Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Indy in Peril: An Action-Scene Breakdown
BLOGGER'S NOTE: This post is for the Indiana Jones Blog-a-Thon being coordinated by Ali Arikan at Cerebral Mastication.
By David Gaffen
In some ways Raiders of the Lost Ark was the blueprint for the modern-day action film. Owing much to the cliffhanger-scenarios beloved by the likes of Steven Spielberg and George Lucas in the 1950s, the filmmaking showcases the deft ability of Spielberg to enhance character, move the story along (even if this four-and-a-half minute sequence to be discussed only barely moves the meter as far as the plot is concerned), and entertain the audience.
The scene in question is where Indiana Jones, realizing that the Ark of the Covenant is to be placed on a plane and flown out of Egypt, sets out to sabotage the plane. Just about every shot advances the situation, or introduces a new piece of information about that particular scene. All in all, this scene is superfluous to the plot – had Indy been able to get hold of a well-placed grenade, the entire scene could have been covered in the span of 20 seconds.The scene starts ordinarily enough -- Indy sneaks around the plane to grab the pilot and is confronted by another officer who he easily smacks around.
Here’s where the fun begins. With John Williams’ score highlighting each new shot, we see a shot of a big bald German, played by Pat Roach, coming out of a thatched tent, already with his shirt open. It’s clear he’s large and muscular – all the information needed at that moment. Spielberg holds the camera at about waist level, so the audience gets a better idea of how imposing he is as he removes his shirt.
Then we’re back to shots of Indy fighting with the smaller Nazi. As we see their feet moving in the foreground, Marion Ravenwood approaches, which illuminates the character’s willingness to take risks similar to Jones. Then another shot of what is to come – as Indy knocks out the smaller German – in the background, the big shirtless dude enters the frame from the foreground.He taunts Indy – with reaction shots of the pilot, who now realizes what’s happening. But as it is with action tropes of this type – which the movie so successfully subverted earlier when Indy shoots the swordsman – this time, he takes the bait. From an intellectual level, it happens to be his only choice – rush the pilot, and he gets shot.
Another shot ups the stakes – Marion removes the blocks keeping the plane from moving. And then we’re back to the large German and Indy. Spielberg’s sense of humor is illustrated here, briefly, as Indy feigns weariness and then looks at the ground to try to dupe his opponent into doing the same. He does – but to no avail as the German takes a kick to the groin without flinching, and in a magnificently choreographed mid-ground shot, slams a fist into Indy’s nose, causing his knees to buckle as he hits the sand.Within a few seconds Spielberg has boosted the tension – Indy is facing a much more formidable opponent, and he’s also not all that, either. The peril increases with a few rapid fire edits: a shot of the pilot pulling his gun, firing at Indy when he attempts to run, putting Jones in further jeopardy. A quick cut from the gun firing, and then back to the fight, as a fist comes in from off-screen to hammer Jones in the face again.
The camera shifts its view – now it’s behind the pilot, aiming his gun at Indy, with the German in the way, until from off-screen Marion clocks the pilot with the blocks previously used to hold the plane in place. Of course this now makes matters worse – the pilot falls forward on the controls, causing the plane to move.The escalation here is deliberate – slowly ratchet up the tension within a scene that is already filled with active movement, derivative of Hitchcock in its cleverness even if Spielberg still names the 1950s serials as his original inspiration. The elements added in are small, careful ones – a shot of the wing grazing a nearby fuel truck, which spills gasoline. Just as the large German was introduced as a potential opponent this is presented as a problem, the proverbial gun in Act I that has to be fired in Act II. (In the modern-day action movie, however, the gun is fired within a few minutes; the pilot is introduced as a potential foe only to be thwarted soon after. However, his removal as a threat isn’t done without introducing another threat – the moving plane, Marion locked in the cockpit.)
More peril is introduced – a truckload of Nazi soldiers across the runway, and here is where Spielberg takes a moment to show off the resourcefulness of Marion, who quickly fires off a few rounds from the prop, taking out the entire truck.After Marion’s shots blow up a nearby truck and oil barrels, establishing shots of Beloq and the Nazi commanders are shown – making it clear that they realize what is happening, and in a sense this is what makes the entire scene a red herring, for now they make alternative plans.
Quickly we’re back to Indy, and the gasoline now runs in the direction of the plane – and the truck in flames. Never one to forget about minor characters, the first German defeated by Indy is roused by the gasoline, and is shown escaping – with an important shot of him outrunning the gasoline, which is now headed for the fire. This highlights the sudden compression of time Indy now faces, and it’s done without dialogue, or a hokey introduction of a stopwatch, villainous character intoning darkly about having “one hour to live,” or through some other ham-fisted approach.The ultimate peril now clear, Indy rushes to save Marion, but the giant beckons still, and Indy unloads his best, but defeats him using a ruse – showing his resourcefulness; after all, he could have continued to unload with his fists, but instead plays hurt to cause the German to be bloodily hacked apart by the propeller of the plane.
Again, Spielberg expertly uses the foreground and background – Marion yelling to Indy that the door is stuck, while the fire spreads, igniting the stream of gasoline that heads back to the plane, as the Indy fanfare plays. The plane is moving to the left, as the camera moves with it (or ahead of it), as the two escape and the entire thing burns.Unfortunately, this method of approaching action sequences would have unintended consequences when attempted by lesser filmmakers – long, drawn-out action sequences that serve only to highlight visual effects and sound design, but devoid of the charm of Raiders of the Lost Ark, and lacking the imagery that helped round out the characters of Indy and Marion. The Michael Bay-directed noise-fest “The Rock” has a pointless 15-minute car chase completely irrelevant to the plot that does little but test the eardrums; plenty of other films have contained similarly pointless action in the name of stretching a movie’s running time.
But back to Indy. Finally, we see a shot of the German commander moves the plot forward – as he tells a subordinate to put the ark on a truck, and demands “plenty of protection.” It’s another foreshadowing of the next brilliant sequence, the much-discussed car chase. But that is another article.
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Monday, May 19, 2008
Centennial Tribute: James Stewart
By Josh R
Jimmy Stewart created the impression of being the most self-effacing of movie stars. Skinny and gawky in his youth, and given to stammer with slack-jawed embarrassment when flustered, his charmingly abashed quality immediately endeared him to audiences of the 1930s - in black and white, you could still see him blushing. Never a fantasy figure like Cary Grant or Gary Cooper, he quickly established himself as America’s boy-next-door, the kind for whom pronouncements like “I didn’t knew they grew them that way anymore” were presumably intended; even decked out in a white tie and tails, the bottom of his shoes were still caked with the soil of the heartland, roots he never tried to shake off no matter how many tremors he produced in the gilt-edged, glittering cocktail shaker of Hollywood. He retained his sense of modesty in the face of uncommon success, and never gave way to pretension; he was, in terms of both his approach to acting and his philosophy of life, a man of the people.
