Blog Directory CineVerse

Coming of age part 2

Wednesday, April 24, 2024

Directed by Ted Demme, Beautiful Girls works about as well as you’d expect for a romcom from 1996, unfolding in a quaint Massachusetts town. At its core is Willie Conway, portrayed by Timothy Hutton, navigating the maze of love, connections, and the complexities of adulthood during a reunion of his high school days. Returning to his roots prompts Willie to ponder his journey, fostering renewed bonds and romantic interests, controversially with a 13-year-old neighbor, portrayed by Natalie Portman. The movie delves deep into the dynamics of male friendship, the hurdles of growing up, and the pursuit of personal contentment.

To listen to a recording of our CineVerse group discussion of Beautiful Girls, conducted last week, click here.


While it was never going to set the cinematic world on fire, Beautiful Girls has a few facets in its favor. The cast is impressive, featuring Timothy Hutton, Matt Dillon, Natalie Portman, Uma Thurman Rosie O’Donnell, Mira Sorvino, Lauren Holly, and Michael Rapaport. This is a pretty deep bench. The film also can be applauded for an assumed authentic depiction of small-town life and the characters that may populate this kind of blue collar hamlet. The plot doesn’t veer strongly into any sociopolitical statements about everyday Joes making do in hard times, as one might expect considering this setting, but the personalities and their situations and motivations seem plausible.

That being said, several elements haven’t aged gracefully. The subplot between Willie and Marty is groan-inducing now, in the post Me-Too era and considering 21st-century society’s intolerance of relationships or infatuations between an adult and a minor. The candid boys club talk in which they grade women’s appearances and engage in “tits and ass” banter also dates this film. So does the revenge plot involving Tommy’s friends striking back at his attackers. It’s also a black eye badge of dishonor that the movie was co-produced by Harvey Weinstein; Mira Savino, Uma Thurman, and Lauren Holly had accused Weinstein of inappropriate behavior, and Timothy Hutton himself was accused of rape years ago, although his name seems to have been cleared.

Thematically, this is a “coming of age part two” type of picture. Beautiful Girls is a treatise on how difficult it can be for men to commit to a mature relationship, be willing to settle down, and accept that their partner almost certainly will not be perfect. Willie is attracted to Andera and intrigued at the prospect of waiting several years for 13-year-old Marty, but Willie will likely end up with Tracy – a wonderful catch who may not check every box but who can undoubtedly make Willie happy if he takes his relationship blinders off. We hear Andera tell Willie in her final scene that he’ll see her again, but the audience never does, suggesting that Willie can find within Tracy what he was looking for in a woman like Andera. And Willie’s farewell to Marty at the conclusion telegraphs that he’s ready to “put away childish things,” say goodbye to fantasized romantic notions, and live in the now with a loving partner of his generation. Per Roger Ebert: “Somehow, doggedly, true love teaches its lesson, which is that you can fall in love with an ideal, but you can only be in love with a human being.”

Viewers can also admire how the movie examines how advancing age and maturity impact long-time friendships. We see how townies like Paul, Tommy, and Kev have become entrenched – if not stuck – in their geographical and emotional locations. Willie returns home for his class reunion and finds that he can still bond with the buddies he had left behind, but most of them have not progressed emotionally. Willie can look to his friend Mo as a possible role model for how to transition somewhat gracefully into marriage and fatherhood, although Willie is not sure he’s ready for that leap.

The title may suggest Beautiful girls, but the boys are not so beautiful. This film, even if inadvertently, offers portraits of toxic masculinity and showcases the often petty superficiality and small-town community acceptance of selfish and shallow males and “bro” culture. Nearly every female character proves to be smarter, more emotionally intelligent, and more sympathetic than their male counterparts.

Similar works

  • The Big Chill
  • Nobody’s Fool
  • About Last Night
  • Mystic Pizza
  • The Brothers McMullen
  • She’s the One
  • Feeling Minnesota
  • St. Elmo’s Fire

Other films by Ted Demme

  • Blow
  • Life
  • A Decade Under the Influence
  • The Ref

Read more...

Seven at 70: Anyway you slice it, Seven Samurai is a crowning cinematic achievement

Saturday, April 20, 2024


They don’t come more epic or universally loved than Seven Samurai, the classic Japanese film directed by Akira Kurosawa and released in early 1954 by Toho Studios. The setup is straightforward but potent: A small farming village enlists a handful of samurai to defend it from bandits who return every harvest to steal their crops; the samurai, each with their unique skills and personalities, train the peasants and prepare them for the impending attack. But it’s the visual execution of this narrative, coupled with several unforgettable performances and woven with thought-provoking subtexts, that elevates Seven Samurai to the highest ranks of world cinema.

To listen to a recording of our CineVerse group discussion of Seven Samurai, conducted earlier this month, click here. To hear the current Cineversary episode celebrating the 70th anniversary of Seven Samurai, click here.


Seven Samurai remains an evergreen picture and an eternally rewarding watch for several reasons, most of all because it’s a streamlined story that’s easily understood and can be appreciated universally. There’s a reason why this yarn continues to be remade by newer filmmakers: Because it continually appeals and satisfies across any language or cultural boundary and can be freshly adapted to many different genres, too, from westerns to science-fiction to anime to a Pixar family film. It’s nearly impossible not to become immediately captivated by the premise and central conflict, the plight of the farmers, and the camaraderie and respect between the samurai.

Yes, this is a long film that requires patience—it’s twice the runtime of most features and includes an intermission modern audiences may find archaic—and there are several different characters to keep track of (although really only a handful who are fleshed out enough for heavy dramatic lifting: Kikuchiyo, Kambei, and Katsushiro). But it doesn’t feel bloated, and no shot or scene is superfluous. Kurosawa is working in a long-form epic medium here but he demonstrates such superb skills in his storytelling, character introductions and development, compositions, editing, and action staging/fight choreography that there’s no way this movie can fail or disappoint.

Kurosawa uses the elongated running time to the benefit of the plot and its dramatis personae. The longer length permits us to get much better acquainted with the various farmers and ronin, provides breathing room for subplots like Katsuhiro’s romance with Shino and the reason behind Rikichi’s anger, and builds tension as we wait for the passing of the seasons and the inevitable return of the bandits. “Seven Samurai unrolls naturally and pleasurably, like a beautiful scroll or valuable rug, luxuriating in its elongation—it takes an entire hour just for the basic task of choosing the titular seven. Rather than try to ignore time, the film emphasizes its passage, underlining key scenes with a quiet but insistent drumbeat that could almost be a clock ticking off the inexorable seconds,” reflects critic Kenneth Turan.

The characters are audience-accessible, often given interesting personalities, intriguing backstories, or relatable motivations that help the viewer better understand and root for them. Critic James Berardinelli wrote: “An average samurai film focuses on a sword-wielding, superhero-type individual who battles his way through the story, often triumphing over a seemingly overwhelming host of foes. Seven Samurai offers us flawed protagonists, some of whom are not skilled fighters, and one of whom is often drunk, belligerent, and decidedly non-heroic in his approach.”

We think of Seven Samurai as an action drama. But it actually wields elements of many different genres, including romance, tragedy, and comedy. It’s a funnier film than you probably remember, consistently infusing humor across its 3½-hour story and adding a counterbalance of levity to the serious, somber, and suspenseful moments that predominate. The result? A more well-rounded entertainment emotionally. So many memorable lines hit the funny bone, like “Find hungry samurai, “Give your wives plenty of lovin' tonight, you hear?”, “Does any of you have a cute sister?” “Take a good look at your daughter – I mean your son,” and “You fool! Damn you! You call yourself a horse! For shame! Hey! Wait! Please! I apologize! Forgive me!” Mifune delivers an inspired performance with a range of emotions as Kikuchiyo, who provides needed comic relief in a film that otherwise could have suffered from solemnity.

