An Affair to Remember (1957)

 

Throne of Blood (Kumonosu Jo) 1957 **

Long before Tony Montana went down in a blaze of bullets in Scarface (1983), Taketoki Washizu (Toshiro Mifune) went out in a flurry of arrows in Throne of Blood (1957). There are memorable death scenes, and then there are extraordinary comeuppances that fell insane Japanese feudal lords.  Of course, famed director Akira Kurosawa was quite adept at staging furious and glorious battle scenes, but for me Washizu’s timely end is unforgettable.

The premise behind Throne of Blood (also known as Spider’s Web Castle) is Shakespeare’s Macbeth. Kurosawa and fellow screenwriters Shinobu Hashimoto, Ryuzo Kikushima, and Hideo Oguni do a wonderful job of refashioning Shakespeare’s play to feudal Japan.  Unfortunately, the corrupting power of unchecked ambition is a universal theme, so the machinations of Macbeth and Lady Macbeth seamlessly transfers to Washizu and Asaji (Isuzu Yamada). This timeless story is enhanced by an ambitious production design and expertly crafted costumes. 

The impenetrable Spider’s Web Castle was built high on Mount Fuji in a location known for its fogginess. The thick mist is a character in itself, in that it foretells when something ominous is about to unfold.  Whether it be when Washizu and his friend and fellow military leader Miki (Minoru Chiaki) get lost in Spider’s Web Forest and meet the creepy Forest Spirit (Chieko Naniwa), or when Lady Asaji plots to have her husband kill the reigning lord (Hiroshi Tachikawa), thick fog eerily seeps over the landscape. On building the castle, Kurosawa has said that it was one of the most difficult productions of his film career, as the location was quite remote and getting enough workers and materials proved difficult. Fortunately for him there was a U.S. Marine base nearby who helped build the towering set. 

However, the Marines could not be counted on to design and make historically accurate costumes for a cast of hundreds. That monumental task fell to Taiki Mori, who clothed hundreds of men in feudal battle regalia and designed delicate, intricate kimonos for Asaji and others. One particular kimono of Asaji’s is fashioned in such a way as to make her appear and move like an actual spider, which is apt, as she is no doubt something of a black widow, always spinning webs of deceit to ensnare her perceived enemies.

For a film called Throne of Blood you don’t really see a lot of bloodshed. Instead blood is used more metaphorically than anything (although we do see blood on Washizu’s hands after he kills the Lord).  This theme is epitomized when the Forest Spirit says, “If you choose the path of bloodshed, then climb to the very pinnacle of evil.” It’s interesting that he would say that, of course, because he’s the one who set Washizu off to capture a throne covered in blood by prophesizing that Washizu was destined to rule Spider’s Web Castle. 

While I was thoroughly enthralled with Washizu’s death scene, there is too much overacting in Throne of Blood for me. Perhaps it’s a cultural thing, or Kurosawa instructed Mifune to ham it up because he wanted to show the depths of Washizu’s madness, but there was too much bulging eyes and maniacal laughs for my liking.  Also, it puzzles me why Kurosawa incorporated Noh theatre into the story with Asaji’s restricted, orchestrated movements, but then at other times she is free to run about unencumbered.  Still, the ending is worth sitting through 105 minutes of overacting. 

12 Angry Men (1957) **1/2

In director Sidney Lumet’s first feature film, 12 Angry Men (1957), one juror asks another, “What kind of man are you? Who tells you that you have the right like this to play with a man's life?” The duty of a juror is to judge the evidence presented without prejudice or sympathy and render a verdict. The problem is every person who sits in a jury box has their own personal views regarding race, class, and gender, as well as their own personal problems. Reginald Rose’s Oscar-nominated screenplay (adapted from his stage play) does an excellent job of showcasing these very issues in this taut, dramatic film.  Aided by brilliant cinematography, outstanding editing, and stellar acting, 12 Angry Men is an inspiring look at one of the most disliked and avoided duties of American citizenship. 

