Film review: Shampoo (1975)

This is a film that is very seventies but set across the day or so leading up to, and the day after the  1968 election (which, of course, would be in November, but as this is Los Angeles, it's still warm and sunny).  This is probably significant, because Nixon was elected, which sort of sets a period at the end of a period of peace-and-love, and the film documents the collapse of the way of life of its putative protagonist, George Rounby, played by the ridiculously-coiffed (as befits his profession) Warren Beatty.

Beatty's character seems like an only-slightly-exaggerated version of the lothario he was rumored to be in real life, and as he co-wrote the script (along with Chinatown scribe Robert Towne), that is also no doubt intentional.  George is something of a cypher: all the women want to sleep with him and he seems to accommodate them rather than actively pursue them.  In the course of the movie he sleeps with his girlfriend Jill (Goldie Hawn), his former girlfriend Jackie (Julie Christie in a ridiculous wig),

Felicia, the wife of the man (Lester - played by Jack Warden, of Twelve Angry Men fame) that Jackie is currently the mistress of (Lee Grant), and her daughter (Carrie Fisher!)

I'm not a huge fan of Beatty's mumbly acting style, but you certainly can't accuse him of macho posturing in this film where, as I say, the women in his life are completely in charge (even if they'd rather he wasn't rotating through them), and he gets accuse of being a "faggot" by various characters because of his profession.  The plot, what there is of it, is George trying ineffectually to secure a loan to finance setting up on his own, as he chafes under the thumb of the owner of the salon he currently works at (in Beverly Hills, natch).  Meanwhile Jill pursues a role in a film to be directed by a former commercials director, Jackie wants Lester to take her out, and directs George to ask Lester for the loan (after he is refused by a banker who clearly thinks him entirely too flakey), and Felicia just wants to shag George anywhere and everywhere.  Everyone ends up together at a big party that Lester has arranged as a fundraiser for some (presumably Republican) politician.  Jackie (for whom George is supposed to be acting as a beard so she can attend the same party as Lester and his wife) makes a scene, and George removes her to another party.  Everyone else also ends up there, and George and Jackie are found in flagrante delicto, thus torpedoing George's and Jill's, and (perhaps) Jackie's and Lester's relationships.  Will Jill bed the director instead?  Will Lester have George's kneecaps broken?  Will George's sudden realization that he should be with Jackie be met with a reciprocal reaction?
Very much of its time (actually, both of them), and (Jami observes) very like The Graduate (it even has a (very minimal) Paul Simon soundtrack) in that its protagonist is lost and rudderless in a world that doesn't understand him.  But like Benjamin, you sometimes wish somebody would just grab George and shake him. However, he is a little bit of an idiot savant, because he actually likes and listens to the women around him (and is able to inform Lester that his daughter really hates her mother).  And he does have SOME principles:

Film review: Marked Woman (1937)

The Criterion Channel is running both a series of Bette Davis films and an "early Bogart" series, and this (like Petrified Forest) falls in the overlap.  I would say that in the year since that film, Bogart's acting got much better, while Davis's just got bigger.  Bogart is playing a good guy, something rare in his early years (although Crime School springs to mind) but actually doesn't come into the movie until at least half an hour has gone by.  This film is definitely Bette Davis's, and she seizes it with perhaps too much relish.  The plot is surprisingly progressive, in that it's an organized crime picture (based on the real Lucky Luciano trial) whose main focus is neither cops nor criminals but the women who work in a nightclub controlled by "Johnny Vanning" (played effectively menacingly by actual Italian Eduardo Ciannelli) a mob boss rapidly taking over the city.  The film opens with Vanning and his goons (one of them carrying his ridiculous little Pekinese) inspecting the club that Bette Davis ("Mary Dwight")