Likewise, Mifune expresses an impressive dramatic range here and, despite his buffoonish behavior, lack of battle experience, vainglorious ambitions, and poor tactical choices that result in the deaths of others, demonstrates exceptional heroism. His impassioned monologue addressing the samurai is particularly moving, offering a counterargument to an emotionally and morally complicated situation where the audience and the samurai feel skeptical about the farmers. “There’s no creature on earth as wily as a farmer! Ask 'em for rice, barley, anything, and all they ever say is ‘We're out’…They kowtow and lie, playing innocent the whole time. You name it, they'll cheat you on it. After a battle, they’ll hunt down the losers with their spears. Farmers are misers, weasels, and crybabies! They're mean, stupid murderers!...But tell me this: who turned 'em into such monsters?...You samurai did! Damn you to hell! In war, you burn their villages, trample their fields, steal their food, work them like slaves, rape their women, and kill 'em if they resist…What the hell are farmers supposed to do!

It checks so many satisfying “all-time great” boxes and remains at or near the top of many “best movie” lists. It could be the best war film of all time. It’s a ripping adventure and a cinematic epic. Many consider it Kurosawa’s supreme work and the greatest Japanese film ever. And it has inspired almost too many filmmakers and later movies to count.

Among the Sight and Sound polls across the decades, Seven Samurai has ranked #3 in the 1982 critics poll, #9 in the 1992 and 2002 directors polls, #17 in the 2012 Sound critics poll, and #20 in the 2022 critics poll. Japan’s oldest film magazine Kinema Junpo voted it the best Japanese film ever made in 2009 and 1999. It earns the top slot in the 2018 BBC Culture poll of the 100 greatest foreign language films. And it placed tops in Empire Magazine’s 100 Best Films of World Cinema (2010).

Reflect for a moment that this is the film primarily responsible for introducing the Japanese samurai character into Western pop culture in the 20th century. A plethora of samurai films and chanbara (meaning “sword fighting”) movies were produced in Japan and across the world following Seven Samurai.

Additionally, Seven Samurai has been reinterpreted cinematically numerous times, which speaks to its timeless qualities and ubiquitousness as a classic film text. Among the remakes are The Magnificent Seven from 1960 and 2016, Kill a Dragon (1967), The Invincible Six (1970), Sholay (a Bollywood film) (1975), Duel of the Seven Tigers (1979), Battle Beyond the Stars (1980), The Seven Magnificent Gladiators (1983), Seven Warriors (1989), A Bug’s Life (1998), China Gate (1998), the Japanese anime series Samurai 7 (2004), and The Magnificent Eleven (2013). It has also been credited with influencing later Hollywood and spaghetti Westerns, from Once Upon a Time in the West to The Wild Bunch and The Last of the Mohicans.

Seven Samurai is one of the first movies to employ the plot device of enlisting and gathering heroes into a group to accomplish a mission, used in countless later films like The Great Escape, The Dirty Dozen, The Guns of Navarone, The Blues Brothers, Ocean’s Eleven and its sequels, Inglorious Basterds, and Justice League. Consider, too, how each of the seven samurai is separately introduced and given their own initial spotlight; it’s been argued that Seven Samurai started this trend. It’s also among the first films to use the action/adventure device of introducing a main protagonist in a dangerous side plot that isn’t related to the later main plot (think Raiders of the Lost Ark years later).

But the plaudits don’t stop there. We can also thank Seven Samurai’s climactic concluding battle scene in the rain and mud for inspiring so many similar sequences in films to come, including Chimes at Midnight, The Two Towers, Matrix Revolutions, John Wick, and countless others. Per the BFI: “Endlessly influential, the scene contrasts the insistent downward motion of the rain with the sideways movements of the bandits in a highly organized visual scheme which is paradoxically both frenzied and formal.”

Perhaps an argument can be made that the international success of Seven Samurai, with its extended runtime, encouraged Hollywood filmmakers to expand their canvases and create longer, more ambitious pictures, as evidenced by the lengthy epics released over the next several years, including The Ten Commandments, Spartacus, Bridge on the River Kwai, Ben-Hur, Lawrence of Arabia, and Cleopatra. According to Kenneth Turan, Seven Samurai was the longest hit movie since Gone With the Wind (three hours, 58 minutes) 15 years earlier.

What’s also distinctive and perhaps innovative is that most of the character deaths are not glorified or exaggerated; some kills are depicted in stylized slow-motion, but no death is protracted or sentimentalized for dramatic emotional effect (although we do see the samurai mourn certain deaths, as when Katsushiro weeps at the shooting of Kyuzo). Deep Focus Review author Brian Eggert postulated: “In each case, death is clumsy and unforgiving and unsophisticated…Capturing the battle from numerous angles did not aestheticize his violence into graceful interplays of warrior and bandit, however; we feel each death, as Kurosawa remains dedicated to realism on all fronts.

This picture reveals much about its director. Kurosawa repeats patterns and symbols throughout Seven Samurai, with one common motif being circles, represented by groups that form in circular shapes and the round symbols on the flag signifying six of the samurai. The triangle on the flag stands for Kikuchyo, who aspires to be a circle but falls on the spectrum between farmer and samurai. The director also favors different shots of people grouped together; when a single individual is featured alone in a shot, it is often meant to suggest his or her detachment or emotional distance from the group he or she is compared to.

Perform a shot-by-shot analysis of Seven Samurai and you’ll notice the evident artistry and craftsmanship of a master filmmaker at work. Kurosawa often uses wide-angle, deep-focus lenses that compress foreground, middle ground, and background nicely into the same shot and which show action on all three planes that are in focus at all times—aiding in his epic visual scope. He also employs multiple cameras to show different angles, which was beneficial when editing together the magnificent action sequences. Notice film speed fluctuations, which sometimes occur within the same shot, such as the slow-motion death of the swordsman who challenges Kyûzô; this technique has been widely imitated by other filmmakers, from Arthur Penn to Sam Peckinpah to Sergio Leone. And observe how Kurosawa’s camera can, within the same continuous shot, pan in one direction to follow a character or group, and then suddenly pan in the opposite direction to keep pace with one or more new figures who have entered the frame. This crisscrossing movement ties into the film’s themes of human duality and contrasting forces.

Close-ups are used sparingly, with the director often preferring single uninterrupted medium or long shots to paint a broader canvas of heroes, villains, and conflict. Critic James Berardinelli noted that Kurosawa frames as many of the seven samurai within the same shot as he can as often as possible. Marvel, as well, at the tight and seamless editing, as well, and the masterful action choreography shots that are cut together perfectly. Note how Kurosawa preferred wipes as transitions between scenes, denoting the passing of time. The combination of these approaches, especially the careful framing of shots and juxtaposition of differing compositions via clever editing, raises Seven Samurai above standard action entertainment. Senses of Cinema essayist Patrick Crogan wrote: “Kurosawa’s dynamic camera, tracking fast-moving warriors and sweeping across battle scenes, is counterposed with static and close-up shots. Long takes are opposed to rapidly cut sequences from a number of camera angles. Like Eisenstein (another great action filmmaker), Kurosawa’s editing and camera direction work together to create spectacular visual impacts and elicit complex combinations of emotions and thoughts in the spectator.

Roger Ebert was equally enamored of the director’s talents. “Nobody could photograph men in action better than Kurosawa,” he opined. “One of his particular trademarks is the use of human tides, sweeping down from higher places to lower ones, and he loves to devise shots in which the camera follows the rush and flow of an action, instead of cutting it up into separate shots.”

One of the central theses of Seven Samurai is performing according to or in defiance of social roles and class structure. The film examines the extent to which our identity is predestined or predetermined by society and class and how diligence, determination, and fearlessness can help you break through these barriers, as demonstrated by Kikuchiyo ultimately meriting the rank of samurai, although he loses his life in the process.

