art and music that helps diversify the tone, awakening different visual and narrative possibilities in the film. The design of the little men is quite a contrast to those of the Princess and Prince. When Snow White first sees them, the dwarfs fall in love with her beauty and willingness as fast as they are invited to eat the supper she's cooked. I can see old conservative values in the motherly relationship Snow White presents, as she teaches the dwarfs how to cook and clean, and they as men only go to work, entitled to rest afterwards. However, it could be justified by looking at Snow White's role as a maid in the castle, which would had given her a lot of experience in home chores. This middle-portion in which the seven dwarfs do different things in the house is composed of several physical gags accompanied of orchestral music, each telling you the characteristics of the dwarfs. Grumpy will always be dismissive, and Doc will always command. When they play instruments Sneazy will be the flute, and Dopey the drums, and so on and so on. Considering the nature of such an ambitious children's project, despite the amusement of these scenes not being as intense as it may have been back then, it is understandable that they take up a significant chunk of the movie, as they have the most elaborate animated sequences.

Danger only comes at the end and it is narrow. The Queen disguises herself as an old lady and offers Snow White the poisoned apple. She is later chased down by the animals and dies crushed by a rock during a thunderstorm. Snow White is put under a glass casket. In the last five minutes, the Prince (after "searching far and wide" according to one measly intertitle) comes in and kisses her back to life. He then takes her to his Kingdom which looks like it's made out of gold and located up in the Heavens. Many things I've mentioned from this movie are as classic as the oldest conventions and as inescapable as the plot of Shrek, which parodies the Magic Mirror, the glass casket, the evil stepmother, the true love's first kiss, and other minor details like how it begins with a book being opened or the birds echoing what the princess sings. This movie is the basis for a formula that would first be xeroxed in the characters of Cinderella, who was also a maid for her stepmother, and Sleeping Beauty, who also experienced the Sleeping Death, or later subverted in modern characters like Belle and Mulan.

After all these years, Snow White is still the best out of the first handful of movies Disney made. I think it's better than Dumbo and Pinocchio, as it contains more material that ranges across different genres: from pure visual comedy when it comes to the dwarfs interacting with the music, to fully committed love serenades on the balcony of the Princess' castle. It's a little loose around the center but it kicks off in a magical way that is never lost as long as Snow White is on screen. The sudden fear of losing her at the end is only a device to give children a glimmer of hope to hang onto the character, that of course lives, insuring good triumphs in the end. This movie is from an era in which cinema had not seen that many things. If you think about the absolute achievement that it must have entailed back then to have animated something as romantic and creative, unsure of the results, and it turning to be the entire foundation that the company would sit on for a good hundred years, it puts Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs in a unique place in cinema history like Star Wars or Toy Story. As a stand-alone adventure it is limited, but it's still amusing and alive in many ways, forcing you to fall in love with its world and characters.

8.5/10.

One of the most important romantic comedies, it stars Clarke Gable and Claudette Colbert as Peter and Ellie. They meet at a bus under special circumstances. Ellie has married a man who her father disapproves of, and being fed up with it she flees the aristocracy. While a search for her begins nationwide, she stumbles upon Peter who is a journalist, and he promises to take her safe and sound to New York if she will let him have the exclusive story. Their differing classes is key to the plot, as it puts Ellie at a disadvantage because she's not used to roaming alone. She has her luggage stolen, spends money without care, misses appointments, so Peter, who's more of a street dog, is essential for her survival. Throughout the movie they fall in love but ever-so-slowly, keeping their interactions hostile and filled with humorous comebacks. This is the memorable and more influential part of the film, their dialogue consisting of not saying what they really mean and trying to hide their inevitable attraction.

Peter is seen dealing with the newspaper director he works for. The first time we see him, he is talking on a payphone, telling him off. Many of his friends (or people that was there, I don't know) are gathered listening to him, delighted with joy. Once the newspaper director hangs up on him after discrediting him, Peter pretends to be winning the conversation. As hilarious as it begins, it is one-upped just right after when his character argue with a policeman at the bus, and he keeps striking him with comebacks, one after another. This is the first in an interminable line of comedy gags where Peter outsmarts other characters. Most of us know his face from the Civil War drama Gone with the Wind, but Gable plays a different kind of man in this movie. He is a skinny joke-maker, witty with every spec of his soul. Not only does he help Ellie but he provides good entertainment, too. When they are to go to sleep, Peter starts undressing and explains that "no two men undress alike", teaching Ellie the many different ways in which it can be done, as an excuse to make her go away. This scene sort of represents what such a film must offer: comedy and banter, with a little sex.

Claudette Colbert has surely the best performance. Although Gable is the mouthpiece for most of the jokes, she is the one who shows tenderness when the moment demands it. Although not a particularly naughty film, there are some very sensual moments. In response to the natural charm of Gable, her character has different reactions. We can see repulsion at first, when she doesn't want to sit with him. Later, when she falls asleep grabbing Peter, she wakes up all embarrassed and apologetic. By the time they are in the wilderness and Peter tucks her in, there is a silent moment where he approaches her to kiss her and backs down. It's actually very subtle, but we can see in Colbert that she is awe-struck, and confused at her own feelings, laying in a very provocative pose (the film luckily came out before the Hays Code). Given Peter is not good at expressing his emotions, she is the one who has to confront him. She kneels at his bed and asks him to take her with him, and hit with rejection, cries herself to sleep. Compare that to a comedic scene: Peter asks Ellie to pretend to be his wife, and they both bicker to repeal the authorities that are looking for her. In that scene, she screams, cries, and laughs once she is safe. Colbert has range.