and her pals (who all live together in one apartment!) work at, "Club Intime" (a name that Vanning insists be changed to "Club Intimate" when it is explained to him what "Intime" means).  Mary is clearly the boss/brains of her gang, as we see when she stands up to Vanning and saves the job of Estelle (Mayo Methot, who met her future husband Humphrey Bogart on this film) when Vanning says she should be fired for being too old.  All goes relatively well (apart from the fact that the girls are essentially call girls now, albeit paid better than they were) until Mary's sister Betty, whom Mary has been putting through college, comes to visit, coincidentally the day following the night when one of Mary's "clients" racks up a huge bill at the club and tries to do a runner without paying.  His body is found with her name scrawled on a matchbook, and she and everyone in her apartment, including Betty (who up until that point had been under the impression that the girls all work in a store) are rounded up and taken downtown.  Finally we meet Bogey, playing crusading assistant DA David Graham, who has been trying to take down Vanning for a while and sees his chance.  Initially, Mary clams up, relying on Vanning to fulfill his promise to "take care of his girls," but one of Vanning's men visits her in jail and instructs her on what she is to do (as part of Vanning's lawyer's plan to undermine Graham), specifically tell a bunch of whoppers on the stand that can then be proven false by him, effectively destroying the case against Vanning.  She gets off, but not before being painted as a prostitute in all the papers, something that makes Betty too ashamed to go back to school.  In short order she is half-unwittingly sucked into the seedy nightlife (with a little help from Mary's naive-but-ambitious friend Emmy Lou).  She returns from a Vanning party having been plied with champagne by a creepy older man to meet a scolding from Mary, in response to which she turns round and goes back to the party.  This is a mistake, as the older man tries to force himself on her and when she tries to escape, Vanning slaps her so hard that she falls down a flight of steps and [spoiler]... dies.  This is a pretty shocking moment, as she's probably the last person you'd've picked to get it, but it's what steels Mary to turn on Vanning.  However, not before one of his goons slaps the living snot out of her and carves a cross (a sign that she has "crossed" him - geddit?) on her cheek.  He also keeps Emmy Lou on ice, but decides to bump her off after Graham, who has been raiding his clubs to put pressure on him, is seen heading his way.  She escapes, however, and runs to Mary's side in hospital, and they all go over to Graham.  Cue recreation of the actual Luciano trial.
I've got to say, while I have found Bette Davis a bit too much in the limited experience I have of her, she's certainly got that "star" quality, and this is an effective vehicle for her.  And it's a shocking (seems a lot more pre-code than you'd think for 1937 - unsubtle references to everything from prostitution to drug addiction, and lots of slapping people around) and thrilling plot.  But don't worry, Vanning gets his, and even calls off his "executioner" after the judge warns him that if anything happens to any of the girls, his chances of parole will vanish.

Film review: The Miracle of Morgan's Creek (1943)

It being late in 2019 all sorts of "best of decade" lists are appearing.  One of them that I've seen recently was a "Best Comedy of the Decade" list.  It included films like Wreck-It Ralph, and had at the #1 spot What We Do In the Shadows, a film that I thing is very good, but at which I don't think I laughed once (I'm sure I smiled at "we're Werewolves not swearwolves").  Whereas this one actually had me laughing out loud at several places throughout.  It is, of course, a Preston Sturges film, and sadly missing from the box set I got for Xmas a while back, but it popped up on the Criterion Channel in pristine condition, and we watched it.  It could quite comfortably count as a Xmas movie, too, given that the climax happens at Christmas.  If you've been living under a rock and know nothing about it, the one thing you need to be aware of for context going in is this.  But the "miracle" is not really the point of most of the humor in the film (unless there's a double meaning to do with the miracle of Norval's good-natured-ness), which is a product of brilliant writing and exquisite slapstick performances from all concerned, but particularly Eddie Bracken as Norval,

Betty Hutton as Trudy Kockenlocker, and William Demarest as Constable Edmund Kockenlocker, widowed father to Trudy and her sharp-witted 14-year-old sister Emmy.

