Cinema in Quarantine: Strange Bedfellows

Last week I watched a few different films, did some cleaning and baking, and deactivated my Facebook account because a break was needed (STAY HOME/WEAR A MASK). The funny thing about these three films is that they relate really well to the stack of books I'm reading right now, hope to have those finished next week sometime.

The 39 Steps, d. Alfred Hitchcock, 1935

A man in England gets drawn into some espionage stuff; danger unfolds.

This was probably one of my least-remembered Hitchcock films; I read the book some years ago and didn't remember much from that, either. Now that I'm a more mature person with fewer interruptions, I thought I'd give it all another go as this was the first selection on Netflix's Criterion Collection (disk). It took two separate viewings for me to really get into it, but was worth it in the end because I really appreciated the second. I got to enjoy the little moments that felt very Hitchcock: slow, moving camera to show suspense through varying POVs, the strength of the musical numbers (orchestral, whistling, wavering between the jaunty situations and announcing peril), and sly, witty banters between the principal characters, Hannay (Robert Donat) and Pamela (Madeleine Carroll).

There's a neat little moment that fans of the Chicago St. Patrick's Day parade scene from The Fugitive will recognize about midway through, and the ending, though subtle, is one of my favorite wrap-ups of a mystery story, ever. It's a smart and fun, but have some caffeine and keep the subtitles on. If you don't keep on top of what's being said, you're apt to tune out.

King Arthur: Legend of the Sword, d. Guy Ritchie, 2017

The son of a murdered king draws a magical sword out of stone; danger unfolds.

This has got to be one of the most underrated films of the last decade. The only complaint I have about it is that I wish it was either longer or done as a trilogy or series. So much happens that's amazing and impressive but is presented as exposition or an afterthought that really leaves one wanting more (Uther Pendragon and Merlin, to name a couple), and the end scene especially hints at more shenanigans in the future, but whatever. As an action film with supernatural elements, it still gets everything right. The banter and nicknames are great (use subtitles), the fight choreography is amazing, and the music on this one (composer Daniel Pemberton) is absolutely among the best in soundtrack history.

I know people will come after me about Hunnam, but I'm sorry, I love the guy. He does in this what he mostly always does--looks amazing and does great physical acting while his supporting cast does most of the emotional heavy lifting. The accent in this is decidedly better than the Jax Teller we all came to love (and cringe at), and no weird swaggering around, so bonus. I'll also say that it was this film that took him up a level as an actor, and that he's only gotten better in everything he's done, since, so I think del Toro and Ritchie have both brought about positive effects in CH. Take a look:



Django Unchained, d. Quentin Tarantino, 2012

A former slave joins forces with a German bounty hunter in effort to locate his wife; danger, disgusting racism, and extreme violence unfold.

I saw this in the theater when it came out and had a hard time with it. It was put together well, amazing aesthetic, performances, and music as all of Tarantino's films, it's just . . . difficult to watch and difficult to talk about, too. I hated DiCaprio as Calvin Candie the first time around, this time I wasn't bothered by his performance as much, I just was uncomfortable with pretty much everything going on, as was meant to be the point, clearly. No matter how idiotic the Klansmen plantation owners are shown to be (which is very), we're still watching idiotic Klansmen and plantation owners commit violent, dehumanizing acts, and it's troubling enough to be sickening. I guess what I'm trying to say is, as competent a film as it is (these types of things indeed happened, and as Rod Serling once said, we shouldn't look away), I couldn't be entertained by it, even as a sort of get-what-you-deserve fantasy tale like Kill Bill or Inglourious Basterds. There's just too little distance between how racism was portrayed or acted upon from this film compared to the enslavement that this film is about; the fact that the same words are still being uttered by racists and many of the same violent actions are still happening today in 2020 is ridiculous and horrifying. I agree that we shouldn't look away, I just don't know how a conversation about this film should go, considering.

I very much enjoyed Django (Jamie Foxx), I loved his lines, his attitude toward the racists, the bounty hunter outfit and hat, and his tear-assing around bareback on the horse after the exchange with the Australians. More than anything else, I loved his words to his wife, Broomhilda (Kerry Washington) when the two finally reunite:

Cinema in Quarantine: Rear Window

Submitted to a nation of stir-crazy people confined to their homes I give you Rear Window, a story of a stir-crazy man, also confined to his home. This guy is crabby, he’s bored, and he’s sick of being in his apartment until one of his neighbors inadvertently provides him with something to do--solve a murder! Is this a simply a straight-forward suspense story? A cautionary tale of men versus women, the old school versus modernity? Nearly anything goes in terms of defining what it all means, but if anything positive is to come from our own sheltering at home it should be for all of us stir-crazies to unite in our love of film (and voyeurism). Let’s dig in.