The age of the movie is shown in the script. As it was with the first era of sound, an emphasis is given to the dialogue and not much is done elsewhere to enhance the movie. This results in scenes that are very theatrically written, the characters standing still, waiting to say their lines. When Ellie misses the bus and Peter is waiting for her, he basically has a monologue to spit onto her. The camera films them both standing in front of each other, he says it all fast and mechanically and because she has no lines she has to stand there and take it. This is the most primitive type of cinema, and it has aged poorly. However, if you take a better written scene, it works wonderfully. I'm thinking of Peter when he takes one of the men from the bus aside because he has found them out. In the woods, at night, in pure silence, with very narrow lighting, the script flourishes. Peter lies to the man and tells him he has two guns and is ready to take Ellie hostage. Hearing this, the man backs down and unadmittedly implores for his life in what is probably one of the funniest moments overall.

Although the ending was obvious, It Happened One Night is, for the most part, a road-trip movie. The journey is what matters, and they travel by bus, they walk, they drive a car. In that sense, the film is very comfy. The fact it's old and in black and white adds to that comfort. You can follow the plot through the places the characters have been in, and in each and every one of them a situation is presented that gives the actors room to fight, make up, discuss matters and solve problems. The pacing is very organic and well-structured. It's old films like these that prove that the feeling of adventure is easy to achieve if the interactions on-screen are well done. Contrasted with action movies, for example, romantic comedies also have the luck that they can survive only by virtue of being funny and sexy enough. I can assure you this movie has enough comedy and heart to entertain all generations.

9/10.

The third installment in DeMille's Biblical trilogy is a sound film, for a change. It sees Fredric March as a Roman general who, while following orders directly from Nero to exterminate all Christians, falls in love with a Christian girl. Nero, superbly portrayed by Charles Laughton, appears in the first scene fiddling a lyre at the top of an exterior structure while Rome burns before him. His grandiosity is perceived through slow camera movements. Karl Struss' cinematography is one of the highlights of the film, and many other details such as transitions, blocking and good theatrical performances. A scene like this opens the film with a powerful tone, and an epic representation of the Roman Emperor that sees him in the most harrowing of contexts. Poppaea, played by Claudette Colbert, is just as intriguing a character. She has had a love affair with Marcus, the protagonist, and thanks to her manipulation of the Emperor, he is able to get away with more than others.

Fredric March does a very good job, even more so knowing how young talkies were. Although serious and royal, the character of Marcus reaches points in the story at which he is to beg for the things he wants. Be it to Nero, or later to Mercia, he gets down on his knees and implores, and whenever he does this I can see a very bold, honest performance coming out of him. While Elissa Landi is not bad at all as Mercia, there isn't enough time for the supposed love to be established properly. Marcus and Mercia meet under opposing sides but never despise each other, giving the leads little to work with. They fall as soon as they meet, and their "seductive" conversation is pretty mediocre, filled with clichés that force the lovers to do eyes at each other instead of having something interesting to say.

Being pre-Code, The Sign of the Cross actually has more sex and violence than many films that came after. The first scene with Poppaea sees her bathing in milk, with her breasts just below the surface. The contrast between her as an object of lust and Mercia who represents purity always covered in robes is an obvious one. When it comes to violence, the film is bluntly explicit. Before the first half is over (there's an interlude as a matter of fact) Roman soldiers strike down a secret gathering of Christians. In this scene there are many arrows that cross the bodies of the innocent. Up to a point we even see a mother die in front of her daughter. Once the Christians are imprisoned, they are to be taken to the arena where Nero will make them fight beasts and other people. There are disturbing images of an elephant almost crushing a man, lions and tigers biting, many innuendos of blades cutting through flesh including one explicit beheading, and most importantly a scene where alligators are released to eat a naked woman, who's body parts are covered by nothing but leaves and ornaments.

Marcus is constantly trying to save Mercia from her own beliefs and those like her who are Christian also. The point of her character is to resist the temptation of leaving everything behind to be with Marcus, and she always does, there's not an ounce of doubt in her. By imploring to Nero and Poppaea, Marcus is able to live with Marcia for a while. She, however, is unhappy knowing her friends and family will die. By putting up parties, Marcus attempts to integrate her but only alienates her further. I have to seriously ask at this point what does she see in him. The love affair itself might be the key aspect of the film that doesn't fully come together. While everything around Marcus and Marcia is apt and they are both fleshed out characters, being together seems more like a requirement for the plot than an actual passion. After all, Marcus is an important part of the extermination of Christians, and he never gets his comeuppance in light of such truth.

I am not a believer, and that puts me at odds both with the Romans and with Cecil B. DeMille. He is religiously motivated; we see in The Sign of the Cross the representation of Christianity as the pure truth and Romans as the fact-denying hegemony. My modern eyes see through that, and even though I don't agree with it, if you ignore the self-righteousness of the script the story can be re-interpreted as two people victims of their time in a senseless war, and it works just as well. I liked the ending mainly because it was as courageous as the violence and despair that we get to experience throughout the movie, especially the arena sequence. The group of Christians imprisoned are a great feature to the film. One of the most soul-crushing moments of the movie would be the little girl asking his father where are they going, and his father answering "to see mother". With such hopeless tone, I thought that any happy ending would feel like a diminishment, because it would see Marcia betraying her Christian beliefs. In the end, Marcus decides to die with Marcia for he can't live without her but she can't live without her people. He admits that while he doesn't understand her, he is willing to give up his worldview for her. The doors are closed and we see upon them a cross made out of light. This is the dichotomy of watching DeMille: beliefs that would otherwise seem silly to me expressed with visionary filmmaking.

