gbrumburgh
Joined Feb 2001
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Wiry, athletic, bespectacled Harold Lloyd may rank third after Charlie Chaplin and Buster Keaton in "silent age" comedy polls, but when it comes to perilous, pulse-racing, gravity-defying stuntwork, he's the "King of the World!"
The aptly-titled "Safety Last" is without a doubt Lloyd's signature film. The indelible still taken of Harold dangling from the minute-hand of that Big Ben-looking clock is definitive silent screen imagery. A shame too for it is only one classic moment from a tireless legacy of work that is too often overlooked.
Isn't it amazing that despite knowing the outcome of this movie, knowing that Lloyd survived all these crazy stunts, your heart still skips a beat every time he scales that 12-story building, floor by floor, encountering every obstacle imaginable...or unimaginable? Those pesky pigeons, the mouse, the flagpole, the painters, the rope, the mad dog and, of course, the clock. What adds to the intrigue is knowing he did his own stunts, that he had lost fingers prior to this filming in another movie mishap, that there were no safety nets underneath, and that there was no trick photography used. I say Harold deserves a more prominent place in movie history, suffering for his art as no other artist has.
The plot leading up to his daredevil antics is fairly pat but sprayed throughout with inventive sight gags. Harold plays your simple, hapless, small-town 'everyman' who goes to the BIG city to seek fame and fortune, leaving his true love (played by Mildred Davis, his real-life wife) at home until he's makes it. Fresh off the bus, he eventually manages to scrape up a job as a clerk in a department store, a job that takes him nowhere fast. To save face, he keeps sending expensive trinkets back home that indicate otherwise. Convinced that he has indeed made it, she heads off to the BIG city to join him, much to his chagrin. Desperate to earn quick cash before she discovers the truth, he takes his boss up on an offer and works up a publicity ruse to drum up sales for the store.
The rest is classic Lloyd. Wearing his trademark straw hat and horn-rimmed glasses, the meek mouse suddenly turns into Mighty Mouse as our boy, through a series of mishaps, literally moves up in the world, scaling heights even he never dreamed of!
All's well, of course, that ends well, as we've been saying for centuries. Sure, we know how things ended back in the good ol' days, but isn't it great to know that when Harold got the girl, he STAYED with the girl? In real life, Harold and Mildred remained sweethearts for over 45 years.
Highly recommended for those who want to see more of this genius's amazing work is "Kid Brother" and "The Freshman." For me, this guy still provides one heck of an "E" ticket rollercoaster ride.
The aptly-titled "Safety Last" is without a doubt Lloyd's signature film. The indelible still taken of Harold dangling from the minute-hand of that Big Ben-looking clock is definitive silent screen imagery. A shame too for it is only one classic moment from a tireless legacy of work that is too often overlooked.
Isn't it amazing that despite knowing the outcome of this movie, knowing that Lloyd survived all these crazy stunts, your heart still skips a beat every time he scales that 12-story building, floor by floor, encountering every obstacle imaginable...or unimaginable? Those pesky pigeons, the mouse, the flagpole, the painters, the rope, the mad dog and, of course, the clock. What adds to the intrigue is knowing he did his own stunts, that he had lost fingers prior to this filming in another movie mishap, that there were no safety nets underneath, and that there was no trick photography used. I say Harold deserves a more prominent place in movie history, suffering for his art as no other artist has.
The plot leading up to his daredevil antics is fairly pat but sprayed throughout with inventive sight gags. Harold plays your simple, hapless, small-town 'everyman' who goes to the BIG city to seek fame and fortune, leaving his true love (played by Mildred Davis, his real-life wife) at home until he's makes it. Fresh off the bus, he eventually manages to scrape up a job as a clerk in a department store, a job that takes him nowhere fast. To save face, he keeps sending expensive trinkets back home that indicate otherwise. Convinced that he has indeed made it, she heads off to the BIG city to join him, much to his chagrin. Desperate to earn quick cash before she discovers the truth, he takes his boss up on an offer and works up a publicity ruse to drum up sales for the store.