Alfred Hitchcock’s films are a dream to review and discuss because like many auteur directors whose work carries a collection of recognizable properties (almost like a personal seal or thumbprint), Hitchcock puts a ton of interesting elements into every film he does. For example, the slowness of the moving camera commonly conveys suspense, the classic composition of shots can portray power or vulnerability, and all the little items that inhabit the setting (in this case, camera lenses, cigarettes, jewelry, and saws) together with the way these items are used go a long way in showing, not telling, some of the important things we need to know about the characters. L.B. Jefferies (James Stewart) is a photographer confined to his apartment having been severely injured at a photo shoot. His days are scattered with visits from the insurance-appointed nurse, Stella (Thelma Ritter) and his love interest, Lisa (Grace Kelly), but Jefferies seems to be preoccupied with the goings-on of the apartment dwellers across the courtyard, fully on display through open windows.

Notable tenants include Ms. Torso, a young, pliable ballerina, Ms. Lonely-Heart, a heavy drinker who imagines interactions with beaus, a party-throwing songwriter and pianist, and the Thorwalds, a man who lives with his wife, also confined to her room. Jefferies becomes suspicious when Mrs. Thorwald suddenly disappears, and after noticing several occasions of strange behavior from Mr. Thorwald, Jefferies decides the man must have murdered his wife.

Technically speaking, this film is easily an aesthetic masterpiece. A soundstage this massive (three separate apartment dwellings, courtyard, background street, and distant restaurant) is impressive on its own, but the filmmaking techniques, color, and music are all pleasantly memorable. The camera, which serves largely to stretch out scenes or reveal things slowly, is quick and sudden when it needs to be, usually in moments of fear, danger, or measuring Jeffries’ reactions to fear and danger. Lighting has a huge effect on the story: whose windows are illuminated, how shadows protect or hide Jefferies as he spies, or where Thorwald is and whether or not he’s watching as betrayed by the glow of his cigarette. Color explodes in the summer environment through the flower bed, the choices in paint inside the apartments, and the outfits of the female characters. The musical choices and sound design amplify the interconnectedness of the neighbors through an ongoing accompaniment of piano (courtesy of the musician), vocal scales, folk fiddle, and whistling while also giving way at crucial moments to more sinister elements such as breaking glass, a thunderstorm, and a woman’s scream.

So how does it all come together and what’s being said under the surface events of the story? Questions of impotence and inferiority have been raised (why does Jefferies keep rejecting Lisa, physically?) as well as the play between more traditionally-valued Stella and Detective Doyle who have a stated aversion to psychology versus Jefferies and Lisa, who take a more modern approach to thinking things out and analyzing their feelings. Jefferies speaks at length on what he considers to be barriers to a future marriage with Lisa that really only amount to differences in class and personal interests, but seems to put all his concerns to rest once Lisa begins to take his side in questioning Mrs. Thorwald’s disappearance.

The issue of voyeurism is not exactly subtle in this story; in a precursor to Ira Levin’s Silver as well as reality television proper Rear Window is about a man peeping in on others’ lives. How do we feel about this, and how does it translate to the things we watch today? At a bit of a reach yet still worth mentioning-- Jefferies' perception and treatment of Lisa changes pretty significantly once she leaves his apartment and becomes a player in the events across the courtyard.

After she becomes someone to be watched.

In school, one of my professors from the West Bank (photography and art history department) preferred to keep discussions on film contained to the narrative and technical arenas, whereas several others on the East Bank (comparative literature and film theory) lived for the discussions of the underlying themes and what it all meant in the scheme of the universe. This film was a top pick for both camps, but for decidedly different reasons. What are your thoughts? What bank are you on, and why?

Yes, Norman, You Are Becoming Confused Again: Psycho 2

In one of my writing magazines there was a recent article about how to have a successful blog. Be useful and entertaining, it said. I wondered if I was either of those things, probably entertaining on my best days but useful? What is the use of this blog when there are millions of others like it?

THEN I WATCHED PSYCHO 2.

And decided that I am useful, useful in that I will blather on forever about films that probably no one else cares about. If I can point out one or two things that will result in someone else's enjoyment of a ridiculous film, even if it's really only one person, ever, I'll be happy. And also I realized that I write this blog basically for myself and maybe my brother, and if there's a great beyond, my old man, so while being useful has its rewards, being nostalgic is infinitely more me.

Psycho 2, 1983, directed by Richard Franklin. IMDB says: After twenty-two years of psychiatric care, Norman Bates attempts to return to a life of solitude... but the specters of his crimes -- and his mother -- continue to haunt him


If you make the commitment to watch this, think of it as something completely different from the original, like a crazy Cousin Eddie, maybe, and appreciate the comedy. The script is not good, it's kind of atrocious, actually, but if you can forgive it these things, sit back and giggle a little, you'll probably have an okay time.