7/10.

By this time in his career DeMille was more than ready to embark on the adventure of the life of Jesus Christ. Considered the second in his Biblical trilogy, The King of Kings could have been pitched to the studio presenting them the Prologue of DeMille's 1923 picture The Ten Commandments in which Moses is depicted, and assuring them that he could do it full-length for Jesus. Although represented in art throughout history, now Jesus would be moving for 2 hours, so this had to be cooked just right. Add to this that the release of the film was being marketed in a big way, so everyone could simultaneously see the Biblical story in a movie for the first time. Notice how the default poster from 1927 does not portray Jesus. There's two kids walking, the blind one in the forefront, guided by the other. The kid, as we find out at the beginning of the movie, is searching for the man everyone's been talking about that can cure his blindness once and for all. Once he gets to Jesus and the Lord returns him his eyesight, it is only then that we see Jesus' face appear very slowly in front of a hypnotic glimmer of light.

H. B. Warner has strong Greek features and perfectly groomed hair so he doesn't actually look like the popular image people have of Jesus. As soon as we are introduced to his character, the first scenes afterwards are things from the New Testament: Jesus healing Mary, Jesus healing Lazarus, making coins appear in fishes, preventing the stoning of an adulterous woman. As they did with The Ten Commandments, a lot of the dialogue and other intertitles are taken directly from scripture: "He that is without sin - let him cast the first stone". With chapter and verse, which is a nice touch. Also written by Jeanie Macpherson, it seems as though she is quite good at taking Bible chapters and economically adapting them to the screen. This is not to say that the movie passes quickly. After all, it is two and a half hours long. The scenes of Christ at the beginning making miracles, and why not wrecking the gallery also, are the most straightforward. If you already know the stories there's nothing new to see. Yet, the film only gets better.

As we see these acts of worship and faith, a sidestory of the Romans getting angry at Jesus was only appropriate. Being a silent movie it's difficult to follow how the Romans rank in the Empire, but the only one that matters is Pilate, who is presented in an incredible tracking shot that reveals more and more of his throne room. Another memorable character is Judas, obviously. It may sound dumb, but I really appreciate that these types of figures are recognizable in the film. It's not as easy as it seems to translate a character into a big production for the first time; if one of these three failed, it could have ruined the entire thing. Of course with a hundred year old movie our modern minds can see through many childish acting decisions like a fist to express anger by a Roman general, or Judas' face when he refuses to drink Jesus' blood, looking to both sides extremely suspiciously. And though he's not the best actor of the bunch, DeMille gives Judas an extremely dark ending in which he hangs himself from a tree near where Jesus is being crucified. We see his body hanging; this is an incredibly disturbing image for a 1920s movie. Furthermore, a lightning hits the tree and it falls down a crag. This plus a musical score make for intense images.

The acting of Warner is great. It's not easy to tell if this is more thanks to the filmmakers or him, but the depiction ended up how it needed to be. The character is gentle, slow to judgment, relaxed, almost merry, most of the time. He is often depicted with an aura that shines around him. This was great lightworks from the cinematographers. His crucifixion is the part where the movie could have been broken or dumbed-down, but instead, each second that Jesus suffers is done with a tasteful grittiness. As more and more people approach the Way of Suffering, the more Warner starts to resemble Jesus. Similarly to Willem Dafoe in The Last Temptation of Christ, it is not until he is hanged by the palms on the cross that the true likeness of Jesus comes to life a hundred percent. This is an astounding climax if there ever was one in a silent movie. Tinted yellow in what is a beautifully terrifying contrast between light and shadow, the image of the Christ dead in the light of the storm is intercut with the hanging body of Judas. Cecil B. DeMille's fierceness had never been set loose on screen with such might.

Thank God this film came before sound. It benefits the story in many ways. For example, when Jesus writes Hewbrew words in the sand they turn to English. Details like that can only work with the impersonality of silent movies. I have been debating myself wether the scenes of the Resurrection were a little much. The moment the grave opens and Jesus appears seems almost a comical one. That is probably the brightest the body of Jesus shines in the movie. In the last scene, Christ meets his followers. He calls upon the apostles one last time, as we see his body overlooking a modern city, a translucent text reading "I am always with you" in the front, with the music blasting out the final notes. And although this is a lot of ending for a film that is already long, I am sort of glad and understand why DeMille wanted to squeeze out as much as possible from the scripture within the runtime. The King of Kings is a document in the eyes of the filmmakers, who want to give the Testament its first true living representation. It's a pleasure to watch this depiction of Christ. When it was made, no other feature-length film had even come close.

8/10.