Kikuchiyo is a surrogate for the audience, representing a common person who aspires to be something greater than he is, yet flawed and imperfect; he’s capable of showing a range of emotions, from anger to humor to impudence. He also embodies rebellion against social conventions and customs. Kikuchiyo is the fulcrum between the peasants and the samurai, exhibiting traits representational of each side and possibly being the most relatable and well-rounded character in the entire story. The fact that this farmer’s son transforms into a valorous samurai by the end of the story demonstrates that bushido, the honorable code of ethics by which a samurai lives, has less to do with class and social standing than personal character and integrity.

Why do the samurai take this job for virtually no pay? The same reason the bandits continue to attack even though they know the village is well-defended: They perform the duties they’ve been ascribed by their social caste. Yet this is a story about breaking with tradition. The peasants are forced to veer from their assumed path in life by fighting back; the samurai choose to break from their predicted pattern and defend the farmers despite not being fairly compensated; these two separate classes must deviate from the norm and work together as one to defeat the bandits.

The film also underscores the dangers and downsides of class division: farmers are forced to hire and also kill samurai; a peasant daughter and samurai must never mix or the girl loses her honor; and Kikuchiyo must conceal the shameful fact that he was the son of a farmer. Ironies about class division abound in Seven Samurai. The farmers, dependent on the seven ronin, have killed samurai in the past, and though the bandits are eventually defeated, the samurai have “lost”; the farmers prevail, but now they don’t want any armed samurai around because they represent a threat to their established order.

Another crucial message? The role of the individual in society. Before the film was made, Japan was occupied by Allied forces for several years; once the occupiers left, the country suffered a bit of an identity crisis. Traditions of rigid honor and duty and cultural precepts that view the individual as a cog in the machinery of society led them down the path to ruin in World War II. Westerners infused the notion of the value of the individual, which clashed with longstanding socialistic beliefs in each person’s duty to serve collective society.

Beginning with Seven Samurai, Kurosawa’s films increasingly emphasized a more flexible humanism ethos and an emphasis on individuality that was characteristic of Western culture. This film demonstrates the struggle between those two ideologies: Japanese traditionalism vs. Western modernism. It also examines the negative repercussions and ultimate futility of the previously dominant inflexible Japanese ethic of acting on social obligations and performing according to social expectations.

But while Seven Samurai values the role of the individual, it also stresses the importance of coordinated communal action. Kambei proves that only by cooperating constructively as a disciplined team with assigned roles can the samurai and the farmers defeat their adversaries. The samurai carefully train the peasants and enforce strict rules designed to prevent anyone from going rogue, abandoning their post, or behaving selfishly at the expense of the entire village. Ultimately, it is this well-organized collectivism and adherence to sound tactical strategy that ensures victory, although not everything goes according to plan and the group suffers more losses than expected.

Kambei’s defensive strategizing and military maneuvers comprise one of the fascinating facets of Seven Samurai. Among his pearls of wisdom: “This is the nature of war: By protecting others, you save yourself. If you only think of yourself, you will destroy yourself”; “Every great castle needs a breach. Draw the enemy there and attack. You can’t win by defense alone”; and “There’s nothing heroic about selfishly grabbing for glory. Listen to me: War is not fought alone.” Kambei is a brilliant military tactician who favors a war of attrition. He gates off one village access point and floods another; leads an ambush on bandits in their lair to lessen their numbers; concentrates his forces around the majority of the homes at the expense of three vulnerable huts on the outskirts; initially allows one bandit into the village at a time so they can more easily kill their foes and systematically improve their odds; and, for the last battle, realizing his group’s limitations and dwindling stamina, permits all 13 final bandits inside the perimeter, saying it’s “better we fight it out till we’re spent.”

Another evident thematic takeaway is that war plays no favorites. Four of the seven ronin meet their demise following the conflict, including master swordsman Kyuzo (who, like Legolas in The Lord of the Rings films, serves as a superhero-like sidekick) and reckless but brave Kikuchiyo; the least experienced, Katsushiro, somehow survives, as does Kambei, the leader. Seven Samurai teaches us that violence and battle beget casualties, often unfairly and randomly.

The multi-natured complexity of human beings is under Kurosawa’s microscope, too. On its surface, Seven Samurai is a black-and-white morality tale about good versus evil, but this is an inaccurate characterization upon further scrutiny because there are many shades of gray at play. Kikuchiyo’s scolding of the samurai for their hypocritical views on the farmers reveals that there are two sides to every story and a duality within human nature that can seesaw between selflessness and selfishness, between virtue and vice. Katsushiro and Shino’s clandestine affair and one-night stand are denounced by some as immoral and improper but defended by others as a gesture of young love in a time of duress. Kikuchiyo leaves his post to steal a firearm – a brave yet irresponsible act that results in one less bandit but likely leads to several farmer deaths, including Yohei’s, because Kikuchiyo abandoned his post. And Rikichi, although deserving of our sympathies due to the abduction and eventual suicide of his wife, harbors an unexpressed rage (recall how Heihachi tries in vain to get Rickichi to talk about what’s bothering him) and expresses a bloodlust for torturous violence upon a captured enemy who begs for his life; but it’s not Rikichi who metes out the vengeance – the supposedly feeble and helpless old woman villager kills that bandit. These and other examples show how both the peasants and the samurai are capable of positive and negative acts.

Lastly, the ending of the film suggests a thematic changing of the guard. Kambei’s cryptic final lines reveal much: “In the end, we lost this battle too. The victory belongs to those peasants, not to us.” We see the three surviving samurai now physically distant from the villagers they defended and preparing to depart to an unknown future. This detached trio, with their concerned facial expressions and resigned body language, contrasts with the communal throng harvesting and singing happily in unison. The victory has made the samurai obsolete, and now they stand as an unspoken threat to the peaceful social order established by the farmers. Their assumed obsolescence means the peasants no longer have to fear the samurai’s oppositional force, the bandits. Flush with confidence and having earned experience from their triumph, the farmers can hopefully defend themselves from external threats going forward. This signifies hope that civilization is progressing into a new era, yet the tone at the conclusion of the film is elegiac as framed from the perspective of the departing samurai.

Seven Samurai’s most generous gift to birthday wishers on its 70th anniversary is also its greatest strength: its universality. It’s an ever-vibrant, easily comprehensible text that translates effortlessly across languages, cultures, and eras. It’s little surprise that this tale has been adapted so many times across the decades in several different countries and can be flexed to fit multiple genres. Yet, despite the simplicity and malleability of its narrative, the wealth of captivating characters and complex moral themes keep us enthralled whenever we revisit the movie. The broad brushstrokes continue to pop on this cinematic canvas – including the memorable character introductions, enthralling battle planning scenes, immersive combat sequences, and satisfying subplots involving Katsushiro and Rikichi. But the smaller fine touches matter, too: from the endearing way Kanbe rubs the stubbly crown of his head and the sheepish manner Kikuchiyo scratches the side of his face, to the actors’ breath vapors reminding us of the cold shooting conditions, to the gleeful shouts of the children who comprise Kikuchiyo’s fan club, to the fury with which the wind whips against Heihachi’s flag—a stalwart banner that, like the heroes represented in its markings, defies the elements and rouses the spirit through its elevated presence. Seven Samurai is many kinds of master paintings in one: a deep focus landscape, a portrait in triplicate, a still life of sorts depicting a restless group awaiting its enemies, and a real life capturing vivid action across multiple planes and perspectives. Among the esteemed gallery of Kurosawa works, this is the piece de resistance that occupies an entire wall within its own well-visited wing of the museum.

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Cineversary podcast marks 70th anniversary of Seven Samurai

Wednesday, April 17, 2024

David Desser and Stuart Galbraith IV
In Cineversary podcast episode #69, host Erik Martin sends 70th birthday wishes to Akira Kurosawa’s epic masterwork Seven Samurai. This month, he’s joined by Asian cinema expert and University of Illinois film professor David Desser, as well as Stuart Galbraith IV, author of The Emperor and the Wolf: The Lives and Films of Akira Kurosawa and Toshiro Mifune. Together, they explore what makes this film a treasure of world cinema, how it has stood the test of time, prominent themes, and more.