It would be easy to write him off as being too lovable for words, if not for the unexpected, frequently harrowing shades of anger, bitterness and genuine madness that informed his performances for Alfred Hitchcock, Anthony Mann, and on one glorious occasion, the director with whose work he is most closely identified, Frank Capra. For if Stewart’s early persona never conveyed as much of a whiff of danger, his career is one with a decisive turning point. Patriotic to a fault, both onscreen and off, he was among the first Hollywood stars to enlist for active duty in WWII, and served in the air force with great distinction. What effect the war experience had on Stewart the man is not entirely clear – just as he was not given to boastfulness, nor was he particularly inclined to discuss his inner demons - but in terms of his work, it had a clearly felt impact. Beginning with It’s a Wonderful Life, audiences were treated to intriguing glimpses of the dark undercurrents of anxiety and despair that can prey on such unassuming, wholesome specimens of non-threatening All-American manhood; the sense of internal conflict barely hinted at in the pre-war years was suddenly made explicit.
Tellingly born in the town of Indiana in the state of Pennsylvania – even with his Keystone State stubbornness, there was always an air of corn-fed Midwestern sincerity about him – he grew up in the idyllic, small town America of picket fences, porch swings and potted geraniums. His father owned the local hardware store; when Jimmy won his Oscar, he sent it home to Pop to proudly display in the storefront window. He might have easily have traveled the same path as his alter ego, George Bailey – the younger Stewart was likewise expected to assume responsibility for the family business when he came of age. Circumstances were kinder to Jimmy than they would proove to be for George; rather than tow the line and settle into a life of diminished expectations among the white steeples and striped awnings of Main Street, he set out for Princeton, with the aim of becoming an architect. After falling in with The University Players, a collection of Ivy Leaguers with theatrical aspirations, his set his sights on the New York stage. Some very modest success on Broadway led to interest on the part of Hollywood talent scouts; encouraged by his friend Henry Fonda to make a screen test, he was signed to a seven year contract by MGM.
Too sensitive and awkward for a traditional leading man, and too delicately handsome to fit into the mold of a character actor, his first two years in Hollywood were something of mishmash. He played a disturbed youth in Rose Marie and a baddie in Another Thin Man – neither assignment fit him comfortably – before settling into the role of the sensitive, sentimental male ingénue, the masculine equivalent of the delicate flowers suffering so nobly in three-hankie weepies. His first good lead came in Next Time We Love opposite Margaret Sullavan, with whom he shared a chemistry remarkable for its artless delicacy. The two had reportedly carried a torch for one another going back to their University Players years; The Shopworn Angel and The Mortal Strom provided further evidence of the extent to which the flame endured. Bolstered by his successful outings with Sullavan, his progress was swift, if incremental. 1938 revealed his aptitude for comedy, with a highly enjoyable pairing with Ginger Rogers in Vivacious Lady and the first of his three collaborations with Capra, You Can’t It With You. Through comedy, he grew in confidence, and seemed more distinctive a presence as a result (truth be told, he could seem a bit one-note playing delicate and doomed). The true breakthrough came in so spectacular a fashion that it seemed right off the pages of a Hollywood script.
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1939 is often cited as the greatest year in the history of motion pictures, producing a bumper crop of classics. Certainly, no actor reaped more of the benefit of that yield than Stewart – he appeared in no less than five films, two of which would proove to be among his very best. Mr. Smith Goes to Washington was Capra at his corniest, but such was the conviction the actor brought to his portrayal of a naïve scoutmaster thrown into the shark-invested waters of professional politics that the corn actually managed to pop in the midst of so much soggy high-mindedness, wrapped as it was in a tear-stained blanket of red, white and blue. For doing the seemingly impossible – namely bringing a sense of dramatic fire to a character intended as the living embodiment of wide-eyed idealism – he received the first of his five Academy Award nominations. It’s a Wonderful World and Made for Each Other were pleasant outings with Claudette Colbert and Carole Lombard, but George Marshall’s Destry Rides Again revealed qualities that Capra and others hadn’t been canny enough to recognize. There was no earthly reason why he and Marlene Dietrich should have complemented each other to the extent that they did – on paper, it made about as much sense as casting Mickey Rooney opposite Garbo. The wholesomely appealing Stewart had registered with female moviegoers as the kind of man they’d like to marry, as opposed to one they fantasized about going to bed with; attractive though he was, it had been said that he lacked something in terms of virility. Being trapped in close quarters with the heavy-lidded Teutonic siren rectified the situation – Dietrich’s decadent sensuality worked on Stewart’s libido like a tonic, just as his laconic charm chipped away at her smirking self-containment and coaxed warmth and vulnerability out of its manicured shell. As the deputy spouting folksy truisms while trying to maintain the peace in a rambunctious western town, he was as nice as ever, but sexy too; in the scene where he backs Marlene’s naughty saloon floozy into a corner and wipes the make-up off her face, the heat generated by the two actors practically burned holes through the celluloid. In the era when Gable was king, Destry was one of the few films to acknowledge that while shady ladies may initially be drawn to the tough-talking manly men, it’s the sensitive types with quiet assurance who can really get them hot and bothered.
1940 was another banner year for Stewart – within a two-year period, he had participated in four classic films. The Oscar he received as a tabloid reporter covering a society wedding in The Philadelphia Story was really a compensatory gesture for his having lost the year before for Mr. Smith – nevertheless, he did outstanding work for George Cukor, and played well opposite Katharine Hepburn, even if their romantic chemistry was never entirely convincing (both seemed much more at home in their scenes with Cary Grant). More importantly, The Philadelphia Story was the first film to give him a character with a bit of an edge. The part of the cynical, smart-allecky Macauley Connor, a frustrated fiction writer with a chip on his shoulder, allowed Stewart to distance himself from the “aw shucks” bashfulness and diffident naiveté that had been his stock in trade, and showed that he was willing and able to take on roles with more complexity. Lubitsch’s The Shop Around the Corner, while not really a step forward towards that end, was a romantic comedy with an old-world charm and a glorious reunion with Margaret Sullavan. Both actors gave much more spirited performances than they had when working within the constraints of melodrama, and as a result, their chemistry seemed more potent than ever. As if to proove he could be fallible, no amount of diligent effort could save No Time for Comedy, adapted from a stage hit about a conflicted playwright and his actress muse. Since 1940 was such a good year for Stewart and co-star Rosalind Russell otherwise, both emerged from the wreckage unscathed.