Our jury is deliberating a first-degree murder charge involving an 18-year-old minority boy from the slums who is accused of stabbing his father to death.  If convicted, the mandatory sentence is the death penalty.  On the surface, it appears to be an open and shut case of guilt, but one juror, played by Henry Fonda, has doubts.  As the lone holdout, he takes it upon himself to make the other eleven jurors (all men, hence the title) reluctantly (and in some cases belligerently) reexamine the evidence.  Along the way we learn there are other contributing reasons for why they think the boy is guilty: racial and class prejudice, familial issues, and indifference.  It is a searing analysis of what actually influences jurors to make the judgments that they do. 

While I have a particular issue with the fact that all of the jurors are men (women could vote and thus serve on juries in 1957!), that does not damper my appreciation for how Lumet and cinematographer Boris Kaufman shot the film.  I’m not sure whether they chose to use black and white film to accentuate the viewpoints of the jurors (everything is seen as either black or white) or because it was cheaper, but it works. The beginning of the film is shot with wide-angle lenses and at an above eye-level perspective. This cleverly depicts how distant the jurors are from one another on many levels.  It also provides the viewer with the ability to observe the idiosyncrasies of each juror.  As the story progresses and becomes heated as jurors start changing their verdicts, the film is shot from much lower angles and closer shots.  These techniques heighten the drama and create an almost claustrophobic atmosphere.

With over 365 camera sets-ups and multiple angle shots, it is obvious that cinematography played a vital role in the overall production, but without clear, decisive editing it would have been useless. Having worked for several years on dramatic productions for television, Lumet knew the value of editing, and he and Carl Lerner expertly and concisely cut 12 Angry Men to create a smooth, cohesive feel.  While there are a lot of panning shots, the film is appropriately cut at crucial moments.

All twelve actors give fine performances, but three stand out to me. Fonda is obviously the star, and he plays his calm, rational Juror No. 8 well, but he serves more as a moral compass than anything else.  I’ve seen him play this part before in The Ox-Bow Incident (1943) and Young Mr. Lincoln (1939), so while he’s good here it’s not what I consider one of his standout performances.  No, when I think of the jurors I remember Ed Begley (Juror No. 10), Lee J. Cobb (Juror No. 3), and George Voskovec (Juror No. 11).  Begley plays his rude, bigoted part with just the right amount of anger and callowness.  By the end of the film, when almost every man turns their back on his poisonous prejudice, he does an excellent job of conveying his character’s resigned realization that no one respects him or his views.  Cobb’s Juror No. 3 is violently vitriolic and difficult to forget. His vehement agitation serves as the actual pulse of the movie.  And, finally, I think Voskovec’s turn as a naturalized citizen with an appreciation for the American justice system deserves to be recognized.  His dealings with both Cobb and Begley are memorable, but it is his confrontation with Jack Warden’s Juror No. 7 that hammers home the importance of the jury system. 

Overall, 12 Angry Men is an intelligent look at an important element of the American justice system.  It benefits from creative cinematography and editing, and has an outstanding cast.  It is a tad overdramatic at times, but that does not lessen its overall effect.

Le Notti Di Cabiria (The Nights of Cabiria) 1957 **1/2

(This article is from guest contributor Sarkoffagus and first appeared at http://classic-film-tv.blogspot.com/.  The rating in the title is my own.)

Cabiria (Giulietta Masina) is spending a day with her boyfriend, Giorgio. When they approach a river, Giorgio snatches Cabiria’s purse and pushes the woman into the water. Cabiria is saved from drowning by several locals, but, refusing to believe that Giorgio has simply stolen her money, she returns to her home to find him. Such is the life of Cabiria, who earns her living as a prostitute. She endures hardship and heartbreak, maintaining a firm grasp on the notion that one day she will find a true companion, a generous and selfless man who will shower her with love.

Federico Fellini’s Nights of Cabiria (aka Le notte di Cabiria/1957) is sometimes viewed as a bleak, often depressing film. Cabiria suffers through life’s adversities, which is not always easy to watch, compounded by the fact that she seems naive and so desperate for affection. She encounters men who are disrespectful or self-centered. She wanders into situations which ultimately leave her embarrassed or humiliated. There are times when Cabiria is alone, inside her small house or walking the barren land just outside the city, and a sense of loneliness will betray the woman’s confidence.