Ben-Hur: A Tale of the Christ had been a successful novel since the late 1800s. Then it was adapted into an equally successful stage play. The 1925 production was bound to be costly and ambitious, and the results can impress to this day. Judah Ben-Hur's story of enslavement and revenge lives on as an iconic and influential fable, especially because of its alternate recount of the evens of the life of Christ. In this version, many scenes involving biblical events are shot with two-color Technicolor, MGM taking credit for some of the earliest representations of the savior that are this encompassing, so it's only fitting that it should be deemed one of those "culturally, historically, aesthetically significant" thingies. We get to witness the arrival of the Three Wise Men, the Last Supper and, of course, the Crucifixion, yet we never see his face. The most defining moment for Ben-Hur as a slave is his first encounter with Jesus, who gives him water. We only see Jesus' hand and Judah's reaction. This gives it a fine cinematic touch. The lone hand of Jesus could be interpreted as the hand of God himself, among hope, faith, perseverance, etc.

The slave boat that Judah lives in gets attacked at one point, and he seizes the opportunity to escape. This is the first action sequence of the film and it's great. With what looks like tough management of extras, there are many shots of boats clashing into one another. We can see this from wide angles and we get close-ups of the inside of each ship as well. Among the best ones, there's one scene in which a ship charges perpendicularly into the enemy, with a Roman slave tied to the bow. We see his face of pure terror before his body is smashed into the rival structure (off-screen). Moreover, one of the ships also tears through the side of the other, breaking many oars in its way. There's great excitement in this sequence, as it pauses the story of Judah to have fun with the horrors of war. The final moments are striking once the ships are burnt and all the bodies swim through the water in mayhem. It rings very similar to Battleship Potemkin, which came out almost at the same time. You can tell it's a super-production.

The bits of the film in-between are not perfect. The conversations had in Rome at the beginning, those of Judah and Messala, are forgettable at best. The part where he's a slave is more interesting because suffering is often more appealing, but once Ben-Hur goes back to Rome a millionaire the film gets stale again. This is because the character work is not thorough. Speaking ignorant of the novel, I will critique that the characters leave much to be desired. Not only are Judah and Messala a stereotypical hero-villain approach, but their dialogue is always direct exposition of their condition. "Forget you're a Jew" - "Forget I'm a Jew? Forget you're a Roman!". I know that silent films need a little cutting to the chase so as not to overload the screen with intertitles, but I think many of the things said in the film could actually be left unsaid. Ben-Hur communicates mostly in phrases such as "I live for revenge" and variations. Messala hates Jews, Judah's mother and sister don't want to be touched because they have leprosy, Esther feels sorry for Ben-Hur. They are mechanical in the way they verbally express what they feel and want, and that makes for very long, unnecessary, annoying sequences in which the characters stand around repeating what they're supposed to.

Let's talk about that chariot race. This is definitely one the most groundbreaking action sequences up to that point. Most of it features the camera moving in inviting ways, mainly forward and sideways. Judah's horses are white while Messala's are black, and that's everything you need to know about the symbolism involved. In the end, what's most striking about a sequence like this is to imagine how dizzying it must have been for people at the time to witness something so fast. Even in 1925, it was not common for a normal person to experience fast-travel at this scale, so this is one of those first instances in which cinema presented a feeling that could not be felt otherwise for most. It is clear, however, that animals were harmed in the filming of this race. This is abhorrent, and even more so for the fact that (even though I later looked it up and I was right) you can tell instantly. There were no special effects that could save those animals back in the 20s. The chariot race is most impressive, but it generates mixed feelings.

The religious portions are more commanding of the momentum of the film, the color sequences feeling more artistic, with practically no dialogue. Jesus' story feels more present than Ben-Hur's and that's a problem because the appeal of the original novel (and something better represented in the 1959 remake) is that the events are witnessed through bystanders; however, this version of Ben-Hur seems to put many of the biblical events at the forefront. The third act of the movie once Messala is defeated deals with Judah's mother and sister seeking to be cured by Jesus. I was surprised of how similar this version is to William Wyler's. Ben-Hur is present and he and his family get a small visit from Jesus' hand and they all get cured. The film is more than 140 minutes long. It's faithful and overarching, a big accomplishment, and with it we get the spectacle of the ship sequence, the chariot sequence, and some of the Jesus stuff that can be quite beautiful too. However, some of the plot-points are overstretched and the character development needed to be better for the stakes to be higher.

7/10.

The silent version of DeMille's Ten Commandments is divided into two parts. The first part is the story of Moses defying Egyptian rule in favor of the enslaved Jews. This is one of those pioneering productions that built sets that were unthinkable to many, and enjoys many incredible shots with hundreds of extras. Moses walking in the forefront of a long line of Jews in the desert is just astonishing, and one of the most accomplished shots in silent cinema that I've seen. As much as there are big moments like these, there are also little details. A slave dies in the first sequence, squashed by a wheel. This is achieved with frenetic cutting, as if the wheel was about to step on the camera. As all of it unfolds, most of the intertitles are direct quotes from scripture. DeMille makes sure his cinema is characteristic and varied.

Moses himself has a disheveled look, which contrasts with the Charlton Heston version in a good way. While Heston looks more virile and heroic, this Moses is a skinny old man. This makes him look underestimated, more of a sympathetic figure. The parting of the Red Sea is also groundbreaking for its special effects, both when God smites the shores with fire as much as when the waters crash down on the Egyptians once the Jewish people have passed. Moses goes up Mount Sinai and we witness the sin of the calf. Moses learning the Commandments isn't particularly interesting, if not ridiculously literal, the words being written out in the sky in pompous explosions. This is the moment at which the scenes with the extras become humdrum: the sin of the calf is a bunch of people running around until Moses smites them.