It's important not to give too much away, but the premise was shocking at the time and might be considered shocking for different reasons today (and is only carried off by the goodwill that the performers invoke in the viewers).  Essentially, Norval (an orphaned bank clerk) has carried a torch for Trudy since both were small children.  But Trudy is consumed with a sense of patriotic duty towards the servicemen stationed outside their small town, all about to set forth to fight the Axis in WWII.  She enthusiastically attends a dance that is to send them on their way, but can only get out of the house (her father was a soldier in WWI and knows what they are like) is to pretend to be going out with Norval to the pictures.  He is not at all happy with this charade (he feels he can't go to the dance because he has flunked the physical multiple times because of "the spots" (that appear before his eyes when he gets nervous)) but caves to her wiles and even lends her his car.  She is dancing away, drinking what she thinks is lemonade, when she clunks her head (on a glitter ball - which apparently were not invented in the Disco era).  Norval comes out of the triple-bill at about two in the morning and she isn't there to pick him up.  He falls asleep waiting outside the cinema only to be woken up by her crashing his already-battered car into the theater six hours later.  She has no memory of most of the night.  Of course her father, the constable, is not happy to see them come back at eight in the morning and has to be physically restrained by Emmy (who is apparently used to this).  Anyway, Trudy gradually remembers that she and several other girls all went off and married (apparently there were/are 24-hour registry offices in motels precisely to ensure men in uniform could marry women whenever the urge struck) the departing men in uniform.  Skirting round the Hays code, a visit to the doctor's confirms that marriage was not the only thing that happened to Trudy that night, as she is pregnant.  (See what I mean?  Comedy out of what looks very much like date rape?  The only exculpating factor is that a line uttered by a Sergeant seems to imply that the young men thought they were drinking lemonade too, so they were not the ones responsible for getting Trudy blotto.)  In others' hands this could be either a kitchen sink drama or a tragedy, but it is so deftly handled here that you barely feel sorry for Norval (Trudy does enough of that) or indeed Trudy (Norval does enough of that).  Shenanigans ensue, as Trudy clearly needs to be married to somebody when she starts to show, but (a) married under an assumed name herself, and (b) can't remember the name or even face of the man she married.  Norval hatches a plan to dress up as a soldier and marry her himself under the name she vaguely remembers (Ratzkiwatzki) so there will be a marriage certificate,

but his natural honesty torpedoes this plan and he gets arrested.  Will everything work out?  And what is the bookending device involving the governor of their midwestern state about?  Watch it and see - I think it's Preston Sturges's funniest film, which makes it one of the great comedies of all time.  I might insist we watch it  every Christmas.

If it's not an eagle it's a bloody big hawk

Today was a dentist day for Frederick (in Ann Arbor) and it helps to unwind afterwards with a walk.  There was a traffic blockage near our usual Ann Arbor walk so we went instead to Highland Recreation Area (near Thomas's old high school) and got lost.  Turns out it's a lot more extensive than previous explorations revealed.  On the plus side, though, we did run across this impressive beast:

 Frederick soldiers bravely on, muttering "nearly there" under his breath.

Maybe we're too loyal to Zojirushi

At almost exactly the same time our two starch-producers, our ricemaker and bread machine, both Zojirushi products, died.  So we had to buy new ones!  Maybe we should've tried other manufacturers but I love that little elephant.

Film review: Mr. Wong, Detective (1938)

We went and bought the set!  This is the first in the series and we have Wong and the always-irritable Detective Street, who in this one has a lady friend who is also on the force (what happened to her between this one and the one we watched first?).  We also have a couple of bad guys, one of whom looks like Pee Wee Herman, and the other a cross between young Al Pacino and Scott Baio.  The plot involves poison gas and little glass spheres (shades of Tintin's Seven Crystal Balls) and three co-owners of a chemical plant getting bumped off.  The secret is how the little glass balls get broken - it's not by being thrown or being dropped.  Once again, the person who comes to visit Mr. Wong at the start is the first to die.  Eventually this is going to hurt his business.
Ideal winter early-evening watching on your black and white Radio Rentals set.