Things that make this a decent sequel: The characters are pretty well done; Lila Loomis (Lila Crane) from the original makes a return, played by the same actress, Vera Miles. She's quite bitchy. Mary (Meg Tilly), Doctor Raymond (Robert Loggia), and whoever that sheriff was were all stellar.


DENNIS FRANZ as replacement motel manager Warren Toomey. Gets his own paragraph, that's how much I liked him. Just trashy and gross, but well done. After Norman fires him and he comes to the diner and starts talking smack ("Last time I eat here!") and then shows up at the motel to pick up his things, shouting and kicking up dirt ("Hey, Psycho, I want you to know I'm movin' out!")? I thought he was a nice, sleazy, comic relief. Things don't end very well for him, however.


Good use of transitional items from Norman's past: His hand hovers over cabin one when Mary comes to the hotel, he opens the silverware drawer and a large butcher knife is laid right over the top, the special tea brew that he used on the old lady is still in the cupboard in a decorative tin, etc. These things are as obvious as a smack on the head with a shovel (ala Emma Spool) but I think they all work. Inserting black-and-white flashbacks together with the items would definitely have been pushing it, this is how they related random objects to the plot in The Ring and it sucked big time---they didn't do that here, thank God. Anthony Perkins's Norman is twitchy, stammering, and just sort of dingy most of the time, but I think it works as a mental patient's normal reaction to entering society after being in the clink for so long.


Norman plays the piano! The notes left about, signed, Mother! The glance he gives the butcher knife at the diner when Toomey berates him! "I'm starting to become confused again, aren't I, Mary?" Nice little random items. And the Bates house really never ceases to thrill me, I love how they still call it "the fruit cellar!" Why not just cellar, or basement?


Things that are kinda lame: Again, the script. Most of the dorky lines fall on Meg Tilly ("just because two people sleep under the same roof doesn't necessarily mean they've made love. . . ") 


Lila Loomis is really abrasive and reactionary, always stomping off and flying off the handle. Tone it down a little, Vera.


The ending is decidedly ridiculous. But you see it coming.


I probably saw this at way too early an age, like everything else on this list, but my most memorable viewing of this was with Charlie, my brother, and Erica, my best friend who lived across the lawn from us. We watched it on a summer night and then made poor Erica walk home ALONE in the dark (nice friends!). I didn't find out until later just how scared she had been, and for good reason. There are three scenes from this film that literally chill my bones: (honorable mention goes to faux-Mrs. Bates hovering in window).

1. The kid that gets offed in the fruit cellar. Two kids sneak into the house (to get high and do it) and someone dressed as Mother Bates surprises them. The sound of her clogs on the basement floor, the snappy way she looks over at them when she hears a noise (not to mention that disgusting, evil potato the girl picks up before they get busy) and of course the repeated plunges into the kid's back with the knife as seen outside the window---ugh. Why the hell would you sneak into someone's scary old house when there is a motel basically inches away? Yuck.


2. The Bloody Towel in the Toilet. This is memorable mostly because it just comes out of no where; Norman goes upstairs to wash his hands and all of a sudden, thick, dark blood comes bubbling out of the toilet and sink. When Mary comes up to find him this way, she tiptoes over to the toilet, plucks the towel out and then flings it into the sink, making a hilarious splat and then snarls, "Je-SUS!" This was another scene that Charlie rewound probably eighty times each time we watched it. So creepy but funny, too.


3. The Near Conclusion, Where Norman Smiles into the Phone. After he starts to go a bit looney again, Norman starts actually talking to a caller he believes to be his mother. Usually he answers the phone, hears who it is, SWITCHES HANDS, and starts telling her how happy he is to talk to her. The creepy smiling happens toward the end, and more than once, I believe. Maybe it's meant to be a tribute to the original conclusion, Norman's creepy smile in the police room, but it gives me goose bumps. Yuck.

So it's campy. Definitely eighties, and definitely something that would make Hitchcock roll over in his grave, but it's not all bad. I had to watch this on VHS (thanks, Nik) in broad daylight, but it was still a good time. There's not nearly as much comedy as Psycho 3, COMING UP NEXT, and regrettably there's no Jeff Fahey, but if you like scary movies, you could do a lot worse.

This is what is known as a HAIL MARY.