The rest is classic Lloyd. Wearing his trademark straw hat and horn-rimmed glasses, the meek mouse suddenly turns into Mighty Mouse as our boy, through a series of mishaps, literally moves up in the world, scaling heights even he never dreamed of!
All's well, of course, that ends well, as we've been saying for centuries. Sure, we know how things ended back in the good ol' days, but isn't it great to know that when Harold got the girl, he STAYED with the girl? In real life, Harold and Mildred remained sweethearts for over 45 years.
Highly recommended for those who want to see more of this genius's amazing work is "Kid Brother" and "The Freshman." For me, this guy still provides one heck of an "E" ticket rollercoaster ride.
Throughout the 80s and 90s, Barbra Streisand has grown in stature (albeit sporadically) as a formidable producer and director of social drama for both films and TV. The apex of her behind-the-camera career came with "The Prince of Tides," a poignant study of a man coping with the long-term effects of childhood trauma. Streisand nurtures this pet project from start to finish (co-adapted by Pat Conroy from his epic novel), finding a precise heartbeat for the profoundly sentient piece. Despite a rather protracted love story and one too many climaxes, Streisand, who also co-stars, never loses sight of the novel's primary intent.
Streisand graciously hands the spotlight over to actor Nick Nolte, who gives the most sensitive, emotionally complex performance of his varied career. Tom Wingo is a walking shell of a man who quells his pain with a drink, an easy smile, a cleverly foul remark, and a bitter, uncontrollable outpouring of anger. A one-time Southern-bred football coach-turned-teacher, he has grown increasingly irresponsible and disconnected over the years. With a troubled marriage hovering over him, he conveniently heads off to New York City at the urging of sister Savannah's psychiatrist, Susan Lowenstein, following his twin's most recent wrist-slashing attempt. His purpose is to fill in the missing details of her tormented past (she has blotted out all childhood memories) in order to help steer the psychiatrist in her recovery process. Eventually, Tom, who lacks faith in psychiatry, finds himself facing his own demons as these initial discussions about Savannah take a suddenly dramatic and romantic turn.
In addition to Nolte's Oscar-nominated showcase, much of the film's strength lies in the highly concentrated flashback sequences as Tom recalls his turbulent family life. Kate Nelligan (also Oscar-nominated) is simply extraordinary as Lila, Tom's brittle, often callous mother, who quite understandably vows to remarry into money after surviving a horrific first marriage to Tom's violent, alcoholic, dirt-poor father (played by an absolutely terrifying Brad Sullivan). Nelligan grabs this role literally by the throat and allows her character no apologies for her flawed, self-serving logic, despite the effects it would have on her children, as her wealthy second husband starts exhibiting the same abusive traits as the first. Kudos must also go to the three strong young actors who play the Wingo siblings as children for reenacting the more horrific elements of this story.
Some of the other present-day roles, however, are hit-and-miss in their effectiveness. Blythe Danner has some strained though affecting moments as Tom's neglected wife. Sadly, the vital role of Savannah is nearly excised from the film. What with the talented Melinda Dillon egregiously reduced to such an insignificant extra, one can only rue the dramatic potential untapped here. As Savannah's neighbor and trusted friend, George Carlin seems to be around merely to show off New York gay chic -- providing mild amusement, a bit of pathos, and little else. On a brighter note, Jason Gould (Barbra's real-life son) acquits himself surprisingly well in the difficult role of Lowenstein's antagonistic son who slowly bonds with Tom's absentee father figure -- showing for once that nepotism isn't necessarily blind or reckless. Dutch actor Jeroen Krabbé gets brief but noticeable exposure as Herbert Woodruff, Lowenstein's charming, smug-elegant husband, a renown concert violinist who demonstrates more affection for his Stradivarius than either his wife or child. There is one telling dinner scene at his opulent Manhattan high-rise in which the out-classed Wingo gets to put Woodruff in his place.
As for Streisand herself, many will invariably take her to task for casting herself in the fundamental role of Susan Lowenstein. A star of such magnitude always faces the daunting task of presenting a fully- realized character, and Streisand is only marginally successful here. Although there is undeniable sexual chemistry between her and Nolte, it's hard to overlook her somewhat glossy approach to the role and the unethical intentions of her character. One can only imagine the ramifications of such a harmful act had her suicidal patient ever uncovered the illicit affair between her brother and psychiatrist.