The 1940s might have proceeded along much the same lines – an innocuous string of romantic comedies, pausing for the occasional instance of inspirational flag-waving – if not for a little dust-up in the Pacific Ocean involving the bombing of an American naval base. The war put the film career on hold for half a decade, and the James Stewart to emerge in the aftermath was an older, sadder and wiser figure, comprehending of the darkness lurking just beneath the surface of the homespun American Dream perpetuated by Norman Rockwell Saturday Evening Post covers and Hollywood fictions. The charm was still there, to be sure, but coupled with a hard-earned awareness – not just of mortality, but a feeling that good and evil existed in closer proximity than the callow youth of the 1930s might have been given to suppose. It’s a Wonderful Life is frequently mistaken for a misty-eyed yuletide classic, with about as much of a bite to it as the average cup of eggnog. In truth, Capra’s definitive work is spiked with stronger stuff than cinnamon and nutmeg; there’s a bitter aftertaste that comes with the tacit admission that in every hometown hero lives a frustrated, disappointed loner trapped in a life of quiet desperation. Stewart’s George Bailey is an American everyman, immediately identifiable and admirable to a fault, but with a dark streak of resentment over the compromises he’s had to make, and a stinging contempt for the circumscribed, small-town life that a lifetime of selfless, conscientious behavior has seemingly condemned him to. This being Capra, George’s journey ends on an uplifting note, but the scenes that linger in memory the longest are the ones in which the character’s pain and anger are brought into sharp focus. Consider the moment when George takes out his frustration on his wife and children, followed by the look of remorse and self-loathing that flickers across his stricken features once he sees their frightened eyes peering back at him – it may be the bravest single piece of acting Stewart ever attempted, and ultimately, all the more heart-wrenching for its startling lack of sentimentality.
The postwar Stewart took a more intrepid approach to his career; he was a free agent now, pursuing projects that challenged his established persona and spoke directly to his affinity for characters faced with tough moral choices. There would be occasional returns to folksy, homespun sincerity – in Harvey, he was just credulous enough to make you believe there actually was an eight-foot white rabbit hovering in the margins of the frame – but for the most part, he seemed increasingly content working in a darker vein. Winchester ’73, Bend of the River, The Naked Spur, The Far Country and The Man from Laramie - five fine, tough-minded westerns for Anthony Mann - contemplated the degree of self-imposed isolation that comes with the territory rugged individualism. In each of those films, Stewart seemed to be a man searching, not only for outlaws on the run or wayward herds of cattle, but for deliverance from the suspicion that mankind was fundamentally corrupt and cruel. Darker still were his exercises for Hitchcock, which veered even further away from the norm into the realm of genuine disturbance. Stewart didn’t shy away from acting out Hitch’s perversions – in Rear Window, he indulged in voyeurism, while in Vertigo, he was obsessed with Kim Novak and more than a little bit crazy. More than any other project he’d ever worked on, Vertigo allowed Stewart to bring his darker impulses to the forefront – as if George Bailey’s paranoia had finally caught up to him. As a reflection of how unwilling audiences were to conceive of anything base or impure in their All-American boy, The Glenn Miller Story was his most commercially successful film of the period – Stewart could still do bland nobility as well as anyone, but he was much more interesting when traveling a different course.
After Vertigo, the quality of the films went downward. Anatomy of a Murder was considered rather shocking at the time, but looks fairly quaint from a modern standpoint. Nevertheless, it had some enjoyably tacky Otto Preminger flourishes, and allowed the actor the chance to hint at some undercurrents of depravity. The younger Stewart would have stared in bug-eyed, wholesome disbelief at the vulpine Lee Remick as if he’d just been struck by cupid’s arrow; the worldly veteran appreciatively took in her supple proportions as if he’d secretly imagined what it would be like to violate her in the manner of her supposed attacker. The Man who Shot Liberty Valance was an acceptable entry from John Ford, while the sprawling mediocrity of How the West Was Won could find no better use for him than a very unconvincing courtship of Carroll Baker, an actress meant for more lurid things than a little house on the prairie. The Flight of the Pheonix was fine if formulaic, while a succession of increasingly dull westerns rounded out what had, at its best, been an unusually unpredictable career. He did a bit of TV work in the 80s, but seemed mainly content to make occasional appearances on talk shows or The Oscars, charming viewers with his well-rehearsed stammering fits and misty recollections of the old days.
Few stars, male or female, have ever inspired as affectionate a response as that accorded Jimmy Stewart. In a way, he represented the best of our selves – an idealized version of the good, moral American boy trying his best to make the world a better place. At the same time, he never shied away from revealing the extent to which the pressures of living up to that image of decency and goodness can unnerve a man and breed self-doubt; perhaps Stewart himself felt that pressure more keenly than most. Whether or not that was the case, as an actor, he never lost sight of his characters’ humanity, or felt the need to portray them on anything other than a human scale – it’s part of the reason audiences identified with him so strongly. Movie stars can often feel like a separate breed, a world apart from mere mortals. Jimmy Stewart was one of us.
Labels: Capra, Cary Grant, Ginger Rogers, Hitchcock, Katharine Hepburn
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Saturday, May 10, 2008
2008 Tony Award Nominations
As expected, it was a very good day for South Pacific, which received nominations in every category in which it was eligible. August: Osage County led the field of plays, while the new musical In the Heights was the overall nominations leader with an impressive tally of 13. A Special Tony Award will be presented to composer-lyricist Stephen Sondheim for LIfetime Achievement in the Theatre. Click on the link below to view the complete list of nominations.
Outstanding Play:
August: Osage County by Tracy Letts
Rock ‘n’ Roll by Tom Stoppard
The Seafarer by Conor McPherson
The 39 Steps by Patrick Barlow
Outstanding Musical:
Cry-Baby
In the Heights
Passing Strange
Xanadu
Outstanding Revival of a Play:
Boeing, Boeing by Marc Camolletti
The Homecoming by Harold Pinter
Les Liaisons Dangereuses by Christopher Hampton
Macbeth by William Shakespeare
Outstanding Revival of a Musical:
Grease!
Gypsy
South Pacific
Sunday in the Park with George
Outstanding Lead Actor in a Play:
Ben Daniels in Les Liaisons Dangereuses
Lawrence Fishburne in Thurgood
Mark Rylance in Boeing-Boeing
Rufus Sewell in Rock 'n' Roll
Patrick Stewart in Macbeth
Outstanding Lead Actress in a Play:
Eve Best in The Homecoming
Deanna Dunagan in August: Osage County
Kate Fleetwood in Macbeth
S. Epatha Merkerson in Come Back, Little Sheba
Amy Morton in August: Osage County
Outstanding Lead Actor in Musical:
Daniel Evans in Sunday in the Park with George
Lin-Manuel Miranda in In the Heights
Paulo Szot in South Pacific
Stew in Passing Strange
Tom Wopat in A Catered Affair
Outstanding Lead Actress in a Musical:
Kerry Butler in Xanadu
Patti LuPone in Gypsy
Kelli O'Hara in South Pacific
Faith Prince in A Catered Affair
Jenna Russell in Sunday in the Park with George
Outstanding Featured Actor in a Play:
Bobby Cannavale in Mauritius
Raul Esparza in The Homecoming
Conleth Hill in The Seafarer
Jim Norton in The Seafarer
David Pittu in Is He Dead?