The second half of the film begins here. A mother is reading Exodus to her two adult children. One of them honors the Commandments, the other does not. The righteous one, who incidentally looks like Javier Bardem, is a carpenter, and works on the church his brother Dan is building. Dan, who admits not to believe in God or the Commandments, has taken a decision to cut down on concrete for the structure of the building, softening the mix with more sand to cut costs. This results in the church falling down on top of his own mother, who dies. In the end she says to Dan that she "should've taught him to love God and not to fear him". I appreciate that the movie has an easygoing perspective on diverse beliefs and orthodoxy, contrary to what I was expecting.

But there is a moral trap. When Dan builds the weak structure that collapses on his mother he imagines the guilt through a window that reads "Thou shalt not steal". This would imply that the reason why his mother died was because he stole. But is this stealing? In many cases, company projects are cornered into making tough choices. Of course putting one part concrete to twelve parts sand is not a good idea for cutting costs, but what if it was one to six? Would this be stealing or would it be a smart business decision? Earlier in the film, the mother gets mad at Dan and his girlfriend because they are dancing the blues on the Sabbath. The righteous brother stops her and soundly concludes that "there's nothing in the Bible against having a little fun on Sunday". But, again, isn't there? Some would say yes, some would say no. God is quite vague in many of his requests; what counts as keeping the Sabbath holy? You see, this is the problem when you try to justify religious axioms in narrative form, it exposes the underlying contradictions. Notice how the decisive Commandments of the plot are "don't kill", "don't steal", "don't lie". These are things that we know to be wrong because we don't like them made against us either, which is a much more sound guide for acting morally. If Jeanie MacPherson (the writer) had to come up for a storyline that justified one of the first three Commandments, it wouldn't be as easy.

Although the film is not as preachy or puritan as I was expecting, in the end Dan's wife gets saved by being cured of leprosy after hearing a story about Jesus' healing powers. The brief representation of Jesus is actually gorgeous and tasteful, but its use is not. This doesn't have anything to do with the Commandments, so it just comes off as preaching with no actual relation to the plot. If you think about it, the whole project feels like an excuse for DeMille to film those historical sequences he likes so much. The idea for the plot came from a pitching contest of which the winner was the single quote "You can't break the Ten Commandments - they will break you", so it's not hard to realize why the contemporary parts are so thinly written and don't translate well into the silent medium. I hold admiration for the Exodus portion because it's visual, intuitive and straightforward as silent films demand, and it inspired the 1956 remake by DeMille himself which, in the end, is the film that I think he wanted to make.

6/10.

2010's True Grit remake was written and directed by the Coen brothers in what seems at first glance to be a neat idea: a low-key classic from the Western craze of the 20th century brought to times where the genre is rarely portrayed by Hollywood. The bounty-hunter novel featuring 14-year-old Mattie Ross and Marshal Rooster Cogburn is more faithfully adapted by this new version. Although the story is straightforward and pretty similar to the original John Wayne film, this one features a more realistic tone according to the necessities of modern audiences.

Mattie, for a change, looks like an actual child, which didn't come through in the original as much, Kim Darby looking as conflictingly old as Judy Garland in The Wizard of Oz. Hailee Steinfeld is a commanding actress, and has the "grit" her character needs to come across as strongly as she is supposed to, but I think the screenplay does her character wrong because it moves at a fast pace. Her dad, shot dead by the moment the movie begins, is never seen interacting with her and even though there is expository narration to explain to us the mission in which Mattie is about to embark, this doesn't work once she is introduced. Since we don't see her deal with the loss, it's difficult to tell what drives her character. All of her bookkeeping abilities are not justified either. The original with one single scene at the beginning of the movie solved both these problems.

As I said, the movie begins all too quickly. Although the hanging has more outgoing writing choices than in the 1969 version, this quickly goes away once Rooster is introduced. Jeff Bridges, if anything a potentially great choice the first time you hear it, overdoes the character of Rooster Cogburn. For one, he mumbles and snores through his dialogue using exaggerated head movements like a cowboy parody, and his demeanor is not as defying as John Wayne's was, but more like he's disinterested; he butchers the scene at the jury, which was a highlight from the original. Both his character and LaBoeuf had their introductory scenes cut and it ruins their integration into the film considerably because Mattie does not interact with them organically, but as if she was waiting for them to appear on screen and hop on an adventure with her. Especially Rooster. John Wayne shoots a rat at the beginning of the movie, which rhymes with him shooting the snake threatening Mattie at the end. The remake only includes the latter. The first scene John Wayne did closing the door on Mattie's face was necessary just to process his appearance alone. My main point being Rooster and LaBoeuf have less development on screen than they could.

Once the adventure is started, there are not considerable differences to the original film, with the dialogue being about 80% the same. In general, the Coen brothers do include beautiful shots that, for someone who might enjoy the plot of True Grit, can justify the existence of the film. Despite some comedic moments, there aren't that many hints that this is a Coen movie. In general, it's very painted by numbers. Even if I was not a fan to begin with, what the True Grit remake does is to portray the same events with a more depressing mood. The original film does look naive, with the actors seeming like they were out on a picnic. This helps the remake at scenes where the threat of riding alone needs to be emphasized, but it hurts it in scenes that are supposed to be energetic. The shootout at the cabin, originally one of the more exciting sequences, is just another self-serious moment. The film is dragged down attempting to overwrite the original with the "grown-up" aesthetics of Unforgiven. I don't have much to say about Tom Chaney or the Ned Pepper gang. Just like in the original film they arrive too late to be too interesting and the shootout with Rooster has the same climactic use. You could even say it's an improvement because Ned Pepper's delivery of "I'm shot to pieces" doesn't work with that ridiculously bright red paint they tried to pass as blood back in the day.