To listen to this episode, click here or click the "play" button on the embedded streaming player below. Or, you can stream, download, or subscribe to Cineversary wherever you get your podcasts, including Apple Podcasts, Spotify, Audible, Castbox, Pocket Casts, PodBean, RadioPublic, and Overcast.

Learn more about the Cineversary podcast at www.cineversary.com and email show comments or suggestions to cineversarypodcast@gmail.com.

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Shedding light on Dark City, a largely forgotten sci-fi standout

Tuesday, April 9, 2024

Many film fans place The Matrix (the first outing, not the sequels) on a high pedestal as a completely original work that marked a sea change in both science-fiction filmmaking and visual effects. That movie is certainly deserving of plaudits, and it stands as a remarkable vision and an exemplary cinematic action-fantasy 25 years later. But truth is, it cribs heavily from a predecessor in the same category that was released one year earlier: Alex Proyas’ Dark City, which could be the best neo-noir sci-fi film since Blade Runner. Boasting a distinctive cast including Rufus Sewell, Kiefer Sutherland, Jennifer Connelly, and William Hurt, the storyline follows John Murdoch (Sewell), awakening in a hotel room devoid of memory, pursued by enigmatic beings named the "Strangers" who possess the ability to manipulate reality and dominate the city's denizens. As John unravels the mysteries surrounding his identity and the city's nature, he finds himself entangled in a quest to reclaim his past and thwart the Strangers' sinister agenda.

Click here to listen to a recording of our CineVerse group discussion of this film, conducted last week.


What makes Dark City stand out? The potent visual references to classic noir, the early works of Fritz Lang, and even the paintings of Edward Hopper are evident in the art direction, set designs, and atmospheric cinematography (which recalls the best years of classic noir). It’s also an influential work that has inspired subsequent filmmakers and artists with its distinctive vision and narrative complexity. While it bombed at the box office, it has earned its rightful status as an enduring cult classic appreciated by cinephiles around the world.

Aside from its impressive visual style, Dark City lingers long in the imagination because it’s a thinking-person’s sci-fi, bursting with profound philosophical themes. Its narrative unfolds as a mesmerizing puzzle, gradually unveiling layers of intrigue and suspense as the protagonist navigates the enigmatic depths of the city and his own past.

The film is neatly divided into two parts, with the first half resembling traditional noir and pursuing the wrong man/detective mystery narrative, and the second half presenting deeper philosophical and thematic explorations as the story veers headlong into modern science-fiction. While this traces a somewhat predictable good conquers evil trajectory for most of the runtime, the ending (SPOILERS AHEAD) is a bit pessimistic, suggesting that, while the nefarious Strangers have been defeated, the surviving human beings are destined to remain trapped in their false identities and manipulated perceptions, so that victory is merely an illusion.

Dark City suggests that our true inherent humanity cannot be extracted or completely manipulated by external forces. The Strangers attempt to study unwittingly imprisoned earthlings to distill or rob from them the essence that makes them humans. But Murdoch’s unexpected resistance and defiance prove that human beings are unpredictable and unique and can defy categorization because they have the innate capacity for independent thought and free will.

According to Roger Ebert, “Dark City…resembles its great silent predecessor Metropolis in asking what it is that makes us human, and why it cannot be changed by decree. Both films are about false worlds created to fabricate ideal societies, and in both the machinery of the rulers is destroyed by the hearts of the ruled. Both are parables in which a dangerous weapon attacks the order of things: a free human who can see what really is, and question it. Dark City contains a threat more terrible than any of the horrors in Metropolis, because the rulers of the city can control the memories of its citizens; if we are the sum of all that has happened to us, then what are we when nothing has happened to us?...Are men inherently good or evil, or is it a matter of how they think of themselves?

Dark City is also an examination of what defines our identities, and the extent to which our collective memories make us human, characterize our existence, and impact our perceptions. The film postulates that we are a product of our experiences and emotionally motivated by our memories yet driven to search for answers to existential questions. Emma is convinced that she loves John, which is something that can’t be faked; yet her memories of meeting and being married to John were false ones implanted by the aliens.

What’s more, Dark City offers a fresh take on the “reality versus fantasy” theme, challenging perceptions of truth and casting doubt on the genuineness of the world crafted by external powers. Additionally, the narrative underscores the struggle between free will and control, as Murdoch and other characters confront the concept of agency within a realm where their actions may be predetermined or influenced by unseen entities.

This film also reminds us of Plato’s Allegory of the Cave, which depicts individuals confined within a cavern, constrained to observe solely the flickering shadows projected by objects traversing before a fire positioned behind them. These shadows symbolize the constrained understanding of reality that typifies the majority, implying that genuine wisdom can solely be achieved through philosophical enlightenment and the exploration of deeper truths transcending surface impressions. As in that allegory, the denizens of Dark City aren’t aware they are captives in a controlled environment and require someone’s escape to shed truth on the reality of their existence. And, like many tales from Greek mythology, Dark City places humans as pawns in the schemes of a higher power.

Similar works

  • The Matrix
  • Angel Heart
  • Metropolis
  • M
  • Brazil
  • Blade Runner
  • Total Recall
  • The Thirteenth Floor
  • Existenz
  • The Adjustment Bureau
  • The Truman Show
  • Time Bandits
  • Anime films like Akira, Megazone 23, and Urusei Yatsura 2: Beautiful Dreamer
  • Inception
  • The Game
  • The City of Lost Children
  • Delicatessen
  • Batman and Batman Returns
  • Looper
  • Vertigo
  • The works of Franz Kafka

Other films by Alex Proyas

  • The Crow
  • I, Robot
  • Knowing
  • Gods of Egypt

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The problems that confront the average man--but with a little sex

Tuesday, April 2, 2024

Sullivan's Travels, released in 1941 and helmed by Preston Sturges—the first screenwriter to successfully transition to Hollywood director and get his name above the title to boot—tells the tale of John L. Sullivan, a prosperous Hollywood director portrayed by Joel McCrea. Sullivan fed up with making frivolous, disposable entertainment, is driven by a desire to create a meaningful cinematic portrayal of societal struggles, so he decides to rough it as a hobo and venture into the realm of poverty and hardship firsthand. Before long, he befriends a blonde with Hollywood starlet dreams (Veronica Lake), and Sullivan learns the value of humility, empathy, and the transformative power of humor.

To listen to a recording of our CineVerse group discussion of this movie, conducted last week, click here.


Sullivan's Travels cleverly critiques Hollywood's inclination toward producing shallow, diversionary content, urging reflection on the ethical responsibilities of artists and filmmakers. The titular character’s transition from opulence to destitution serves as a lens through which the film explores themes of class division and the hardships endured by the marginalized, especially during the Great Depression. It remains a seminal work—possibly Sturges’ best—and an early example of a “meta” film that has left an indelible mark on cinema.

Notably, this movie features striking changes in tone, from action picture to farce/parody to slapstick comedy to social message movie to romance to dark drama. The film’s visual palette also changes tone accordingly, from brightly lit/low contrast standard Hollywood lighting to chiaroscuro high contrast lighting indicative of film noir and horror.

While it’s arguably unclassifiable in any particular category, it’s probably best remembered as a semi-screwball comedy; it features a plethora of comic movie devices, including a portrait that alters its expression, sped-up car chases, pratfalls into swimming pools, and other visual gags.

Although there is a shameful scene in which a Black cook is the butt of a terribly racist joke, it depicts later African American characters with a level of respect and dignity that was uncommon for this period in cinema history.