Director Streisand, however, must be applauded for her explicit attention to exterior details. A visually resplendent picture, great care was taken to get the right look and feel. Notice particularly the lovely allegorical scenes with the children at the beginning and end. And with Streisand's exceptional musicianship, it is hardly surprising that James Newton Howard's lush score is one of the most beautifully designed ever (in fact, I borrowed it for my own commitment ceremony in 1996). It floods the film with an unexpressible tenderness. Nick Nolte's bookend narration is perfect as well -- warm, wise, poetic and reflective.
And so, despite the flaws "The Prince of Tides" may have, Streisand certainly shows that her heart was in the right place.
Streisand graciously hands the spotlight over to actor Nick Nolte, who gives the most sensitive, emotionally complex performance of his varied career. Tom Wingo is a walking shell of a man who quells his pain with a drink, an easy smile, a cleverly foul remark, and a bitter, uncontrollable outpouring of anger. A one-time Southern-bred football coach-turned-teacher, he has grown increasingly irresponsible and disconnected over the years. With a troubled marriage hovering over him, he conveniently heads off to New York City at the urging of sister Savannah's psychiatrist, Susan Lowenstein, following his twin's most recent wrist-slashing attempt. His purpose is to fill in the missing details of her tormented past (she has blotted out all childhood memories) in order to help steer the psychiatrist in her recovery process. Eventually, Tom, who lacks faith in psychiatry, finds himself facing his own demons as these initial discussions about Savannah take a suddenly dramatic and romantic turn.
In addition to Nolte's Oscar-nominated showcase, much of the film's strength lies in the highly concentrated flashback sequences as Tom recalls his turbulent family life. Kate Nelligan (also Oscar-nominated) is simply extraordinary as Lila, Tom's brittle, often callous mother, who quite understandably vows to remarry into money after surviving a horrific first marriage to Tom's violent, alcoholic, dirt-poor father (played by an absolutely terrifying Brad Sullivan). Nelligan grabs this role literally by the throat and allows her character no apologies for her flawed, self-serving logic, despite the effects it would have on her children, as her wealthy second husband starts exhibiting the same abusive traits as the first. Kudos must also go to the three strong young actors who play the Wingo siblings as children for reenacting the more horrific elements of this story.
Some of the other present-day roles, however, are hit-and-miss in their effectiveness. Blythe Danner has some strained though affecting moments as Tom's neglected wife. Sadly, the vital role of Savannah is nearly excised from the film. What with the talented Melinda Dillon egregiously reduced to such an insignificant extra, one can only rue the dramatic potential untapped here. As Savannah's neighbor and trusted friend, George Carlin seems to be around merely to show off New York gay chic -- providing mild amusement, a bit of pathos, and little else. On a brighter note, Jason Gould (Barbra's real-life son) acquits himself surprisingly well in the difficult role of Lowenstein's antagonistic son who slowly bonds with Tom's absentee father figure -- showing for once that nepotism isn't necessarily blind or reckless. Dutch actor Jeroen Krabbé gets brief but noticeable exposure as Herbert Woodruff, Lowenstein's charming, smug-elegant husband, a renown concert violinist who demonstrates more affection for his Stradivarius than either his wife or child. There is one telling dinner scene at his opulent Manhattan high-rise in which the out-classed Wingo gets to put Woodruff in his place.
As for Streisand herself, many will invariably take her to task for casting herself in the fundamental role of Susan Lowenstein. A star of such magnitude always faces the daunting task of presenting a fully- realized character, and Streisand is only marginally successful here. Although there is undeniable sexual chemistry between her and Nolte, it's hard to overlook her somewhat glossy approach to the role and the unethical intentions of her character. One can only imagine the ramifications of such a harmful act had her suicidal patient ever uncovered the illicit affair between her brother and psychiatrist.