But what makes Fellini’s movie anything but a tragedy is Cabiria herself. Despite a childlike exterior, Cabiria is undoubtedly experienced and intelligent. Rather than let herself become overwhelmed with sadness, she retains hope with a smile and a spring in her step. Soon after Giorgio’s treachery, Cabiria is on the streets with others in her profession, dancing to music. Even after another woman insinuates that Giorgio is her man and Cabiria attacks her, the woman’s fury does not linger, and before long, she’s once again dancing in the street. She sees the beauty in so many things, a woman who is proud of the tiny house that she owns and whose happiness cannot be washed away in the pouring rain. The title is certainly appropriate: as the night blankets everything in darkness, Cabiria stands there, forever shining brightly.

Masina, who was married to the director for many years until his death in 1993, was a tremendous actress and provides Nights of Cabiria with a beautiful and unforgettable performance. Many of Fellini’s films either contained a circus or were reminiscent of one, with a motley assortment of characters, each with his/her own distinctive qualities and in a world that had no choice but to embrace every single person. Masina, quite suitably, was much like a clown. She could move from comedy to tragedy with the greatest of ease, and her face was incredibly expressive. Her grins radiate with joy, and her frowns are shrouded in sorrow. Her character in an earlier Fellini film, La strada (1954), played a clown, but that attribute is clear even without the makeup.

In 1998, Nights of Cabiria was restored by Rialto Pictures and was re-released in theaters. In addition to improving the overall quality of the film’s images, a seven-minute sequence with a character usually referred to as “the man with the sack” was included. The previously cut scene involved Cabiria, walking home alone in the early morning, seeing the man pull up in his car. Curious, she watches as he brings food and clothing to people living in what looked to be holes (translated in the subtitles as “caves”). It enhances the film greatly, as Cabiria meets a charitable man who seems to represent what she desires. Likewise, one of the people in the caves is a former prostitute whom Cabiria recognizes, and the woman, once wealthy from the spoils of her profession, is the embodiment of what Cabiria fears.

Nights of Cabiria won an Academy Award for Best Foreign Language Film, and Masina was awarded the Best Actress prize at the Cannes Film Festival and the Zulueta Prize at the San Sebastián International Film Festival held in Spain. Fellini was awarded the Best Foreign Language Film Oscar three additional times, for La strada, 8½ (1963), and Amarcord (1973). His actress wife was also nominated for a BAFTA for both La strada and Nights of Cabiria.

Nights of Cabiria editor Leo Catozzo, who had worked on other films with Fellini, designed and patented the CIR-Catozzo Self-Perforating Adhesive Tape Film Splicer (sometimes called the CIRO and/or guillotine splicer). He was awarded an Academy Award for Technical Achievement in 1990.

Federico Fellini had begun making films during the movement known as Italian Neorealism, which can essentially be defined as social commentary presented in a realistic manner (e.g., shooting on location, amateur performers, etc.). Certainly later in his career, Fellini moved beyond neorealism, with 8½ as a clear turning point, much more surreal than based in reality. However, even Fellini’s earlier movies rejected the notion of realism. There was a poetic and spiritual quality to his films, and this is prevalent in Nights of Cabiria. The film concludes with a violation of the fourth wall, a lyrical moment which gives the movie bittersweet closure, and just a little more sweet than bitter.

Wild Strawberries (Smultronstallet) 1957 **1/2

(This article is from guest contributor Sarkoffagus and first appeared at The Classic Film & TV Cafe.  The rating in the title is my own.)

Professor Isak Borg (Victor Sjöström), an aging physician and widower, is to receive an honorary degree from his alma mater, Lund University. After having a disconcerting dream of a lonely street, a clock with no hands, and a horse-drawn carriage (transporting a coffin with the professor’s lifeless body inside), Isak leaves for the ceremony earlier than planned, much to the dismay of his sassy but nimble housekeeper, Miss Agda (Jullan Kindahl). Traveling by car, Isak begins his journey with his daughter-in-law, Marianne (Ingrid Thulin), stopping at the summer home from his childhood and encountering a trio of youngsters, including a girl who reminds him of his first love (both named Sara and both played by Bibi Andersson). Plagued by more dreams, Isak’s trip becomes a catharsis, as he must comes to terms with his apathy towards others, his estranged son, and his despondent marriage.