Outstanding Featured Actress in a Play:
Sinead Cusack in Rock 'n' Roll
Mary McCormack in Boeing, Boeing
Laurie Metcalfe in November
Rondi Reed in August: Osage County
Martha Plimpton in Top Girls
Outstanding Featured Actor in a Musical:
Daniel Breaker in Passing Strange
Danny Burstein in South Pacific
Robin de Jesus in In the Heights
Christopher Fitzgerald in Young Frankenstein
Boyd Gaines in Gyspy
Outstanding Featured Actress in a Musical:
De'Adre Aziza in Passing Strange
Laura Benanti in Gypsy
Andrea Martin in Young Frankenstein
Olga Merediz in In the Heights
Loretta Ables Sayre in South Pacific
Outstanding Direction of a Play:
Maria Aitken for The 39 Steps
Conor McPherson for The Seafarer
Anna D. Shapiro for August: Osage County
Matthew Warchus for Boeing, Boeing
Oustanding Direction of a Musical:
Sam Buntrock for Sunday in the Park with George
Thomas Kail for In the Heights
Arthur Laurents for Gypsy
Bartlett Sher for South Pacific
Outstanding Score of a Musical:
Cry-Baby - Adam Schlesinger & David Javerbaum
In the Heights - Lin Manuel Miranda
The Little Mermaid - Alan Mencken, Howard Ashman & Glenn Slater
Passing Strange - Stew & Heidi Rodewald
Outstanding Book of a Musical:
Cry-Baby - Mark O'Donnell & Thomas Meehan
In the Heights - Quiara Alegria Hudes
Xanadu - Douglas Carter Beane
Passing Strange - Stew
Outstanding Choreography:
Cry-Baby - Rob Ashford
In the Heights - Andy Blankenbuehler
South Pacific - Christopher Gattelli
Xanadu - Doug Knechtges
Outstanding Orchestrations:
A Catered Affair - Jonathan Tunick
In the Heights - Alex Lacamoire & Bill Sherman
Passing Strange - Stew & Heidi Rodewald
Sunday in the Park with George - Jason Carr
Outstanding Scenic Design of a Play:
August: Osage County - Todd Rosenthal
Les Liaisons Dangereuses - Scott Pask
Macbeth - Anthony Ward
The 39 Steps - Peter McKintosh
Outstanding Costume Design of a Play:
Boeing-Boeing - Rob Howell
Cyrano de Bergerac - Gregory Gale
Les Liaisons Dangereuses - Katrina Lindsay
The 39 Steps - Peter McKintosh
Outstanding Lighting Design of a Play:
August: Osage County - Anna G. Wrightson
Les Liaisons Dangereuses - Donald Holder
Macbeth - Howard Harrison
The 39 Steps - Kevin Adams
Oustanding Sound Design of a Play:
Boeing, Boeing - Simon Baker
Macbeth - Adam Cork
Rock ‘n’ Roll - Ian Dickinson
The 39 Steps - Mic Pool
Outstanding Scenic Design of a Musical:
In the Heights - Anita Louizos
South Pacific - Michael Yeargan
Sunday in the Park with George - David Farley
Young Frankenstein - Robin Wagner
Oustanding Costume Design of a Musical:
Gypsy - Martin Pakledinaz
In the Heights - Paul Tazewell
South Pacific - Catherine Zuber
Sunday in the Park with George - David Farley
Outstanding Lighting Design of a Musical:
In the Heights - Howell Binkley
The Little Mermaid - Natasha Katz
South Pacific - Donald Holder
Sunday in the Park with George - Ken Billington
Outstanding Sound Design of a Musical:
Gypsy - Dan Moses Schreier
In the Heights - Acme Sound Partners
South Pacific - Scott Lehrer
Sunday in the Park with George - Nick Borisjuk
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Nominations NEITHER Clinton or Obama will Get
By Josh R
You could definitely tell that Hollywood was having labor problems. Faced with a WGA walk-out that paralyzed the film and television industry for months, and an impending (hopefully to be avoided) SAG strike looming on the not-too-distant horizon, the Broadway stage played host to more high-profile displaced refugees than London and Paris during the Russian Revolution. Some of the big names to tread the boards this season included Morgan Freeman, Jennifer Garner, Terrence Howard, Frances McDormand, Kevin Kline, Lawrence Fishburne, Claire Danes and Laura Linney. While some of these appearances were more kindly received than others, it could make for an awards season heavy with star-power.
Now that one of the nuttiest seasons in recent memory has drawn to a close (bitter stagehands strikes were supplanted in early spring by shows moving from theater to theater in wacky musical-chairs-type fashion), it’s time for the theater-philes to turn their attentions to that Broadway blood sport known as The Tony Awards. The play was most definitely the thing this year on The Great White Way, with no fewer than four new works debuting to widespread critical acclaim (usually, it’s hard to find one) and a king’s ransom of high-profile revivals. As for the musicals, things weren’t quite as rosy, although two off-B’way transfers – In the Heights and Passing Strange, both of which I’ve seen but have yet to review for this site – provided some encouraging signs of new life. On the revival front, there was, of course, South Pacific, by far the best and most satisfying of all the musical productions to grace the boards this year – and poised to do very well when Tony Nominations are unveiled on Tuesday, May 13. Here are my best guesses as to what this year’s major categories will consist of:
Best Play
AUGUST: OSAGE COUNTY by Tracy Letts
ROCK ‘N’ ROLL by Tom Stoppard
THE SEAFARER by Conor McPherson
THE 39 STEPS by Patrick Barlow
In a season that has produced no less than nine new plays, there seems little room for doubt as to what the four eventual nominees will be. While a few of the other new offerings garnered some positive notices, these four have received by far the most enthusiastic critical reception; the fact that they were all box-office hits doesn’t hurt either.
Best Revival of a Play
CYRANO DE BERGERAC by Edmund de Rostand
THE HOMECOMING by Harold Pinter
MACBETH by William Shakespeare
TOP GIRLS by Caryl Churchill
A tough category to predict given the proliferation of revivals to choose from; if Tony nominees are in a decadent mood, Les Liaisons Dangereuses may land a berth, while if they prefer something a bit more on the lighter side, Boeing-Boeing could snag a nod.
