Silver Screen in a Red Envelope: A Diary of Time Wasted

Other than Roger Ebert and the New York Times, this movie is a beloved cult classic. Last night, a Sunday, I finally had little else to do but torture my little teenage sister as she attempted some last-minute homework for her least-beloved teacher. I decided a little nostalgia was in order. I had forgotten how often this film made me laugh. The expressions Bud Cort (as Harold) makes to the camera sent me into paroxysms. The anti-war jokes, the auto theft, the priest's marital advice. . . riotous. This time around, I noticed a peculiar visual balance, and not just when Harold imitated his psychiatrist. The scenes, when not asymmetrical head-shots and close-ups, were often balanced symmetrically between either opposing symbols (order and chaos, death and life, horror and humor, etc), or contained a symmetrical object that symbolized some kind of bridge between two oppositions. This fits brilliantly with the films odd-couple themes and extreme images. I used to hesitate to recomm

Everybody loves this movie. I found it a little slow the second time around, but the language and themes were all very refreshing. The script was obviously written back in the era when it was acceptable to be witty, even if it didn't sound completely natural. Think anything by Neil Simon. Personally, I like a little unnatural dialogue, as long as it's unnatural for a good reason. It's dialogue that sounds stilted for no apparent reason that bothers me, and this movie didn't have much of that, so I approve. I could see this movie being quite risque back in the day. As a matter of fact, my mother refuses to watch it, stating that if it she hadn't seen it in 1969 when it came out, she probably had a darn good reason. And she did. Speaking moralistically, this movie is quite troubling, although no standards of decency (with the exception of some truly alarming mini-skirts) seem much crossed. The swearing is at a minimum, extra- and pre-marital sex is alluded to only,

This television adaptation of Tennessee Williams's classic play suffered from all the unfortunate side effects of theater productions. That is to say, I suffer from all the side effects of my impatient age. I got bored. Or I would have, if I hadn't been playing tetris the whole time. I really don't blame the movie, though. Visually, the camera angles changed regularly, the colors had subtle fluxuations, and the themes and characterization were complex and engaging. I admire the acting very much. Poor Kathryn Hepburn had to play a seriously grating character, but she did it brilliantly. Sam Waterston fully realized the depth of his role. Joanna Miles, who didn't have much to work with in the way of dialogue, seemed to do just fine, too. It seemed, though, a role designed for the over-actor. Even so, Miles did well enough. I had never seen or read the play before I saw this production, but I wasn't disappointed. Although I found the ending unpleasantly ambiguous,

When Alfred Hitchcock set out to direct a comedy, I'm not sure how much success he was expecting, but The Trouble With Harry has some undeniably hilarious moments. The script has some very clever moments, although quite a few of the jokes would fall flat for current, jaded audiences. For instance, a punchline about a double-bed just doesn't have the punch it once did. The movie overall revolves around a corpse, making for a somewhat morbid experience, although all of the characters involved with said corpse seem unusually jaded, leaving only the villain, the deputy Calvin Wiggs, to express sincere shock at the presence of death. This juxtaposition of truth from the villain appears in several movies I've seen lately, and I'm beginning to wonder if there's a name for it, or if it serves some kind of purpose. During the movie, one doesn't identify with the villain. One fears him for the sake of the heroes. But to look back and realize that one identified more w

The title of this film sounds unfortunately a bit too much like The Dead Poet's Society , and has a similar theme and setting. Ultimately, I think this similarity is a detriment to The Emperor's Club , because although there are certainly similarities, the major differences and highlighted themes tell their own story. The featured teacher is classics professor Hundert who deals with a particularly unruly student with his own set of issues all during a time when he faces obscurity, administrative pressures, and forbidden love. Where professor Keating tried to push the boys out of their conservative shells with his liberalistic literature, Hundert rather attempts to instill in his boys a sense of morality, and values of honesty, integrity, and the rewards of hard work. Although he isn't always the best example of these things, I find most of his major life choices admirable, and that Hundert makes a plausible and acceptable role model. Unfortunately, Hundert makes the inte

This movie had few truly comic moments, but the mood remained light throughout. Jane Wyman plays a casual pin-up girl with some emotional intelligence (especially her theory on propinquity, which I have personally adopted as a literary theory), and David Niven plays a smothered concert pianist. The two hatch a plan to drive off a surly neighbor who tries to sleep during the day, and use the pianist's truly professional volume as a rather effective weapon. Unfortunately, though the neighbor is undoubtedly over-the-top surly, he still has a legitimate complaint. Boiled down, they drive him away simply because he has a night job. I pity him, through his comically belligerent scenes, and am a little disappointed that the pianist and his crush don't do more by way of diplomacy to help him sleep. They could offer to sound-proof his rooms, or buy him ear-plugs, or shift the more noisy families to a different floor. They do nothing of the kind. All-in-all, I enjoyed the film, but didn&

Tammy, Tell Me True , and Tammy and the Doctor were both inferior films. Peter Fonda did well enough as the ultimate match, but I didn't appreciate Leslie Nielsen being displaced. This is my big gripe against the movie. In Tammy and the Bachelor , Tammy beats the other girl for the guy because she knows what real love is. She knows about sacrifice, and forever, and believing in dreams. She shows all the hoity-toity aristocratic wannabes that they've forgotten everything real for their petty economic games. They've forgotten about the earth, and loving people, etc. In the two sequels, that strong, earthly love is replaced with a crush, and then hormonal attraction. It undoes the lesson of the first movie, replacing it with a cheap, plastic model - the cardboard cut-out version of Tammy. In some ways, these sequels proved adequate, but if you value your time highly, give these a miss and move on to something a little more worthwhile.

Now, this one was an academy award winner, and an 80 on the tomatometer. It was also a re-watch. I have always adored this movie. Looking through a more critical lens, though, I still enjoyed the movie but noticed several moments where either the script or the actors seemed much too self-aware for current audiences. I'm not certain that this self-awareness was a flaw, or just a quirk of the movie. It had a slight distancing effect, but even Shakespeare used the self-awareness of his actors, and the subsequent distancing, for humor or insight. The actor (Richard Dreyfuss) played an actor, so that meta-ness might explain it. The humor in this film feels natural and good-natured. Dreyfuss keeps his character full of energy and humor, and the script overflows with the linguistic wit expected of Neil Simon. The love scenes especially endear the characters, and smell sweetly of cherry-pie. The emotional difficulties and fearful/hostile reactions displayed by the mother (Marsha Mason)