You can thank the new True Grit for bringing the classic novel to a more crude realization, but in general it comes off as a very mediocre affair. It has little personality to be a Coen movie, especially when it comes to Rooster who, despite some scenes of subtle humour, has a very cliché "tough-guy" personality that blends him into the background, whereas John Wayne carried the whole film on his shoulders, the way Mattie is supposed to perceive the Marshal in the first place. It begins quickly and with missing pieces for the purpose of moving to the action, and by the time it begins it gets stale. The writers grabbed that scene in which Rooster talked about his ex-wife, which was a very touching and personal moment, and turned it into a side-gag of Rooster talking Mattie's ears off about his many ex-wives. This made me realize True Grit is not a film to be given to the Coens. They're too ironic and gritty to re-interpret something as romantic as True Grit. They diminished the only thing that made the original decent, and that was the Rooster-Mattie duo.

5/10.

... It's Hepburn! John Wayne gets his second outing as Rooster Cogburn, the one-eyed Marshal from True Grit. Originally playing against young Kim Darby, the sequel simply titled "Rooster Cogburn" attempts to fill the void left by Darby by replacing her with Katherine Hepburn. With his father killed, she mirrors that character in essence, embarking on an adventure with Wayne to kill the perpetrators. Since this is an original screenplay probably ordained by a company, much of the narrative value of the original doesn't translate into this other project. It's more of a veteran actors' play-exercise.

The way the adventure starts is much more straightforward than in True Grit. Eula, the nun Hepburn portrays, is attacked in her home chapel by the first scene she appears in and not soon after her father is killed. Taken with a grain of salt, I would say Cogburn as a character hasn't suffered and still appears to act and react the same as he used to. He even feels like a character that has grown because of the events of the first film: although he doesn't do it right away, he agrees faster to taking Eula with him presumably because he now welcomes companionship with more goodwill.

Much like the previous film, the adventure is dry, the main difference being that the villains are even more paper-thin. I saw the movie two hours ago and I can't give you a single name or trait. There's just the leader and the rest of the gang, a bunch of extras with hats. The shootout sequences are few and far between, and feel like a chore for the movie rather than an actual adventure. Notice how I said "adventure" and not "plot", because there isn't much of that. In bounty-hunter movies the plot is usually just the synopsis and the rest is fireworks. There's nothing wrong with that, but Rooster Cogburn, released in 1975, is a Western made in a time where others had done it already and better.

The catch of the movie, and the only reason it was made, is for the two leads to play off each other. By those standards it's actually pretty good: Hepburn and Wayne seem to be on their comfort zone, working together in a decade that was otherwise slowly forgetting them. With a smaller budget, Rooster Cogburn (the movie) is framed under the light of the "slowly dying West" trope, Cogburn being called out at the beginning of the movie by the judge, who hollers "the West is changing and you haven't changed with it". The Native-American sidekick (who's racial portrait is quite humble despite being called "Breed") keeps asking Rooster to tell him bounty stories, and the first one he mentions is that of Ned Pepper, from the first movie. After that he tells other stories that are original, so even though there are staples to show that the first movie happened and this is not a vague sequel, it's handled subtly. This makes it easier to swallow than other sequels that fail at selling the idea that it's all happening in the same world.

Since the action is mediocre at best, the stretches of time in-between where the two leads converse are the better portions, unlike the previous film. The chemistry is almost as worthy as that of Cogburn and Mattie, and as I've said before this is what this type of movie needs to keep afloat. Talking about "afloat"... the final sequence of the movie happens at a river in a raft. By this point, they might as well just shoot The African Queen over. It's not an outlandish decision because the last film did not feature water much, and this counts as a breath of fresh air. But god damn, it reminds me so much to The African Queen it's insulting. With this in mind Hepburn seems less like a character and more like a tool, used by the studio to collect profit. Finally, the showdown is well-handled, featuring a clever plan that involves blowing up a cargo floating in the river to kill the gang of nameless cowboys that threaten Cogburn. The bond between Eula and Rooster seems proper and ends on a very sentimental note, like the first film. In general, it's a more lacking affair, especially when it comes to introducing a story, but as far as the characters interacting, I have to say I buy it.

5.5/10.

A novel adapted, True Grit tells its story from the point of view of Mattie Ross, a young girl who's father is shot in cold blood by a drunk outlaw called Tom Chaney. The beginning of the movie sees her trying to find the right Marshall to help her hunt down the guy. When she is offered the fast, savage or practical choice, she goes for the savage: Rooster Cogburn. This is because her hunt is not defined by justice, but vengeance, and we can see this in her demeanor. She is prepared for most encounters with an offer or extortion and raises her voice to anybody that underminds her. Kim Darby makes her character at the beginning of the film feel lively without turning annoying, but reassuring and confident instead. She has true grit.