Swedish filmmaker Ingmar Bergman was known for his somber movies, such as The Virgin Spring (1960), Hour of the Wolf (1968), and Cries and Whispers (1973), many of them wrought with misery and tortured characters. Considering this, the director’s 1957 Wild Strawberries (original title: Smultronstället) is refreshingly optimistic. Isak’s dreams are unmistakable representations of his fears: loneliness, his impending death, and his days of elation to forever remain distant memories. Once on the road, Marianne ruthlessly informs the professor that his son hates him, reminding Isak of the cold manner in which he allowed his daughter-in-law to stay with him (insinuating that problems between the couple were not his concern) and a loan that his son is slowly paying back (Marianne believing that the wealthy professor does not need the money). Isak is also forced to remember that his deceased wife, Karin, was an unhappy woman, which she blames on the man’s detachment and passivity.

Notwithstanding the dismal dreams and recollections of a rueful life, Bergman’s film is encouraging, for the simple fact that Isak is acknowledging that his uncaring behavior is a character flaw. Furthermore, he is experiencing an emotion he has likely never previously felt: guilt. Perhaps for the first time, Isak is seeing how his dispassion has affected the people in his life. When Isak and Marianne visit his mother, the professor sees the coldness in his mother that he has shown to his wife, his son and his daughter-in-law. The elderly lady rummages through a box filled with items of the past, her memories nothing more than keepsakes. It’s a sad scene, but one in which Isak recognizes that he does not want souvenirs of his youth but rather the happiness associated with it. More importantly, he does not wish upon his son memories of sorrow and pain.

There are a number of uplifting moments in Wild Strawberries. The young Sara is not simply an expression of Isak’s carefree childhood, but, with her genuine enthusiasm over seeing the professor awarded his honorary degree, she likewise represents happiness that remains within reach. In one sequence, the group stops at a gas station, where the attendant (Max von Sydow) fondly recalls Isak, who once had an office nearby. The man so admires the professor that he refuses payment, and as he praises the man’s kindness to his wife, the typically doleful Marianne flashes a bright, honest smile.

Wild Strawberries was awarded the Golden Bear at the Berlin International Film Festival, won for Best Film and Best Actor at the Mar del Plata Film Festival, and won a Best Foreign Film Golden Globe (Samuel Goldwyn International Award), along with four other films that year. It was also nominated for an Academy Award for Best Original Screenplay.

Thulin, Andersson and von Sydow were frequent collaborators with Bergman, appearing in a number of the Swedish director’s movies. Sjöström was a prominent film director in Sweden during the silent film era and directed a number of U.S. films (under the Americanized name of Victor Seastrom). He only made a few talkies before focusing his efforts as artistic director of the production company, Svensk Filmindustri, in the 1940s and acting in theatrical productions. This was the final film for Sjöström as either actor or director. He died a little more than two years later in 1960.


Although not an official remake, Woody Allen’s film, Another Woman (1988), borrows several thematic elements from Wild Strawberries and is generally considered an homage to Bergman’s movie. Similarly, the very basic plot to Allen’s film, Deconstructing Harry (1997), resembles both Wild Strawberries and another Bergman film, Through a Glass Darkly (1961). This is typical of Allen’s movies, as he often makes what can be considered his version of an European film, including yet another Bergman movie, 1955’s Smiles of a Summer Night (Allen’s 1982 A Midsummer Night’s Sex Comedy), as well as films from Italian director Federico Fellini (e.g., Allen’s 1980 Stardust Memories being his take on Fellini’s 1963 8½).

It is abundantly clear by the film’s end that Isak wishes to make a change in his life and hopes that it will spark changes in other people’s lives as well. The interaction between Isak and Miss Agda is pleasantly droll, but the most rewarding relationship in the film is the one between the professor and his daughter-in-law. They are the two characters who develop the most throughout the film, both stubborn people who gradually find contentment, shared and personal alike. The title refers to the wild strawberries growing in a field near Isak’s childhood home, but it is not merely a hint of childhood and nostalgia. The strawberries are wild because they are free, unburdened by regret and not restrained by old-world ways and traditions or fearing what is to come. They find their peace in simple existence.