Best Lead Actor in a Play
KEVIN KLINE in Cyrano de Bergerac
BEN LEE in Les Liaisons Dangereuses
MARK RYLANCE in Boeing-Boeing
RUFUS SEWELL in Rock 'n' Roll
PATRICK STEWART in Macbeth
The most difficult lead acting category to pin down, given how many critically lauded performances are in the mix. While Kline and Stewart are virtual locks, the remaining slots could just as easily be filled by Lawrence Fishburne (Thurgood), Norbert Leo Butz (Is He Dead?), Nathan Lane (November), Chazz Palmintieri (A Bronx Tale), James Earl Jones (Cat on a Hot Tin Roof) or Kevin Anderson (Come Back, Little Sheba).
Best Lead Actress in a Play
EVE BEST in The Homecoming
SINEAD CUSACK in Rock 'n' Roll
DEANNA DUNAGAN in August: Osage County
S. EPATHA MERKERSON in Come Back, Little Sheba
AMY MORTON in August: Osage County
As a warring mother and daughter, Dunagan and Morton go head to head eight nights a week in August: Osage County - so it seems only fair that their blood feud should extend to The Tony Awards. While Les Liaisons Dangereuses’ Laura Linney and The Country Girl’s Frances McDormand each received mixed reviews, they may sneak in by virtue of their star power. Anika Noni Rose, while the most praised member of the Cat on a Hot Tin Roof cast, could also make the cut if Cusack’s status turns out to be featured.
Best Featured Actor in a Play
MICHAEL CERVERIS in Cymbeline
RAUL ESPARZA in The Homecoming
FRANCIS GUINAN in August: Osage County
BYRON JENNINGS in Is He Dead?
JIM NORTON in The Seafarer
You could fill this category with the cast of The Seafarer alone; since Tony voters will be looking to share the wealth, I suspect that show (and August: Osage County, which has four worthy entrants) will limited to single or double nominations. Sharing the wealth can frequently make for some very strange results; since the Tony nominators really only have a handful of shows to choose from (only Broadway productions are eligible), they sometimes try to create the false illusion of breadth by giving nominations to as many different shows as possible. This could benefit Bobby Cannavale (Mauritius) or Jay O. Sanders (Pygmalion), whose long-forgotten shows really stand no chance of being recognized anywhere else. Personally, I’d prefer to see Arnie Burton and Cliff Saunders, the two great clowns of The 39 Steps, get the nods instead - since their contributions are so inseparable, they’ll probably cancel each other out.
Best Featured Actress in a Play
LAURIE METCALFE in November
RONDI REED in August: Osage County
ROSIE PEREZ in The Ritz
MARTHA PLIMPTON in Top Girls
MARISA TOMEI in Top Girls
Pick a Top Girl, any Top Girl. Beyond Reed and Perez, both of whom I suspect are good to go, this category is a virtual free-for-all. Possibilities include the entire cast of Top Girls, two daughters of Osage County, a pair of 17th century French aristocrats from Les Liaisons Dangereuses, one very domineering German stewardess courtesy of Boeing, Boeing, and The 39 Steps’ multi-tasking Jennifer Ferrin - who actually plays three people. Oh, right, and possibly Rock n Roll’s Sinead Cusack, if she isn’t deemed a lead. Confused already? It’s a long and unruly list of prospective candidates, one which I suspect will be difficult for the nominators to comfortably pare down.
Best Director/Play
MARIA AITKEN for The 39 Steps
DAVID LEVEAUX for Cyrano de Bergerac
TREVOR NUNN for Rock n Roll
ANNA D. SHAPIRO for August: Osage County
I would love to see The Homecoming’s Daniel Sullivan remembered, but the competition is especially stiff this year. Macbeth’s Rupert Goold is also a strong possibility.
Best Musical
A CATERED AFFAIR
IN THE HEIGHTS
PASSING STRANGE
XANADU
Three of this season’s new musical offerings were widely well-received. As for the show destined to round out the bill – well, three out of four ain’t bad. Since Cry-Baby prompted more yawns than tears and the critics found The Little Mermaid about as appetizing as day-old salmon, the race for the final spot is between two shows that don’t inspire much enthusiasm. Since the nominators tend to prefer small-and-serious to big-and-shallow, I suspect the drab A Catered Affair will hold off the marginally better Young Frankenstein – also, the Broadway community seems to be intent on sticking it to the newly unpopular Mel Brooks.
Best Revival of a Musical
GREASE!
GYPSY
SOUTH PACIFIC
SUNDAY IN THE PARK WITH GEORGE
Since only four shows are eligible to fill four available slots, here’s your lineup. The committee will doubtless resent being forced to nominate Grease – yet another reality TV experiement gone horribly awry – but under the present set of rules, its inclusion is mandatory.
Best Lead Actor in Musical
DANIEL EVANS in Sunday in the Park with George
CHEYENNE JACKSON in Xanadu
LIN-MANUEL MIRANDA in In the Heights
PAULO SZOT in South Pacific
STEW in Passing Strange
I’m not exactly sure whether A Catered Affair’s Tom Wopat is eligible as a lead or featured actor; regardless, this is probably still the slate nominators opt for, although Xanadu’s appealingly dim leading man, Cheyenne Jackson, is arguably vulnerable. There are those who insist Young Frankenstein’s Roger Bart can make the cut – they’d do well not to put any money on it.
Best Actress in a Musical
KERRY BUTLER in Xanadu
PATTI LuPONE in Gypsy
KELLI O’HARA in South Pacific
FAITH PRINCE in A Catered Affair
JENNA RUSSELL in Sunday in the Park with George
This lineup has been set in stone for several months. While Butler is arguably the most vulnerable of the five, I can’t see really see her being displaced by anyone else – In the Heights’ Mandy Gonzalez has what is really a supporting role, and The Little Mermaid’s Sierra Boggess…well, she’s in The Little Mermaid.
Best Featured Actor in a Musical
DANIEL BREAKER in Passing Strange
DANNY BURSTEIN in South Pacific
CHRISTOPHER FITZGERALD in Young Frankenstein
BOYD GAINES in Gyspy
SHULER HENSLEY in Young Frankenstein
All five of these performers would seem to be on track, but there’s some wiggle room here. If Tom Wopat is judged to be a featured actor instead of a lead, he could easily land a berth; South Pacific’s Matthew Morrison is a rising star in a show with coattails; Xanadu’s Tony Roberts is a beloved veteran; and In the Heights’ Robin De Jesus is an endearing scene-stealer.