Curiously, the “girl” (played wonderfully by Lake) is never given a name, keeping her an enigma. Sullivan and his sexy sidekick are also shown sleeping next to each other in the flophouse and boxcar; earlier, we see her sitting on Sullivan’s bed as he lies in it. This flouts the strict censorship of the era that dictated separate sleeping quarters for lovers. Recall, too, how the director and his producers talk explicitly about the box-office value of sex appeal, a rarity for a 1941 picture.

Consider how the film showcases quirky and creative choices by Sturges: extended montages with no dialogue tell a lot of the story; there’s an unexpected musical number a la the black gospel choir; and the first conversation with the studio suits is one long, continuous 4-minute shot.

The film offers a warts-and-all, no-pulled-punches look at the impoverished and destitute, which makes it a bit bleak and eye-opening, especially for a 1941 comedy. In fact, it’s one of the best-known Hollywood feature films that depicts the harsh reality of the Great Depression and its aftermath. Yet, despite the occasional somber tone, Sturges also irreverently pokes fun at virtually everyone and everything in “Sullivan’s Travels”—from the shyster producers and their obsequious underlings to the overly ambitious director—everyone except the poor, homeless, and imprisoned, who are depicted as sympathetic.

Sullivan’s Travels is a work replete with thematic ruminations. It explores the push and pull between commerce vs. art and popular entertainment vs. creative works intended to have deeper significance. It reminds us of the universal power of laughter, which can unite people of any background and uplift even the most downtrodden. It’s a treatise on the wide gap between the haves and the have-nots in America, as well as the artificiality and superficiality of the movie industry and Hollywood. And—fittingly for Sturges, who has been credited as one of the first Hollywood directors to significantly infuse irony in his creations—irony is a theme unto itself in Sullivan’s Travels. Ponder how Sullivan is driven by a social conscience to abandon the calling that made him a success (comedy directing) for socially relevant message pictures and connecting with the common man; this endeavor, however, ends in tragedy: he’s attacked by the kind of down-and-out man he’s trying to help, and he’s later thrown in prison.

What lesson does Sullivan learn? Don’t try to be pretentious or patronizing or adopt the mantle of a social justice warrior; people go to the cinema to be entertained, not necessarily to see real life.

The film also serves as a clever satire of self-important Hollywood types who condescend to the common man and the poor: The fact that Sullivan abandons his “O Brother Where Art Thou” type movie and goes back to formulaic comedies seems to be a subtle criticism of pretentious filmmakers who aspire to make socially conscious message movies, including contemporary directors of this period like Frank Capra and producers such as Daryll Zanuck. Sturges later wrote in his autobiography: “After I saw a couple of pictures put out by some of my fellow comedy directors, which seemed to have abandoned the fun in favor of the message, I wrote Sullivan’s Travels to satisfy an urge to tell them that they were getting a little too deep-dish; to leave the preaching to the preachers.”

It’s possible to interpret Sullivan as an avatar for or representative of Sturges himself, who continued to make comedies that changed in tone and mood as Sullivan’s Travels does.

Confused about the significance of the film’s title? It’s a play on the name of another famous satire of its time, “Gulliver’s Travels,” written by Jonathan Swift, whose main character treks into strange lands populated by odd peoples. Interestingly, John L. Sullivan, the movie protagonist’s name, was also the name of the late popular boxer and heavyweight champion.

Similar works

  • O Brother Where Art Thou, which the Coen brothers conceived as the kind of movie that Sullivan might have created if he went through with it
  • Many Chaplin films, such as Modern Times and The Kid
  • The Big Picture, another film about an ambitious filmmaker who is seduced by big Hollywood dreams and abandons his original vision
  • My Man Godfrey, in its depiction of Depression-era haves/have-nots
  • The Player, in its skewering of vapid and superficial Hollywood
  • The Day of the Locust, yet another biting satire of blood-sucking Hollywood types

Other works by Preston Sturges

  • The Great McGinty
  • The Palm Beach Story
  • The Lady Eve
  • The Miracle of Morgan’s Creek
  • Hail the Conquering Hero
  • Christmas in July

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In the mood for a lovely movie

Tuesday, March 26, 2024

CineVerse is on a roll discussing back-to-back top 20 Sight and Sound picks this month. Ranking #5 on that list is Wong Kar-wei’s In the Mood for Love, which debuted in 2000 and has been praised by cinema cognoscenti as perhaps the finest film of the 21st century so far. This romantic drama unfolds against the backdrop of 1960s Hong Kong, presenting Chow and Su (Tony Leung and Maggie Cheung) as nearby neighbors who forge a connection upon suspecting their spouses' infidelity with each other. Despite their burgeoning shared affection, they grapple with societal norms and their own moral compasses, opting to suppress their emotions and deny their passions.

Click here to listen to a recording of our CineVerse group discussion of this film, conducted last week.


The film's allure lies in its exploration of themes such as yearning, desire, and solitude, as well as Kar-wai's distinctive storytelling methods—including a nonlinear narrative and poetic imagery that infuse the storyline with layers of depth and intricacy. But it’s In the Mood for Love’s captivating visuals, marked by sumptuous cinematography, intricate compositions, and rich palette of colors and light, that particularly resonate. The filmmakers adopt a stylized aesthetic, utilizing slow motion takes, swift fadeouts between scenes, noticeable distances between the lens and the subjects (who are often separated from the viewer by glass or doorways), closeups of clock faces, wafting cigarette smoke, shadowy high-contrast color cinematography, and revealing camera pans. The recurring musical motifs of a pining arrangement for strings and Spanish language numbers sung by Nat King Cole significantly underscore the romantic tension between Chow and Su.

Kar-wai refrains from showing us the faces of the cheating spouses, and he often avoids showing both Su and Chow in the same frame when they converse. Collectively, these choices suggest emotional remoteness and the inability of the couple to connect with each other or their spouses fully. At the same time, the tight framing and compositions often feel voyeuristic.

This has been widely described as a “mood piece” and a film driven more “by feeling than by thought.” We’re given a cliché, shopworn setup of two conveniently accessible people whose spouses are engaged in an illicit affair, but it deviates from our expectations for how they will behave and react to their feelings in light of this knowledge. For many viewers, this can be an exercise in frustration and disappointment; for others, its unpredictability and emphasis on mood, tone, and aesthetics create an enriching emotional experience. New Yorker critic Kyle Chayka wrote: “The film’s impossible sumptuousness is meant to be just that—impossible. Wishing that the two of them ended up together means missing the poetry of the dance.

Interestingly, the story concludes (SPOILERS AHEAD) by jumping ahead a few years. Chow returns to the old apartment and ironically doesn’t realize that Su is behind her old door. A few years later, during the Vietnam War, he embarks on a journey to Cambodia, where he explores the magnificent Angkor Wat Hindu-Buddhist temple; while being watched by a monk, Chow softly utters a secret into a crevice within a wall, sealing it with mud afterward. We can assume this secret is his spoken love and desire for Su.

This could be the most effective film ever made about the emotional and erotic power of displaced desire and repressed romance. Chow and Su’s choice to suppress their amorous feelings creates a potent yearning that feels palpable to the viewer. In a carpe diem modern world where we continually observe screen characters who quickly indulge in taboo trysts, one-night stands, and erotic assignations, how more refreshingly romantic can a delayed, unconsummated romance be?

In the Mood for Love is also a meditation on the repercussions of moral discipline, rejecting a taboo intimacy, and holding onto and letting go of a secret. “We won’t be like them,” we hear our protagonists promise each other, and they stay true to that pledge but consequently suffer by refusing to indulge in their repressed passion. They re-enact and imagine how their spouses met and engaged in their secret affair, and they rehearse future conversations with their betrothed partners: Chow and Su practice how, for instance, Su will inquire about her husband’s affair and reply to his responses.

Asynchronous love is another core theme. We see Su and Chow pass each other on the stairs, pursue each other at times when the other person isn’t there, and come together only to separate several times, implying that they are out of sync and on different paths, yet continually running into each other.