Rooster is played by John Wayne and he, also, has true grit. Wayne is obviously the selling point of the picture, but it is said that he lobbied hard for the part, and he owns this performance in my view. When presented, he is portrayed as a ruthless Marshall that people tend to fear, not respect. This fact never changes in the movie which is great, because it makes him more antiheroic than in most of his other parts. With an eyepatch and a beige coat, his appearance is so molded into the silhouette of John Wayne that even though it's not his greatest performance, it is understandable that he earned his only Oscar because of a part like this: it's the late-career performance that makes critics realize how iconic an actor is or has been for the longest time. I could believe that the whole movie was made for the purpose of shooting Wayne in that final showdown putting the horse's reins between his teeth and wielding two guns at the same time at a fast speed. It's sort of fantastic and corny but that's the type of idea that sticks in one's mind by shaking up the action sequences.

Glen Campbell, who sings the title song, does not have true grit. His character, La Boeuf, is introduced out of nowhere. He accompanies Mattie and Rooster, that's it. He has no redeemable acts or defining features, he's just a pretty boy and arrives at the film all cocky with nothing to his name. Once the outlaws are dead, Mattie falls down a pit and Rooster is trying to save her, and La Boeuf, who had been hit the previous scene, comes alive to rescue them, with a good-old "I ain't dead". In other words, he's there at that time just so there's someone there. I understand he was supposed to be played by Elvis. Glad that didn't happen. How sad would it be to watch the King in such a meaningless character. He dies, by the way, and I appreciate it. I was thinking he was going to romance Mattie in some way, which would have been awful because I didn't sympathize with his character at all. I have to admit True Grit actually has the balls to kill characters and keep them killed.

Once they part, the actual hunt is disappointingly average, not unlike the assembly of the Seven Samurai being more interesting that their arrival to the village (yes that movie is flawed too). There are not enough action scenes to have the sense that an adventure has been had. The first shootout after leaving town, with the chimney scene and all, is somewhat exciting once they go inside the house. Watching them kill each other was something I was not expecting. It's a shame because everything that comes afterwards is boring, in a straight way. Robert Duvall, who plays the gang leader Ned Pepper, does a good job, but ultimately he and his gang are empty of personality. Mattie literally runs into Tom Chaney by accident, and shoots him and summits him in that same scene. To be his father's killer, this is very anti-climactic. The final showdown feels like it arrives too soon, but the film already lasts about two hours so there's at least 40 minutes in the dead center that are spent slowly horse-riding and having trivial arguments between the three main characters. This is an American Western, with lots of wide shots, slow panning and trumpet music. This means the cinematic language is very primitive, leaving the script to be the only thing that can lift the film.

A few things I liked would include Rooster's speech about his family. This great moment (not surprisingly lacking La Boeuf) has been acknowledged by Wayne himself as "the best scene I've ever done". His acting really shines at this point in the script, when solitude takes his character over. His relationship with Mattie is the point of the movie. That's why the villains are dull, the settings are dull, Campbell is dull, and somehow the movie isn't. Their relationship makes sense, with even Rooster saying to La Boeuf "she reminds me of me". Take the last scene, at the graveyard. You can see in both performances that the bond by the end of the film is strong, and it has been earned. Despite many faults, I would say that the main aim of True Grit is met when Rooster becomes Mattie's father figure in the eyes of the audience. You could say that this final sentimentality saves the film from feeling unresolved. Side note: couldn't they pick a clearer image for the credits?

6.5/10.

(This review is for the Eastman House print/93 minutes with coloring)

An exhausting production, 1925s The Phantom of the Opera is a mythic film. Not only is it an accurate adaptation of the novel, which is rare especially for old horror films, but it's also a cinematic landmark. Lon Chaney gets another part as the main monster after his big break in The Hunchback of Notre Dame, making him one of the first actors to be type-casted. The Phantom is a disfigured man who lives under the opera house, and uses different tunnels and secret chambers to fool people into believing he is supernatural. He falls in love with a girl, which has always been a common monster convention, and his devotion to her in the end is what gets him killed.

The version we have now today has been assembled from different versions. Not only was it a chaotic filming and post-production, with many false premieres and changes made after the fact, but it was later re-edited with sound and then that version was used to fill in gaps lost from the original silent version. It even had alternate endings before they were lost. With this much mess, it is admirable how much of a cohesive movie it is. With proper coloring to divide the things happening in the opera house (orange), night exterior (blue) and the cellars (green), it even has a sequence in full color which completely pulls this movie apart from anything else that came out at the time.

Lon Chaney famously made his own makeup and rocked it. When it comes to the appearance of the Phantom, the film does a great job to reveal it layer by layer. In his first appearance his character suffers the most. Christine, the singer that the Phantom loves, sees him at first with a mask. This mask is badly made, and, for my taste, not clear enough. When you think of famous masks, such as the ones in Halloween, Saw, Scream and others, the hook of these masks is how clearly they are outlined and how easy they are to remember. The Phantom's mask is weirdly vague and difficult to make out, maybe because of the current quality of the picture, but still, it is not good. The best visual of the Phantom comes in the "Bal Masqué" sequence (it means "masked ball"). This sequence is surprisingly in color, and in it, the Phantom wears a badass skeleton mask and a red cape, looking amazing. Later in the movie, we see him sitting at the top of a statue, with his face unmasked and his red cape flapping in the wind as his character suffers the loss of her love Christine. This is my favorite moment, as it is epic and beautiful, considering it's a 1920s movie.