Film review: Scarlet Street (1945)

This was a twisty one.  Directly by the great Fritz Lang, of M and Metropolis fame, this was reputed to be his favorite of his American films.  It does have a smack of the melodrama of the silents, particularly the ending, but it's usually classified as a film noir.  But then again, film noirs are pretty melodramatic and have very rigid notions of destiny and justice.  The big star is of course Edward G. Robinson (who was Romanian, and actually really looks it here, what with the glossy widow's peak, but is playing the very Anglo-named Chris Cross) but he's playing against type as a milquetoast brow-beaten cashier, whom we see getting a commemorative watch for his decades of service in the firm at a party at the beginning.  His boss can't stay long, however, because his sexy young mistress is waiting in the car, a foreshadowing of Chris's fate.  Chris, it transpires, is a frustrated painter.  Well, not really frustrated, because he still devotes every Sunday to it, but he never wanted to be a cashier, and in fact he was more-or-less forced to marry his harridan of a landlady five years prior to help pay for his paints.  And "Adele" really is a gorgon, always nagging him, complaining about the smell of paints and how he can't hold a candle to her former husband, Detective Homer Higgins, whose giant portrait (complete with posthumously-awarded medal) looms over the sitting room.  Homer drowned while trying to save suicidal woman, although neither body was ever found.  All of these things are no doubt on Chris's mind as he wanders around after the party trying to find a subway stop, and in fact wanders into Greenwich Village, where he happens upon a man striking a (very attractive, young) woman (played by Joan Bennett).  Uncharacteristically (he is a bit drunk after the party), Chris rushes in to help her with his brolly and somehow the man winds up unconscious on the ground.  Chris rushes off to get the police, but when they return, the man has vanished.  He walks the woman, who is called Katharine but goes by Kitty, back to the apartment she shares with a roommate (Millie), but before she goes he persuades her to have a coffee with him.

Well, on her insistence, it becomes rums for both of them, but he overhears her ask the bartender where "Johnny" is.  She claims he's Millie's beau.  Meanwhile he guesses her job as "actor" and she gets the impression that he is not an amateur weekend painter but in fact a famous, rich painter.  Of course Johnny is really her no-good boyfriend, whom Millie (who is real) can't believe she sticks with when she could have anyone she wants ("But I only want him!") who quickly persuades her to milk poor besotted Chris for all that she can.  Very soon he's embezzling money from his firm to help set her up in a studio apartment.  He does get something out of it, though - he gets a nice place to paint, and doesn't have to worry about the awful Adele following through on her threat to throw out his paintings and paint.  Then a twist you weren't expecting: Johnny gets desperate for cash and tries to pawn a couple of Chris's (unsigned) paintings.  The pawn shop owner sees his own shopfront in one and assumes they've been painted by "some Greenwich Village long-hair" and declares them worthless.  So Johnny leaves them with a street vendor to see if he can offload them and returns to inform Kitty that Chris has been fooling her.  He then decides to prove it to her by taking the pictures to the museum of art, but returns to find that a famous critic has bought them and wants to know who painted them.  The critic eventually tracks them to Kitty's apartment, whereupon Johnny hits on the idea of claiming that Kitty painted them.  She quickly becomes the talk of the town, before Adele comes across the pictures in a gallery... and comes home to scold Chris for copying the work of "great artist" Katharine March.  What will Chris do?  Will he find out about Johnny?  Will he ever get credit for his work?  Will he get caught for his embezzling?  With the loathsome (he really is, credit to Dan Duryea for an effectively hateable performance) Johnnie get his?  Watch it and find out.  Extra twists: the return of Homer!  Murder by icepick! A failed suicide! Ghostly voices haunting a guilty man!  It certainly has more twists and turns than two average films.