Kar-wei and collaborators muse on the fate versus free will question, too. Criterion Collection essayist Steve Erickson asks: “Have their lives already intermingled before the moves ever take place, before the movie even starts? This is a film where all our initial assumptions circle back on themselves, where the crisscrossing hallways mark the coordinates of destinies already mapped. Is it, in fact, Chow and Su who were fated all along to be lovers, and out of fear and rectitude defy and lose one of the rare chances for happiness that life offers?

Most importantly, In the Mood for Love contemplates how the passing of time and the extent to which we change as we age can shape our memories. Recall the intertitle that reads: “He remembers those vanished years as looking through a dusty window pane. The past was something he could see, but not touch. And everything he sees is blurred and indistinct.” Slant Magazine reviewers Calum Marsh and Jake Cole wrote: “Has there ever been a more apt description of the cinema’s capacity for imperfectly rendering our memory, lost to time, which we are forever desperate to reclaim?...And so what seems conspicuously ‘indistinct’ about In the Mood for Love—the pervasive sense of simplicity that governs the drama, from the convenience of its setup to the vagueness of what proceeds from it—becomes, in retrospect, a sophisticated expression of the fundamentally abstract quality of memory and reflection, not so much a paean to past love as to past love remembered in the present…Perhaps we could say that In the Mood for Love’s real subject, then, is the gulf that divides the past from the present.”

Similar works

  • Lost in Translation
  • Love (2015)
  • Three Colors trilogy
  • Carol
  • Summer Palace
  • The Spectacular Now
  • Hiroshima Mon Amour
  • The Remains of the Day
  • Long Day’s Journey Into Night (2018)
  • Spring in a Small Town

Other films by Wong Kar-wai

  • Chungking Express
  • Days of Being Wild and 2046, which form a trilogy with this movie
  • The Grandmaster
  • Happy Together
  • Fallen Angels

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Her name is Cleo and she dances on the Seine

Friday, March 22, 2024

Released in 1962, Agnès Varda's Cleo from 5 to 7 has impressively climbed the ranks among the greatest international cinematic works in recent years. Consider that, in a 2019 BBC poll, it was voted the second-best film directed by a woman, and it placed #14 in the Sight and Sound poll of 2022, making it the third-highest-ranking movie by a female director (one of several films helmed by women that are well represented on that list). This was deemed an important French New Wave work and a pioneering film for that time. Critic Molly Haskell called itthe first fully-achieved feature by the woman who would become the premiere female director of her generation.

Corinne Marchand takes center stage as Cléo Victoire, complemented by Antoine Bourseiller, Dorothée Blanck, and Michel Legrand in supporting roles. The narrative orbits around Cléo, a budding singer grappling with the anticipation of a medical diagnosis dictating her fate. Set within the condensed timeframe of two hours, from 5 pm to 7 pm, the film tracks Cléo's meandering journey through Parisian streets, offering a poignant examination of her introspections, fears, and interpersonal connections.

To hear a recording of our CineVerse group discussion of this film, conducted last week, click here.


What’s particularly memorable and distinctive about this movie is that it occurs in real-time, with a 90-minute runtime that roughly depicts the minute-by-minute experiences of Cleo between 5 and 6:30 p.m. on a single summer afternoon (the summer solstice). Interestingly, the story ends prematurely, not spanning until 7 p.m., which poses questions and theories about why.

Its plot-driving motivator is to learn if Cleo has a terminal illness, but the story is more of a series of loosely linked or unconnected vignettes, as we observe the titular character drift from one encounter or experience to another, from the opening scene with a tarot card reader to a visit with her manager to a café and hat shop to a taxi ride to a sequence in her apartment with her lover and her songwriters to a reunion with her friend Dorothee to a stopover at a movie house to her walking in the park and meeting the soldier Antoine. Despite its lack of plot, the movie explores existential themes such as the fear of death, the essence of identity, and the quest for life's meaning. Cleo's journey in the film encourages viewers to reflect on their own mortality and the importance of human connections.

Perhaps the most fascinating facet of Cleo from 5 to 7 is its sense of spontaneous cinematic energy and aliveness thanks to the unforgettable handheld camera shots capturing Cleo as she walks among the masses in Paris; these unrehearsed and organic shots grace the picture with an authenticity and artless exuberance. We notice that men and women turn their heads and stare at Cleo or the camera, which reinforces how she’s a celebrity and an attractive woman who values her beauty. Film critic Adrian Martin wrote: “Cléo from 5 to 7 seemed to embody the prime obsession of all the young cinema movements of the sixties: to evoke the eternal present, flashing by in a sustained intensity.”

Varda also utilizes nontraditional compositions, jump cuts, editing loops (three similar shots of her descending the staircase), lengthy shots, an opening color sequence that contrasts with the monochrome of the rest of the film, and infusions of contemporary news and politics (the radio report of the Algiers conflict).

Cleo from 5 to 7 reminds us that our destiny is not written. Our heroine is convinced from the start of the narrative, via the tarot reading, that she has terminal cancer, but we learn from her doctor at the conclusion that it is treatable and not fatal. We also notice that the story ends at 6:30, 30 minutes short of the 7 o’clock hour mentioned in the title.

What happens in that last half hour? Maybe she develops a more intimate affection with Antoine and comes further out of her shell, more open to the possibilities of loving someone else besides yourself. Consider that Antoine prefers her real name Florence; perhaps the story ends at 6:30 because in those last 30 minutes offscreen, she has come to accept herself as the more relatable and human Florence and no longer as Cleo, the pop singer with an image to maintain. She's chosen to live life on her own time.

Takeaway #2? Our lives can change quickly for the better if we open our eyes. Cleo from 5 to 7 is about transitioning from inward to outward, from insular to broad-minded, and from fear to joy. Haskell continued: “It is an odyssey that, like so many French films, is about the double delight of watching a beautiful woman against the backdrop of the most beautiful of cities, but it is also a spiritual journey from blindness to awareness, and from self-absorption to the possibility of love…Through an arresting use of Paris as both visual centerpiece and reflection of a woman’s inner journey, Varda paints an enduring portrait of a woman’s evolution from a shallow and superstitious child-woman to a person who can feel and express shock and anguish and finally empathy.”

This film is also concerned with navigating modern life in a complicated world as a woman, and how females, fairly or unfairly, draw negative and positive attention. Cleo from 5 to 7 illustrates how men and women alike can’t help but gaze at, admire, covet, and desire a young and attractive female. Varda doesn’t objectify or unabashedly sexualize Cleo in male gaze fashion, but she deliberately casts an alluring young actress for this role; the handheld camera scenes are particularly revealing, showing numerous men turning their heads and eyeballing Cleo. From a feminist standpoint, the film provides insight into the experiences of women in society, particularly during the 1960s. Through Cleo's character and her interactions with others, messages of female empowerment, objectification, and the limitations imposed by gender norms are evident.

Similar works

  • Other films set in real-time and concerned with temporal matters, including Rope, High Noon, 12 Angry Men, The Set Up, and Russian Ark
  • French New Wave films of this period, such as Breathless, The 400 Blows, Jules and Jim, Vivre Sa Vie Masculin Feminin, and others
  • Murnaugh’s silent Sunrise in how it recreates that film’s streetcar scene

Other films by Agnes Varda

  • Le Bonheur
  • Vagabond
  • Faces Places
  • La Pointe Courte

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Why The Third Man comes in first for so many

Tuesday, March 19, 2024

Directed by Carol Reed and released in 1949, The Third Man stands as a classic of its time—and for all time—75 years later. The narrative unfolds in post-World War II Vienna, which is divided into zones controlled by the Allied powers. Holly Martins, an American pulp writer portrayed by Joseph Cotten, ventures to Vienna to reunite with his old friend Harry Lime, played unforgettably by Orson Welles. However, he soon learns of Lime's demise in a perplexing accident. Martins's quest for truth plunges him into a labyrinth of deceit, corruption, and intrigue. Joining the cast are Alida Valli as Lime's paramour, Anna Schmidt, and Trevor Howard as Major Calloway, a British military police officer aiding Martins in his inquiry.

