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|47 reviews in total|
Notwithstanding that the laws of physics are time-symmetric it has been our inevitable and poignant experience that the past invariably and inevitably becomes this present. A story line wherein many strive to get two folks to remarry. But more beguilingly, Joan Blondell croons "YOU"LL NEVER KNOW", there are several Gershwin songs and the miraculous grace and beauty of Eleanor Powell enchants. Given that Gershwin did compose, that Eleanor was and had her being with such grace and beauty and that there was a dimly-remembered world wherein Joan Blondell sang "YOU'LL NEVER KNOW", this movie will gladden you much, perhaps more than you'll ever know
My uncle Sid needed hernia surgery.The only folks capable of alleviating the danger pain and and anguish were WASPS who had been graduated from Dartmouth, Yale , Harvard , etc ere Johns Hopkins medical school. What the fxck was I to do. Everyone loved Sid for his benevolence, empathy and selflessnesss. He gave money and concern for those who were in their last terminal straits. So, he participated tangentially in the success of the brinks job and got paid. THOSE WITHOUT SIN MAY CAST THE FIRST STONE.It was with reluctance that we sought the blue=nose help of JOHN's Hopkins. These snobish dimwits didn't botch it and Sid was able to go on to humanitarian bank robberies that benefitted the most needy among us.Only in America.
Would that , however briefly, fleetingly, and insufficiently, the past was available . Available to undo, redress, and remorsefully retrieve the myriad cruelties and omisssions so excruciatingly beyond our access. The love unexpressed or not fully set forth. The priceless charm of those moments, personnae, and occasions that are fiendishly now irretrieveable and not wholly recalled. Thorton Wilder laid a right-uppercut properly, brutally and unforgivably upon us in OUR TOWN.
Gottfried Leibniz was the first to have observed of the cosmos,"why is there something and not nothing" I cannot fathom how he eventually came to conclude that "this was the best of all possible worlds" Was the deity under inomprehensible constraints such that the universe could noy have been sited 3/4th of a mile from where it presently is or why it could not have come into being 4 hours and thirty seven minutes prior to it's inception. In "Some Came Running" Shirley McClain suffers low self esteem and is at times an alcoholic floozy. She follows Frank Sinatra to Indiana ,where ,prim, proper, provident and pristine Martha Hyer does impel him to disesteem, by her impeccability, the wanton McClain. McClain loved deeply, truly, unreservedly and unwisely. In addition to the constaints upon the deity inferrible from Leibniz, we can think of many other failings and injustices.
The most astute among us, and if the truth be admitted, the most brave and intellectually discerning, have observed that we dwell in an insensate realm; a cosmos generated by random quantum happenstance. Yet, suppose that those who have accorded us infinite and unqualified love, have proclaimed things to be otherwise than above -stated.That we exist in a world of benevolence and Uncle Remus beneficence, and fond grace.Why would we not choose the latter alternative if all means naught and is bereft of any meaningful consequence. Crosby and Fitzgerald did well in "Going My Way".
Every urchin in NYC in 1941 , as did every kid in any town , knew that amyotropic lateral scleroris was inexorarably, inescapably , and inevitably fatal. Yet, Lou Gehrig when he addressed those in Yankee Stadium, on July 4, 1939,was sincere but fatalistic when he declaimed himself "...the luckiest man alive ...." Maybe he foresaw that Pearl Harbor and Auschwitz was forthcoming. As did Lincoln habitually, and by essence, he did summon forth the better angels of our nature.
The cinematography is beauty, reality, and sensation. You are soaked, by the wind and waves of the cliffed , bouldered awesomeness of the sea and Novembral austerity of Ireland's shores circa 1918.The time had long past for passionate Rosy Ryan to solemnly ,and with sanctity, mentored by Trevor Howard [ the village priest who saw to the souls of the villagers of his flock, abetted them against worldly ills and burdens[British Occupation}and strove to salvage their eternal souls from perdition]...yes the time was long past and she was joined in the sacrament of matrimony by said Trevor Howard to the gentle, fond, man of virtue and integrity, Robert Mitchum the village schoolteacher. Rosy was dutiful and respectful to her vows and husband. The British military commander, hopes and dreams dashed by a crippling wound in France and a life and career ruined thereby does chance one day into the village pub perhaps to fleetingly assuge his despair.A paroxysm of remembered combat agony renders him helpless; lost. Rosy Ryan's most passionate impulses of love and empathy for the infinite need she sees sends him to his side and succor. There ensues a scene of tender , febrile love and passion whose intensity I have never beheld. We say to T.S.Elliot that if gravity is insufficient to recall the outermost of our distant fleeting galaxies then indeed the world will be ended, an ashen cinder here and there in the vastness. The whimper will be somewhat abated in it's forlorn desolation , by the passionate humanity in Ryan's pub.
In every respect, size, magnitude, luminosity, age, position in galaxy etc etc our star the Sun is undistinguished.But Elisha Cook did slog through the mud on an 1870's random plain to uphold his honor and died at the villanous hand of Jack Palance when an insult to Stonewall Jackson demanded honor or death. Shane acted out of love and not regret for the past, or the swiftly passing of his gunfighter epoch. That he died of his wounds is a consumation devoutly to be wished for , rather than that he lived out a bathetic existence with a hopeless and wistful remembrance of things past. The last scene wherein the boy cries repeatedly "come back Shane..." distinguishes our planet, orbiting it's undistinguished star in a universe that may indeed harbor no sentient beings but ourselves.
If our probabalistic quantum-fluctuation cosmos could have any meaning, all fears of such are put to rest by "The Pianist". The ultimate triumph of the valorous human spirit , which we celebrate and marvel at, is the blind , insensate product of random chance and circumstance. But are we not deeply affected. I,m advised director Polanski is a fugitive from pending charges of cogent merit: further I thought he had his "Mona Lisa" in "CHINATOWN". At any rate,indicted or not, his works give a larger significance to our scrabbling existence on the surface of this planet, which orbits an undistinguished star amid hundreds of billions of stars.
The awesome genius of playwright Tennesseee Williams is of course acknowledged. The issue we now weigh is the human dignity of Ms Vivien Leigh as contrasted with Mr Jackie Robinson. Who could reasonably contest the fact that Rogers Hornsby was the greatest 2nd-baseman ever with Nap Lajoiie a distant 2nd and Mr Robinson a remote third. Jackie, if I may presume upon my being an ardent Dodger fan in a Yankee prone housing project, to refer to Mr Robinson thus, hit .342 in 1949 and stole home often and audaciously. His courage and dignity may have been equal to the valor and talent of Ms Vivien Leigh. Afflicted with a profound psychopathology she did nightly render the excruciating decline of the human spirit in adversity as the playwright had wrought it. Whose courage was the greater?
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