The Petrified Forest (1936)

This was certainly not what I was expecting.  I thought it would be like Key Largo, only with Bogart as the Edward G. Robinson role, but actually (as the poster reveals) it's not a Bogart film at all, it's a Leslie Howard (and to a lesser extent, very atypical Bette Davis) film.  And it's not a film about a gangster holding people hostage (although that does happen), it's a film about love, ennui and the search for meaning in a post WWI world.  Actually, it's more like Leaving Las Vegas.  We start with an unnamed man hitchhiking through the desert (and almost being bowled over by a giant tumbleweed) and then we cut to the setting of 95% of the movie (yes, it was a play first), a run down gas station slash cafe slash bar in the middle of nowhere.  The normal population of this location comprises the owner, Mr. Maple, a pompous, overtly patriotic veteran of WWI (although he only drove vehicles behind the lines), his father, "Gramp" (who reminds him of this fact), whom you might recognize from the Wizard of Oz

his daughter, Gabby, a be-bobby-socked, poetry-reading teen(?) (improbably played by Davis),

and ex-college-football-player running to fat gas pump assistant (who is sweet on Gabby) Boze  (and later we see the latina cook). After a short interlude when a pair who had declined to pick the hitchhiker up stop by for food and get to hear Gramp's story about being almost shot by Billy The Kid, the hitch hiker, failed writer Alan Squier (Howard) arrives.  And very quickly Gabby falls hard for him, and to his surprise, he (who claims to have been born in 1901, so is clearly a bit old and certainly too over-educated for her, but she has an absent French mother who sends her poetry) for her, as he sees in her the artistic soul that he perhaps lacks.  All through this romantic interlude we have been hearing updates about notorious killer Duke Mantee being on the run after a massacre in Oklahoma City, and it's no surprise when he finally shows up.  But actually, it's after Alan has already said his goodbyes to Gabby and hitched a ride with a rich banker and his discontented wife.  They are flagged down by Mantee (Bogie, of course) and his men who drive back towards the gas station.  While the banker, wife and black chauffeur stay behind trying to repair the car that Duke and his men abandoned, Alan worries (rightly) that they will menace Gabby and co. at the gas station, so sets off back towards it.  And so begins the part of the movie that I thought the whole of the movie would be.  But even this doesn't go the way I thought it would.  While Boze tries some heroics (and gets shot in the hand for his troubles), Alan is uninterested in this.  In fact, he appears not to be at all worried that Duke will hurt his friends (and, indeed, Duke is remarkably moral and upright: he won't stand for Alan telling Gramp that he should die soon, but he also ensures that Gramp (who is loving every minute of the standoff, and very keen for bloodshed to happen) doesn't get whisky after Gabby says he shouldn't), but instead asks Duke to kill him before he departs so that Gabby can have the $5,000 payoff from the life insurance policy (which, oddly, is one of the very few things he carries with him in his rucksack).  Nobody is sure of how to take this, but Duke is game.  Meanwhile, more people keep showing up: first the rich couple and chauffeur (whom Duke's black buddy "Slim" refers to as "my colored brother"), then Mr. Maple, who had left shortly before Duke arrived for his meeting with his war buddies, dressed up in their uniforms, along with the two buddies.  They bring news that the other car full of Duke's men, along with "a blonde" has been caught, and that she has squealed on him, and shortly after that a machine-gun-toting posse.  All hell breaks loose.  Will Gabby and Alan find happiness?  Will they survive the night?  You have to watch it and see.  It really is an amazing film, presumably because it was a shocking play.  It's totally Leslie Howard's show, and he is at his languid, soulful, sly best, a quietly tragic figure who doesn't take himself seriously enough to pity himself but who is lost in the world.

Bogie is serviceable as Duke Mantee, but his acting is crude at best, and he moves very strangely, with his hands out in front of him like a zombie half the time.  You can see the magnetism, though, of course.

 And Bette Davis is very affecting as, for once, an innocent.  The role would be better suited (fifteen or so years later, perhaps) for a Marilyn Monroe type, but Davis shows her range.  And some of the bit parts are great, in particular Genevieve Tobin as the disgruntled wife of the banker, and Joe Sawyer as Jackie, one of Mantee's hoods who finds Boze particularly amusing.  Check it out, but don't expect Key Largo.