To listen to our CineVerse group discussion of this film, conducted earlier this month, click here. For the latest Cineversary podcast episode, celebrating The Third Man’s 75th anniversary, click here.


How do we love The Third Man, shining as brightly as ever in its diamond anniversary year? Let us count the ways:

  1. There’s a wealth of top-notch talent involved, including screenwriter Graham Greene, co-producers David O. Selznick and Alexander Korda, director Reed, cinematographer Robert Krasker, and the stellar actors already mentioned.
  2. It represents a fascinating multicultural story and features a melting pot of performers: It’s a film primarily made by Brits and mostly populated by European actors in smaller roles but also boasting two acclaimed American thespians.
  3. The fact that it was shot on location in war-ravaged Vienna, and not on a London set or Hollywood soundstage meant to replicate that European city, adds verisimilitude to the look and vibe of the entire picture. The striking Viennese architecture juxtaposed against crumbling edifices, cracked stairs, and glistening cobblestone streets creates an unforgettable visual template.
  4. The expressionistic chiaroscuro lighting design by Krasker, especially in nighttime outdoor scenes, is one of the finest examples of stylistic black-and-white cinematography ever created. The impossibly grandiose shadows he was able to conjure and the monochromatic canvas of high contrast produced remain a visual marvel.
  5. The screenplay by Greene remains one of the greatest narratives of any era, a masterfully constructed and brilliantly paced cinematic story that benefits immensely from wonderful dialogue, keen transitions between scenes, and sudden twists that compel the viewer to pay closer attention as the story progresses. The standout dialogue scene remains Lime’s cuckoo clock speech, delivered superbly by Welles, lines of which he contributed himself, but the entire exchange between him and Holly on the Ferris wheel, which spans a mere 300 seconds, is a masterclass in superlative screenwriting and directing. But the opening voiceover narration, spoken by Reed, also perfectly sets the scene. Recall, too, the back and forth between Holly and Calloway and how the major always maintains this verbal intelligence over Holly with great lines like “You were born to be murdered,” “Death's at the bottom of everything, Martins. Leave death to the professionals,” and, after correcting Holly for calling him Callahan, “Calloway—I’m English not Irish.”
  6. The Third Man boasts perhaps the greatest delayed entrance of an enigmatic character in movie history. The buildup to Lime’s reveal in that dark doorway, which occurs at the 62-minute mark of a 95-minute picture, is the stuff that film legends are made of. “The Third Man presents such a nonstop visual experience that it is easy to miss what a small, seat-of-the-pants picture it essentially was,” wrote Criterion Collection essayist Lucy Sante. “Consider, for example, that Anton Karas, without whose score the movie would be substantially different, was found on location, playing in a restaurant…The Third Man is in fact a brilliant succession of dice throws, a borderline counterintuitive combination of disparate elements that somehow come together as if they had been destined to do so. It is a singular object, a fluke, a well-oiled machine, a time-capsule item, a novelty hit. There has never been another movie quite like it.” This famous delayed appearance, which excites an anticipatory audience with delight once this titular character and prime motivator of the story is shown, may have inspired similar delayed character reveals in later films. Consider Omar Sharif’s Ali in Lawrence of Arabia, Henry Fonda’s villainous Frank in Once Upon a Time in the West, Gene Wilder as Willy Wonka, Robert Shaw as Quint in Jaws, Arnold Schwarzenegger’s belated appearance in Terminator 2, Anthony Hopkins’ Hannibal Lecter in Silence of the Lambs, Michael Keaton in Beetlejuice, Jack Nicholson as Col. Jessep in A Few Good Men, Kevin Spacey’s John Doe in Seven, and Johnny Depp’s Jack Sparrow in Pirates of the Caribbean.
  7. The zither-ific score by the previously unknown Anton Karas became the third biggest-selling album of the 1950s, proving immensely popular worldwide.
  8. The Third Man may have been a forerunner to more modern spy thrillers, inculcating a morally disconcerting postmodern worldview in motion pictures, and serving as a delicious study in contrasts, according to John Miller with TCM. He wrote: “The Third Man works on many more levels than merely the "entertainment" that Greene termed it to be…it is an early example of a cold-war intrigue that, while not depicting a single spy, can be seen as a prototype for spy thrillers to come. It also works as a study of post-WWII morality with Harry Lime viewing his victims not as human but as far-removed dots that stop moving. It is also a character study featuring a hopeless love triangle… The Third Man rewards repeated viewings because it goes far beyond being a witty and exciting mystery thriller. It flips all expectations on their heads by featuring an attractive embodiment of villainy and ineffective heroism; an enjoyable sense of cynicism and a bleak view of romance; a calming sense of chaos and a nostalgic vision of decadence. And when you meet Harry Lime, prepare yourself for a smiling justification for everyday corporate evil in the post-war modern world.”
  9. It’s difficult to name-drop films that may have been directly influenced by The Third Man; Welles’ Mr. Arkadin and the 1997 Croatian remake Treca Zena spring to mind. But this only emphasizes how unique the picture truly is and how challenging it was in the years following its release to ride its coattails. Interestingly, The Third Man may have been inspired by more films and books than vice versa. Predecessors include M, Morocco, The 39 Steps, Foreign Correspondent, Citizen Kane, Casablanca, The Ministry of Fear, The Stranger, and Les Miserables.
  10. The British Film Institute placed The Third Man number one on its list of the greatest British films of the 20th Century. Additionally, it ranked #2 and #4, respectively, in a Time Out poll and a Total Film survey of the best British films of all time, and in 2005 BBC TV’s Newsnight Review viewers chose it as their fourth favorite movie ever. The American Film Institute named it #57 in its 1998 list of the top American films, while The Third Man earned fifth place in the AFI’s Best Mystery Films list.
This is often categorized as a film noir, yet it’s different from films established in the noir canon. Like other noir works, it utilizes a quite expressive lighting scheme evocative of film noir, featuring high-contrast lighting and exaggerated shadows in a gritty urban environment. It is this lighting style that makes possible arguably the most famous onscreen introduction of a character in motion picture history—the shot when Harry is revealed in the dark doorway. The film also puts us off-kilter with canted (tilted) camera angles utilized for many shots, and the filmmakers utilize wide-angle lens distortions and extreme facial close-ups to further purport this domain of strange, suspicious characters.

But while The Third Man’s milieu is a gritty urban environment endemic to so many classic noirs, the architecturally Old World Vienna in this story is a bombed-out, rubble-ridden cesspool of corruption, moral decay, and surveillance. Los Angeles, New York, or Chicago this is certainly not. Further evidence that this does not share the same DNA as proper noirs is the zither music soundtrack, which can sound jaunty and playful, deviating considerably from the traditional orchestral or jazzy type score prevalent in noir. The zither sounds mockingly shrill at times, as if revealing an undercurrent of pessimism and a tinge of tonal irony. This is quite idiosyncratic as musical accompaniment, with nothing else to truly compare to it.

Many scholars point to Carol Reed—director of several notable works, including Odd Man Out, The Fallen Idol, Our Man in Havana, The Agony and the Ecstasy, and Oliver!—as the irrefutable driving creative force behind The Third Man, and for compelling reasons. Reed chose to film on location in war-battered Vienna, a decision that lends valuable authenticity to the visuals and the entire mise en scene. Consider, too, that he was a fitting choice to helm this movie, as he was in the British Army’s wartime documentary unit. He refused to cast anyone but Welles to portray Harry Lime, which may have been the most consequential decision he made on the production. He resisted pressure from Selznick to imbue more American elements into the production and from Greene to bring Holly and Anna together at the conclusion. We can thank Reed’s vision and persistence for the cynical, unsentimental, and darker tonality that makes The Third Man a more lasting work.