Best Featured Actress in a Musical
LORETTA ABLES SAYRE in South Pacific
LAURA BENANTI in Gypsy
SUTTON FOSTER in Young Frankenstein
LESLIE KRITZER in A Catered Affair
ANDREA MARTIN in Young Frankenstein
Operating on the theory – possibly mistaken – that Xanadu’s Mary Testa and Jackie Hoffman will cancel each other out, this is what the slate should look like, barring a surprise appearance by Passing Strange’s Eisa Davis or one of the many women of In the Heights. Harriet Harris (Cry-Baby) and Sherie Rene Scott (The Little Mermaid) may be musical theater heavyweights, but they’re stuck what are generally judged to be pretty rotten shows.
Best Director of a Musical
SAM BUNTROCK for Sunday in the Park with George
ARTHUR LAURENTS for Gypsy
BARTLETT SHER for South Pacific
THOMAS KAIL for In the Heights
Arthur Laurents has been deemed eligible for inclusion, despite having helmed two previous productions of Gypsy on Broadway (the rule applied to actors apparently doesn’t go for directors).
Best Score of a Musical
A CATERED AFFAIR (John Bucchino)
CRY-BABY (Adam Schlesinger & David Javerbaum)
IN THE HEIGHTS (Lin Manuel Miranda)
PASSING STRANGE (Stew)
It’s entirely possible that Young Frankenstein could make the cut; judging by the anti-Brooks sympathies running rampant at the moment, it’s equally possible that he’ll be rather conspicuously omitted in yet another category. Abetting his cause is the fact that there isn’t a great deal of fondness out there for Cry-Baby, either.
Best Book of a Musical
IN THE HEIGHTS (Quiara Alegria Hudes)
XANADU (Douglas Carter Beane)
PASSING STRANGE(Stew & Heidi Rodewald)
A CATERED AFFAIR (Harvey Fierstein)
Really the only slate of predictions I have complete confidence in; it would be a stunning surprise if any one of the four failed to be nominated, given what’s left to choose from.
Best Choreography
CRY-BABY (Rob Ashford)
IN THE HEIGHTS (Andy Blankenbuehler)
YOUNG FRANKENSTEIN (Susan Stroman)
SOUTH PACIFIC (Christopher Gattelli)
Anti-Frankenstein feeling should not keep the venerable Susan Stroman out of contention; despite their feelings about the show itself, Cry-Baby’s Ashford has likewise distinguished himself as a perennial favorite of the nominators - and it sounds as if his contribution may indeed be the production’s saving grace.
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Friday, May 09, 2008
Celebrating 50 years of Vertigo
Originally, we planned to have a full-fledged post marking the 50th anniversary of Vertigo, one of Alfred Hitchcock's greatest films, but the contributor (now former contributor) who'd volunteered to do the piece let his ego, insecurities and neuroses get in the way at the last minute when no one else had time to pick up the slack. Alas, a photo will have to do, but feel free to comment on the film anyway.
Labels: 50s, Hitchcock, Jimmy Stewart
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Friday, May 02, 2008
The Wow Factor
By Josh R
The clean-scrubbed, resolutely cheerful heroine of South Pacific describes herself – in song, no less – as “A Cockeyed Optimist.” Outside the rosy alternative reality of musical theater, I have heard that such people do, in fact exist – somewhat astonishing given how little there is in today’s socio-political and economic climate to inspire a sanguine frame of mind. As to all the optimists out there, cockeyed or not, I envy them fact that they can find things to sing about; optimism and I parted ways two presidential elections ago.
It might not sit well with those who prefer to view the world through rose-colored glasses, or with their heads buried deep in the sand, if I were to suggest that their outlooks could benefit greatly from of healthy injection of cynicism. Think of all the mess that could be avoided if our willingness to accept whatever we’re told by authority figures - parents, teachers, religious leaders and politicians - were tempered by skepticism and an element of suspicion? As both general virtues and qualities of citizenship, they get a bad rap.
When Lincoln Center’s revival of South Pacific, currently playing at The Vivian Beaumont Theatre, started reaping the kind of notices press agents dream about – and really, its reception by the New York theater critics has been no less enthusiastic than that accorded to the original 1949 production – I registered it all with a grain of salt. Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein’s seminal achievement, while outfitted with one of the greatest scores ever written for the musical stage, has never been entirely my cup of tea; in terms of its attitudes, which flirt dangerously with both corniness and preachiness, the material has always seemed so specific to the postwar era that it seemed worth questioning how much resonance it could have for a contemporary audience. Not even a show armed to the teeth with the sort of musical standards that never go out of style can necessarily make for a timeless work of theater.
By my estimation, my vast reserve of cynicism had thoroughly evaporated less than five minutes into Bartlett Sher’s breathtaking, bountiful and altogether extraordinary new production, which not only restores South Pacific to its former glory, but is one of the few musical productions in recent memory to qualify as a truly transcendent theatergoing experience. Not for a fraction of a second does the show betray its age, or feel even remotely like a relic of the past; delivered with gripping immediacy and an even more dazzling sense of theatricality, it is the kind of unqualified triumph that comes about as close to perfection as any show can be reasonably – or unreasonably – be expected to do. As an improbable side note, it’s also the first show I’ve seen in a long, long time that runs the risk of turning me into a cockeyed optimist; if South Pacific is any indication of what the theater is still capable of, I’d say that looking ahead, there’s every reason to look on the bright side.
Adapted from James Michener’s Pulitzer Prize-winning collection of short stories, the show is primarily a consideration of culture clash - and the conflicted impulses it can produce in those doing the clashing - set against the backdrop of World War II. The pert, positive-thinking Nellie Forbush, a navy nurse stationed with American troops on a tropical South Seas island, has fallen in love with a middle-aged French plantation owner, Emile De Becque. Their burgeoning romance hits a stumbling block when Nellie learns that Emile has fathered two bi-racial children by his late wife, a Polynesian native; her prejudice overrides her better instincts, and she rejects his proposal of marriage. In a parallel storyline, Lt. Joe Cable, the Ivy League scion of a wealthy Philadelphia family, becomes similarly enamored of a native girl. Like Nellie, he doesn’t trust his feelings enough to place them above his own unspoken fears and doubts about entering into an interracial marriage. While not the first Broadway musical to deal frankly with the subject of racism – Show Boat, Hammerstein’s landmark collaboration with Jerome Kern, preceded it by about 20 years – South Pacific was groundbreaking in terms of just how direct, and directly confrontational, it was in its approach. In putting racial prejudice under the microscope, the authors were also holding up a mirror to their audiences, in a manner not only intended to strike a chord of instant recognition but hit uncomfortably close to home. Complacent theatergoers were being asked not only to understand, but to identify with the behaviors being held up for scrutiny and condemnation. The practitioners of race prejudice here are not simply two-dimensional villains; they are fundamentally decent individuals grappling with feelings they cannot fully define or comprehend, which become a source of both shame and embarrassment. In “Carefully Taught,” one of the show’s most famous songs – and still incendiary stuff by modern standards - the authors trace the origins of prejudice back to formative experience and systematic indoctrination. Nellie insists that her inability to reconcile her understanding of right and wrong with the irrational fears that keep her in tether as “something that’s born in me.” Rodgers and Hammerstein know better - they contend that bigotry is the product of environment and upbringing, as opposed to biological instinct.