The plot itself is flimsy. Whenever the Phantom is not onscreen it is difficult not to admit that the entertainment quality decreases. Raoul and Ledoux are two important characters, the former being Christine's true love and the latter a police officer searching for the Phantom. They infiltrate the Phantom's lair in the third act of the movie. While the Phantom uses traps to stop them, he doesn't know that a violent mob is coming to kill him as well. Considering it's a silent film, I think that what would've liven up this movie a bit would have been seeing the Phantom travel through the catacombs more, and get a firmer grip on the wonderous paths below the opera house. That is actually one of the strengths of the movie already, many of the sets being recognizable and well-structured. That's why I think it could have been done better and more, because otherwise much of the time is spent in the dull halls of the actual theatre, and the schemes the Phantom has to pull for people not to find him are too cartoonish: for example, when he walks underwater breathing through a straw. This is not a Looney Tune.

The final sequence is great and lifts the movie. Although much of the original impact of the film is now lost given the passing of time, I can forgive these sorts of things, but there's one thing that silent movies still have to do no matter how much time happens, and that is present well-framed images that stick in your head; it's the main thing they can excel at. The mob persecuting the Phantom is an iconic moment, especially when he is about to come down the final staircase, all crouched down in a menacing shadow. The immediate way in which the mob kills him and throws him in the river is savage. I also admire how old films like these finish just as soon as the final death happens. There is no happy ending. The taste that the Phantom's death leaves in us is that of tragedy. Whatever other endings that existed, when I read about them, they come off so dumb in comparison. Despite some missteps and inconsistencies, possibly because of a troubled production, The Phantom of the Opera does miraculously come together, and the feeling I am left with is mostly admiration, even more so knowing it will soon turn 100.

7.5/10.

An 80s body-swap-type farce, All of Me gets its name from a jazz song. Roger, portrayed by comedy legend Steve Martin, is a jazz player who is pursuing career chances at a law firm. He has a blind friend who's a saxophone player, and we meet him while finding out Roger is quitting music to be a lawyer. In his first case, a rich woman named Edwina, portrayed by Lily Tomlin, is sick and dying, and plans to leave everything to a young girl (called Terry) who is the recipient of a planned ritual, in which she will leave her body to Edwina, who's soul is supposed to take over the body of the young girl. Roger doesn't believe them at first, of course. But wouldn't you know it, something goes wrong; now Steve Martin has some woman's soul inside his body.

Talking strictly about the logistics, I think the movie does a fairly convincing job of giving us the details and rules. Edwina is stuck inside Roger's body; she can talk and act through him, experiences everything he experiences, and they both can talk to each other telepathically. She also can control only one side of his body, she appears in mirrors whenever Roger looks at himself and one of them can be asleep while the other is in control. This puts the movie on the shoulders of Steve Martin, who, I have to say, does a great job. The first scene of him trying to control his body is a little cringe and off-putting, but going forward, the film comfortably sits with the fantasy. At one point, when Edwina has to take control of one of his cases, I am reminded of Jim Carrey in Liar Liar (who clearly takes acting inspiration from Steve Martin's career as a whole), the difference being that in this movie, the scheme doesn't work, making the lawyer storyline a little thinner.

Where this type of movie usually goes wrong, and this is no exception, is with the transitional point of the magic. The whole premise of the film is that Roger and Edwina need to find this Hindi guru, and he doesn't answer the phone because he thinks the sound is made by a toilet... This is classic Hollywood racism, and is probably the worst aspect of the movie. Being fair, it isn't actually that important, because the plot is an excuse to give room for Martin to develop funny scenes. It's one of those movies that bank on a star because of their small budget. This works in small doses, for instance by the middle of the film where both characters have cooled off, but it becomes gratuitous by the point the second (attempt at) sex scene happens. Overall, I have to say, there are many funny one-liners, and Steve Martin is a preferred comedy actor of mine, with a dead-pan style from the Bill Murray school, so his outbursts are generally hilarious.

The final act of the movie sees Roger infiltrating into Edwina's mansion. I won't over-explain the plot, but Terry, who was supposed to inherit Edwina's soul, is the villain of the movie. She takes over Edwina's mansion and refuses to leave her body. I saw this coming, and to be honest there is no substance to her character. In the end, she gets defeated by a joke. The resolution of these fantasy-comedies is never their strong suit. Terry ends up inside of a horse by her own decision, because she doesn't want to go to jail a third time. This is pulled out of nowhere, but I don't complain because honestly, I wouldn't know how to end it either. I'm just glad it was fast.

The film succeeds in the character development of the two lead characters. Through the movie, we learn that Edwina, because of her illness, never had friends or lost her virginity. Disapproving of Roger, she asks "why is sex important?", to which he replies "that's like asking why is laughter important". Furthermore, I especially liked that moment where Roger invites his jazz band to play at Edwina's funeral, her saying it's the best thing anybody's every done for her. That's a nice sentiment, and I think that the heart of All of Me is in its right place, because it puts the main characters in a position where they learn from each other by being so different, which is what body-swap movies are expected to aim at. As sloppy as some of its resolutions may seem, clear cinematic choices put a spotlight on the Roger-Edwina combo: mainly the mirror trope which looks influential, and Steve Martin in his double-performance as well. It's a flawed but defining movie, and its flaws, for an 80s comedy, are minor.

7/10.