As mentioned, Reed eschewed a conventional symphonic score, multi-instrumental soundtrack, or Viennese waltzes, opting instead to take a chance on Karas, an unknown musician, who impressed the director with his zither playing. This was a major risk: Reed fought with the producers to keep this solo instrumentation in the film and won.

Additionally, Reed wasn’t afraid to have characters speak in German or other non-English languages for long stretches with no subtitles, which perhaps helps us more closely identify with Holly, the American outsider surrogate for the audience. Ponder the wordless montage when Calloway presents proof of Lime’s crimes to Holly as a case study in efficient filmmaking, further proof that Reed had smart narrative and visual instincts. Reed’s choice to let the final shot breathe unbroken also speaks to his cinematic savvy. We, like Holly, are waiting eagerly to see if Anna will embrace him or not; lingering on her face and body language speaks volumes about these two characters and the situation. Proving to quite literally be a hands-on filmmaker, Reed facelessly infused himself in the narrative by filming his hands reaching through the sewer grate and voicing the opening narration.

Mind-stirring theses abound in The Third Man, a morality tale about corruption and hypocrisy. Lime personifies the morally reprehensible black market forces that erupted in postwar Europe and unscrupulously profited from other people’s suffering; and yet Lime’s speech about “would you really feel any pity if one of those dots stopped moving forever?” resonates in that period, which followed the mass killing of millions of people via bombings from Axis and Allied forces. “Lime stands out as one of the screen’s most chilling embodiments of the banality of evil, and a perfect stand-in for the film’s vision of moral breakdown in post-World War II Europe,” Slant Magazine reviewer Matt Noller posited.

One reading of The Third Man is that it espouses anti-American sentiment on the other side of the world following the war: Holly is a symbol of the United States and how our country was perceived in postwar Europe. Consider how foolish, clumsy, and naïve Holly is; he’s a personage of ridicule who is, as Village Voice critic Steve Hoberman stated, “blamed for a murder, followed in the street, hijacked by a cab driver, and repeatedly rebuffed by Anna (who can never remember his name). Such are the burdens of world leadership.” Hoberman added that the script created a political allegory: pro-British, anti-Soviet, and critical of the U.S.A.

Roger Ebert shared somewhat in this interpretation: “The Third Man" reflects the optimism of Americans and the bone-weariness of Europe after the war. It's a story about grownups and children: adults like Calloway, who has seen at first hand the results of Lime's crimes, and children like the trusting Holly, who believes in the simplified good and evil of his Western novels.”

Adding weight to this subtextual argument is Salon critic Andrew O’Hehir, who wrote: “The Third Man is important not just because of its technique but because of its theme: Just because blundering Americans rule the world does not mean they understand it, and American cultural hegemony has transformed the global economy into the plot of a gangster movie. While the corrupt and duplicitous postwar Vienna of “The Third Man” may at first look like an ancient realm of fedoras and overcoats, men in ties and women with ringlets, in moral terms it’s the same world we inhabit today.”

This is a picture dripping with pessimism and cynicism. There is no classic happy love story ending here, only the feeling of postwar disillusionment and weariness, a fractured existence (exemplified by a city divided into four sections), hapless victims and seedy opportunists, fools like Holly who have no place in this space, and confused identities (ponder all the wrong names and mistaken identities: Holly is called Harry, Calloway is called Callahan, Holly mispronounces Dr. Winkel’s name, and Harry is the enigmatic third man).

The Third Man certainly ruminates deeply on betrayal: Lime betrays the confidence and love that Holly had placed in his friend, and Holly betrays Harry by leading the police to him and ultimately shooting him dead. And you can’t avoid the classic love triangle trope: Holly loves Anna, Anna loves Harry, Harry at one time may have loved Anna but loves himself more. However, the irony is that, in this love triangle, despite Holly doing everything the classic romantic lead should do (fall in love with the woman and try to protect her), she rejects him and holds a torch for a villainous racketeer.

Here's an interesting exercise in comparative filmmaking: Contrast The Third Man with Casablanca, released seven years earlier. Note how both feature a love triangle between a profiteer (Rick/Harry), a beautiful woman with an Eastern European heritage and accent (Ilsa/Anna), and a man who believes he’s doing the noble/right thing (Victor/Holly). Both films involve emotionally charged endings where the woman has to decide which man to choose. In each movie, the heroine passes on the expected choice, although Anna doesn’t have any love for Holly as Ilsa does for Rick. According to film reviewer Glenn Erickson: “The Third Man shows how the sentiment and ideals of Casablanca have soured in the postwar situation. In Casablanca, the risks taken by Rick, Elsa, and Renault are in harmony with the larger drama being played out between the Axis and the Allies. This ‘ideological security’ helps all three of them make painful personal decisions based on faith in a moral cause. By contrast, Martins, Anna, and the late Harry Lime drift in a moral limbo where such absolutes no longer exist. The Allies have ‘won’ but Vienna has become a political mire of injustice and conflicting ideologies…The characters of the wartime Casablanca may be confused, but they are ennobled by patriotism and able to make wise decisions. Patriotism is dead in the Viennese ruins of The Third Man. Even the benign characters are too disillusioned to function effectively. Holly waffles and plays at romance like a schoolboy. Anna drifts between bitterness and suicidal despair.”

Ultimately, The Third Man reminds us that the world is complicated—populated by an array of disparate forces, races, languages, and interests. Everybody in this world, as Renoir famously says in The Rules of the Game, has their reasons, including shadowy figures like Harry Lime, emotionally abstruse love interests such as Anna Schmidt, seasoned sleuths like Major Calloway, and the countless ethically compromised inhabitants of postwar Vienna. Trying to navigate this byzantine ethical landscape is difficult enough for the natives and the occupying forces, but it’s exponentially harder for naïve outsiders like Holly Martins who attempt to apply a myopic Americanized mindset to a convoluted state of affairs that requires greater depth perception and nuanced sensibilities, not simplistic or romanticized notions.

Holly is the unmistakable bull in this China shop, making a mess out of multiple situations and leaving an embarrassing trail of mostly regretful decisions in his wake. Calloway urges him to be sensible, but Holly says “I haven’t got a sensible name.” He’s been spurned, disillusioned, admonished, and humiliated by nearly everyone he encounters because he’s failed to grasp the new world order: that pessimism, greed, mistrust, and dehumanizing turpitude are the prevailing currencies of value, and no cowboy on a white hat straight out of a western dime novel is going to rescue or restore anyone.

The Third Man’s greatest gift, then, is that it takes an internationally spiced prestige drama, with a would-be romance recipe that uses ingredients associated with an emotionally epic payoff, and slathers it with classic noir’s bittersweet sauce of cynicism. The result is such a unique blending of different, surprising tastes: a one-of-a-kind layer cake with a delightfully decadent Lime-flavored center that you never expected.

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Cineversary podcast celebrates diamond anniversary of The Third Man

Thursday, March 14, 2024

David Thomson and Charles Drazin
In Cineversary podcast episode #68, host Erik Martin celebrates the diamond anniversary of Carol Reed’s The Third Man with two outstanding guests: David Thomson, renowned film critic, cinema historian, and author of The Fatal Alliance: A Century of War on Film; and Charles Drazin, film historian and author of In Search of The Third Man. Together, they scour the streets and sewers of Vienna on the trail of Harry Lime and the truths behind this now 75-year-old masterwork.

To listen to this episode, click here or click the "play" button on the embedded streaming player below. Or, you can stream, download, or subscribe to Cineversary wherever you get your podcasts, including Apple Podcasts, Spotify, Audible, Castbox, Google Podcasts, Pocket Casts, PodBean, RadioPublic, and Overcast.

Learn more about the Cineversary podcast at www.cineversary.com and email show comments or suggestions to cineversarypodcast@gmail.com
  
 

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