This being Rodgers and Hammerstein, whose most oft-revisited works are the family-friendly classics Oklahoma! and The Sound of Music, the vinegary content is diluted with ample quantities of sugar water. The marriage of sober social commentary and bright, crowd-pleasing entertainment has never seemed an altogether comfortable union – not even in Josh Logan’s enjoyably lavish 1958 film adaptation - but in Sher’s production they meld seamlessly into a remarkably balanced and unified whole. Just as very little in life is ever black-and-white, there is room in South Pacific for both light and dark, elements which are rendered here in ways that not only complement each other but have an effect of mutual enhancement. A big, brash production number like “There is Nothing Like a Dame” is subtly informed by the way in which the African-American soldiers occupy a different part of the stage from their white counterparts, while the lush romanticism of “Younger than Springtime” also poses for a moment of reflection and foreboding – one in which it becomes all too apparent that nothing is quite as simple or as straightforward as it appears on the surface (a boy and girl are falling in love in the most blissful way imaginable, while at the same time a woman is also selling her daughter’s virtue to ensure her own survival). The comic and tragic elements are integrated in such a way that even the most stylized contrivances of South Pacific contain a kernel of reality; more impressively still, none of the entertainment value falls by the wayside in the process. Sher and his team don’t have to sacrifice any of the fun or the joy of South Pacific in order to get its message across - which they do, without pressing or in any way dampening the buoyant spirit of the material. Whether making a serious point, or simply trying to entertain the dickens out of its audience, everything taking place on the stage of The Vivian Beaumont exists in perfect harmony with everything else.
Harmony is the right word to describe the level on which Sher’s cast functions. There isn’t a single individual cavorting across the broad expanse of David Yeargan’s evocative set who seems in any way out of place, and the interplay between the actors – which extends right down to the minor members of the large ensemble - is nothing less than miraculous. The principals are so-well chosen that seem to inhabit their characters with an effortlessness that goes beyond natural instinct; often, it seems almost by chance.
The beguiling Kelli O’Hara has attracted a great deal of attention of late for her performances in celebrated
musicals of yesteryear; in addition to her delectable Tony-nominated turn in The Pajama Game, this past year alone she has toplined a much-praised concert staging of My Fair Lady for The New York Philharmonic, and a revival of Oklahoma! as part of that state’s centennial festivities. With her performance in South Pacific, she confirms her status as one of the best interpreters of vintage material in contemporary musical theater. That distinction owes itself to more than just her mastery of period vocal style, for Ms. O’Hara is as fine an actress as she is a singer - and believe me, that’s saying something. It’s easy to judge musical theater performers on a different, and somewhat lesser scale than actors in straight plays; in most cases, their performances seem pitched squarely to the audience, with emotions delivered in all caps for exaggerated emphasis (or worse still, in hastily scrawled-out shorthand). From this point on, Ms. O’Hara can be held to a different standard entirely; if she ever decides to take a break from musical theater (hopefully, not a permanent one), there’s no danger of her seeming out of her depth should she decide to ply her talents elsewhere. As Nellie Forbush, she gets the quality of apple-pie wholesomeness absolutely right, but even when singing about being “as corny as Kansas in August” (the role seemingly screams out for the oblivious, white-washed sunniness of a latter-day Doris Day) there isn’t one aspect of her characterization that seems false, forced or in any way disingenuous. Her Nellie is an All-American sweetheart with girl-next-door charm to spare, but also a deeply conflicted woman, unsure of herself in unfamiliar surroundings, and coming face to face with inner demons that rattle her to the core. For bringing her character to three-dimensional life with such empathy and insight, and for never flinching when the material requires her to dig deeper below the surface, she ably demonstrates that the only limitations on her talent in future may be the lack of opportunity to exercise it. If some enterprising soul would write a new musical worthy of her, this wouldn’t be so conspicuous a challenge. It isn’t a problem here, though. Ms. O’Hara has shone brightly on previous occasions; in South Pacific, she has unmistakably attained the luster of a genuine star. Since one star does not a constellation make, Mr. Sher has populated his production with performers who can not only travel the same altitude as his leading lady, but radiate enough light and warmth on their own to illuminate the material in ways mere star turns seldom do. Brazilian opera star Paulo Szot, best known on these shores for his appearances with The New York City Opera, makes a stunning theatrical debut in the role of Emile. With his broad shoulders and soulful eyes, the matinee-idol handsome Mr. Szot is not only a believable object of romantic attraction; when he applies his rich, soaring baritone to that little ditty that launched a thousand sighs, “Some Enchanted Evening,” or the equally swoon-worthy “This Nearly Was Mine,” the lyrics have an emotional resonance that extends beyond the words themselves. Every phrase is invested with such tenderness and longing that everything around the actor seems to fade into soft focus; I swear that in the middle of his rendition of “This Nearly Was Mine,” time stopped – no mean feat, considering how swiftly this three-hour production, which cuts through the waves as smoothly as ocean liner, seems to glide by. The qualities that make his vocal performance so spectacular carry over to his acting scenes with Ms. O’Hara; the captivating chemistry they share is all the more disarming for its poignant delicacy. Is it unlikely that Mr. Szot, whose talents will doubtless be no less in demand in the wake of this most recent triumph, will become a frequent visitor to the Broadway stage. It can only be hoped that this appearance will not be his last.
The supporting cast is top-of-the-line, with each member given his or her chance to shine in turn. Danny Burstein is in great form as the mischief-making seabee Luther Billis - his “Honey Bun” routine with Ms. O’Hara provides the evening with its comedic high point. Matthew Morrison, who continues to move up quickly in the ranks of Broadway leading men, gives a thoughtful, sensitive account of the conflicted Lt. Cable, while Li Jun Li makes the piece’s most thinly conceived character, the fragile and pliant Liat, a genuinely touching figure. The Hawaiian actress Loretta Ables Sayre brings a sense of bare-knuckled desperation, as well as some intriguing hints of menace, to her depiction of the wily war profiteer Bloody Mary - a role usually played, in previous contexts, in the spirit of broad comic caricature. As for the remainder of the 40 person cast, there is nary a generic chorus kid in sight; each member of the energetic ensemble has been directed to give a highly individualized performance, while collectively they contribute immeasurably to the production's highly authentic sense of time and place – something abetted by Catherine Zuber’s pitch-perfect period costumes and Donald Holder’s sumptuous lighting design. The 30-piece orchestra, working from the original 1949 musical arrangements, does full and glorious justice to Rodgers’ rich, melodic score, which washes over the audience like a succession of waves breaking smoothly upon the sand.