I am so tired I could die; it's 8:40 and all I want to do is crawl in my cozy bed and fall asleep dreaming of George Clooney, Brett Favre, Viggo Mortonson, Lucius Malfoy, etc., etc., but I AM COMMITTED TO MY OCTOBER LIST, by God, through loss of life and limb I will finish this. You'll have to forgive me if it seems a little rushed but October was a *smashing* month for my little Television Lady blog, so I'd be looking the proverbial gift horse in the mouth if I wasn't the last man standing at my own party. . . so you get it all, but you get it all at once. (thanks everyone who has read, enjoyed, commented: this has been great fun for me!)



1. The Birds, 1963, Alfred Hitchcock. This was my first viewing all the way through, and I had no intention of being rattled by it. But guess what? This film is severely disturbing and I was very bothered by it. Why, oh why, these birds? You never find out. I like that. In Terror in the Aisles, there's an interview with Hitchcock about suspense in film; he says something to the effect of, "you can't just blow your wad all at once, you have to make the audience wait and squirm a little and then, BAM!" This film was very much that way, you wait a hell of a long time for the BAM, but once it happens . . . (shudder).

Random questions:
1. Did anyone else get any lesbian overtones from The Schoolteacher? I thought it worked just fine, but when she said she had "dated" Mitch, it really threw me for a loop.
2. Can the birds smell them? I was screaming at everyone to go hide in a closet, completely enclosed.
3. Constant calling his mother "dear?" And the jealousy of all girls he brings home? Unresolved remnants from young Master Bates, perhaps?

2. Psycho, 1960, Alfred Hitchcock. First scary movie I ever saw (age six). My dad told me about it and I begged him to let me watch it when it aired on channel nine. He went out to his machine shop after dinner that evening and I hovered around the television, waiting for it to come on; once the music started I must have gotten some kind of clue as to what I was in for. . . I ran out to the steps and yelled for him to come in.

This whole film is tense. Marion steals the money, she lies to the cop, she dumps her car, she meets Norman. They have this really uncomfortable conversation (hello, A BOY'S BEST FRIEND IS HIS MOTHER) and well, you know the rest. I just clench and writhe every time. The most disturbing part of this film isn't the murder, it isn't the corpse in clothing, it isn't the superimposition of Mother Bates's face onto Norman's at the end, it's the way she just stomps out of that bathroom after she cuts up Marion. Just stalking right the hell out of there, like "well that little skank just got what was coming to her AND GET OUT OF MY WAY, I'm *STILL* PISSED ABOUT IT" stomp, stomp, stomp!

Once Matt, to get a rise out of me, dressed up in some ridiculous jumper I had in the back of my closet, grabbed the biggest knife he could find, and just stood silently in the doorway of our old apartment with his mouth frozen in this huge, disgusting grin, just waiting for me to turn my head over and see. . .

ugh. But you must admit, Norman Bates is one of the absolute best time-withstanding villains. I know most people will not agree to this, but I think his portrayals in the sequels are just as entertaining and disturbing. I'll be getting to that on its own, soon enough.

The rest?

Dracula by Bram Stoker: Wonderful. I loved it. I think the thing I loved best was that Winona Ryder was not anywhere near it.

Alfred Hitchcock, Tales of Terror. Hitch chose the tales, he didn't write them. But they were wonderful, I loved them all, mostly.

The Thomas Mann Reader. This was probably my favorite book this month, but as I was getting pressed for time and these tales were not really related to Halloween, Vampires, Psychopaths, or things of this nature, I had to shelve it after only a few stories to try to keep on task. They were amazing and made me cry, though, I will definitely return to this, probably in December.

It's Psycho Two and Three tonight. . . Matt is growing quite annoyed at all the Dexters we've been missing, but has been very sportsmanlike in allowing me full control of the television. Plus his leg is still in a cast and he can't really do anything about it anyway. At least it's horror and not Traveling Pants, right Larry?

Revision

As much as it annoys me to do this, I'm having to make some adjustments to the October Film List due to availability problems on Netflix and the fact that I'm running out of time. I'm eliminating the Saw films, I promise to do them next year, cross my heart. I'm ending King with Christine and The Shining, as they were the only ones I could get. After that it'll be Hitchcock, The Birds and Psycho, followed by II and III if I can get them. My loyalty to Jeff Fahey isn't quite equal to my loyalty to King or Kubrick or Carpenter, but I really feel I need to represent with Psycho III. Plus it's (secretly) one of my favorites from the original list.

So, to reiterate, the rest of the month looks like this:
1. Christine
2. The Shining
3. The Birds
4. Psycho
5. Psycho II
6. Psycho III
and if by some freak chance I have ninety minutes to spare after this list, 7. Phantasm II.

Ugh, I hate scribble-outs. But for your viewing pleasure in the meantime:

Dwayne Duke, friends just call me Duke. I'm a singer.