So what’s wrong with South Pacific? The only thing I can come up with – and I’m reaching here – is that The Vivian Beaumont Theatre doesn’t seem to come equipped with enough seats. According to sources in the know, the ticketing crunch has grown to the point that there’s already a waiting list for Thanksgiving weekend (one can only imagine the boon this has been to the scalping industry). For anyone who cares about musical theater – heck, for anyone who cares about theater in general – do whatever you have to do in order to snag yourself a shore pass. Genuine wows are in short supply on Broadway these days. When one comes along…well, to paraphrase the song, once you have found it, never let it go.
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Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Centennial Tributes: Eve Arden
By Edward Copeland
Nearly every time you see Eve Arden on screen in black-and-white, she seemed to have a cigarette firmly ensconced in her hand. Somehow it was appropriate that embers would be slowly dripping off her smoke since inevitably sparks would be flying from the dialogue emanating from her lips. In fact, her photo should appear next to the definition of wisecrack in the dictionary. Born Eunice Quedens on April 30, 1908, Arden almost always was the girl Friday or best pal to other stars, but she many times she ended up being the best thing in bad films, raised good films to a higher level and was just plain fun more times than not. Her lengthy time in film led to a longer time in radio and television. Along the way, she managed one Oscar nomination and several Emmy nominations, including one win. She even appeared in the infamous Broadway flop Moose Murders, though she was replaced during previews before the show got its one night run. In only her second film appearance as Eve Arden, she played one of the many smart-mouthed broads trading barbs in the Footlights Club boarding house for aspiring actresses in 1937's Stage Door. With Katharine Hepburn, Ginger Rogers, Lucille Ball and Ann Miller among the many cracking wise, Arden might have been lost, but she's easy to spot since in nearly every one of her scenes she uses a white cat as a prop, usually draped around her neck like a scarf. In 1939, she got to hold court with one of the kings of fast-talking comedy, Groucho Marx, in At the Circus. The first role that really allowed her to shine was as model scout Cornelia "Stonewall" Jackson in the 1944 musical Cover Girl. She got to be the voice of reason and a funny voice at that. When her older boss sees a vision of a lost love of his past in Rita Hayworth, he asks Cornelia
what she would do if she saw her youth walk through the door. "I'd put braces on its teeth," she replies. The next year, she got one of her very best roles and earned an Oscar nomination as Joan Crawford's friend and business associate Ida Corwin in Mildred Pierce. Ida saw through Mildred's good-for-nothing daughter Veda (Ann Blyth), even if Mildred couldn't see it. "Personally, Veda's convinced me that alligators have the right idea," Ida tells Mildred. "They eat their young." In 1946, she again got to play the best friend, this time to Barbara Stanwyck in a dreadfully dull melodrama My Reputation that Arden tries single-handedly to drag kicking-and-screaming into the realm of romantic comedy. Alas, she fails in the effort. That same year, she showed her ability to surprise: Taking the role of a French chanteuse in the whitewashed Cole Porter biopic Night and Day with Cary Grant. Perhaps tired of
always being second (or third) fiddle in film, Arden moved to radio where she created the role of high school teacher Connie Brooks, which she transferred to TV in 1952, sparring with harried principal Gale Gordon in his pre-Lucy days and teaching Richard Crenna with his wonderfully fake cracking adolescent voice. The role brought her an Emmy and several nominations and she tended to stick to television for the rest of her career, though she did venture back on the big screen now and then. In 1951, she was the best thing in Three Husbands, a better idea than a movie that attempted to spoof A Letter to Three Wives. In 1959, she was girl Friday again, this time to lawyer James Stewart in Otto Preminger's Anatomy of a Murder. Of course, for the younger out there, perhaps Arden always will be best remembered as Principal McGee of Rydell High in Grease and Grease 2. Remember, if you can't be Eve Arden, be an Eve Arden supporter.
Labels: Barbara Stanwyck, Cary Grant, Ginger Rogers, Jimmy Stewart, Katharine Hepburn, Marx Brothers, Television, Theater
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Saturday, April 26, 2008
THIS FILM SHOULD BE PLAYED LOUD!
By Edward Copeland
When I first planned to commemorate the 30th anniversary of Martin Scorsese's The Last Waltz, I'd hoped to integrate thoughts on Scorsese's recent Rolling Stones film, Shine a Light, but it slipped in and out of town before I got a chance to see it. It was probably for the best. When you've already made one of the greatest concert film/rock documentaries of all times, it would be pretty difficult to top. When I saw The Last Waltz for the first time, I was very fortunate: It was in a Manhattan movie theater on the occasion of its 20th anniversary re-release. For those unfamiliar with The Last Waltz, it chronicles the farewell concert of The Band on Thanksgiving 1976 at San Francisco's Winterland theater after 16 years on the road, since the musicians couldn't imagine continuing touring and playing for 20 years (an interesting contrast to the Stones). The thought of two decades on the road is daunting because, as Robbie Robertson says, it's a "goddamn impossible way of life." The event turns out to be more of a celebration than a concert, with countless musical greats showing up to give The Band a suitable send off, including Eric Clapton, Joni Mitchell, Neil Young, Emmylou
Harris, Ringo Starr, Dr. John, Van Morrison, Ronnie Hawkins, The Staples, Ron Wood and even Neil Diamond. The great Muddy Waters shows up to perform his quintessential "Mannish Boy," a song I was first introduced to in Risky Business. What makes The Last Waltz so great, other than the music, is the way Scorsese has designed it as a film. You're barely aware that there is an audience present as the cameras are firmly ensconced on stage with the performers. He's also aided by first-rate cinematographer Michael Ballhaus with backup help by Vilmos Zsigmond and Michael Watkins. He also has enough inside stuff to make The Last Waltz qualify as a documentary, but not enough to stop the film from being a
true musical feast. You get plenty of great nuggets from the members of The Band about their history and other elements, but the show's the thing, especially the way Scorsese has storyboarded it out as he would any feature he makes. It's especially notable once the great Bob Dylan shows up in a shot that begins with his hat before moving down to the unmistakable face and voice. Scorsese's brilliant way of shooting the concert makes it so intimate, especially if you are fortunate enough to see it in a theater, that you feel as if you are more a member of the assembled musicians on stage than just an audience member. If only I could have been there in 1976...
Labels: 70s, Bob Dylan, Documentary, Music, Scorsese
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