Director Streisand, however, must be applauded for her explicit attention to exterior details. A visually resplendent picture, great care was taken to get the right look and feel. Notice particularly the lovely allegorical scenes with the children at the beginning and end. And with Streisand's exceptional musicianship, it is hardly surprising that James Newton Howard's lush score is one of the most beautifully designed ever (in fact, I borrowed it for my own commitment ceremony in 1996). It floods the film with an unexpressible tenderness. Nick Nolte's bookend narration is perfect as well -- warm, wise, poetic and reflective.
And so, despite the flaws "The Prince of Tides" may have, Streisand certainly shows that her heart was in the right place.
The vivid, vibrant, highly graphic strokes and style of French impressionist Toulouse-Lautrec was inspired by the colorful night life of the Montmartre district of Paris -- the circuses, the brothels(!), but notably the Moulin Rouge cabaret which he frequented often and became a routine host to an elite, partygoing bunch of artistic intellects and deviants. Were he alive today, he could very well have been reinspired by this ambitious recreation of the Moulin Rouge 100 years later. A mammoth, toyingly libidinous piece of escapism to be certain, the painter would simply revel in the outre, over-the-top, visually assaultive mind of its creator writer/director Baz Luhrmann.
I, too, was quite bowled over by this "everything but the kitchen sink" extravaganza, although not always as ecstatically as I would have wanted to be, but certainly enough to appreciate the intentions of this masterful deluge of gaudy Gallic grandeur circa 1899.
Refreshingly original (the previews had me fooled), what did NOT race through my categorical mind while experiencing this film! In its initial stage, the love story seemed to borrow its concept directly from Christopher Isherwood's "Berlin Stories," specifically the Sally Bowles "Cabaret"-inspired chapter in which a naive, struggling writer recalls (via his typewriter) his doomed love affair with a capricious entertainer who got caught up in the phony glitz and decadent glamour around her. But from then on, it was anybody's guess. A potpourri of other musical shows and films flashed through my mind --from the typical (Jose Ferrer's "Moulin Rouge," "Can-Can," "Les Girls," "An American in Paris") to the more imaginative and surreal ("Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band," "Blade Runner," "Fellini Satyricon," Fosse's "All That Jazz," the phantasmagorical "Yellow Submarine", anything Gilbert & Sullivan-ish, and Disney's "Aladdin"). Don't even ask me why on some of these.
Nicole Kidman's Satine could have easily been based on the life of the indelible French star Renee Adoree, a one-time circus performer who became a Folies Bergere dancer. She subsequently was ushered to Hollywood and illuminated one classic love story, "The Big Parade" with John Gilbert, that remains a silent screen treasure. A frail beauty, Renee died in her mid-30s of tuberculosis/consumption.
Once the incessant battering by the camera's eye took a breather and I was allowed to actually focus on something tangible -- like the love story -- I found the enticing, highly photogenic Kidman, coupled with Ewan McGregor's honest-guy Christian, to be quite affecting as a pair, even moving. And that wasn't easy. The visual bombardment and gimmicky use of modern songs constantly threaten to isolate the viewer from the film's emotional core. Fortunately, it did not succeed.
Speaking of, the use of contemporary pop and classic rock songs worked better at the beginning when it was a novelty but, of course, the pattern eventually wore out its welcome as I started spending my time ingenously thinking about what next classic hit should be used for the present scene -- much like the so-so musical "Mamma Mia!" wherein a series of Abba songs are thrown together (very weakly) to create a ridiculous storyline. I thought the "Material Girl" number (despite the engaging presence of Jim Broadbent's bombastic impresario, Zidler, and Richard Roxburgh's oily villain, the Duke of Worchester) was stretching a potential good idea too far. However, Kidman's breathy song stylings and, especially, McGregor's sturdy pop tenor handled the love songs quite effectively.
As for the handling of simple little love stories, however, I sincerely hope Luhrmann doesn't get any ideas by setting his sights on a remake of "The Fantasticks." I don't think the fragile little story could take it!
I, too, was quite bowled over by this "everything but the kitchen sink" extravaganza, although not always as ecstatically as I would have wanted to be, but certainly enough to appreciate the intentions of this masterful deluge of gaudy Gallic grandeur circa 1899.
Refreshingly original (the previews had me fooled), what did NOT race through my categorical mind while experiencing this film! In its initial stage, the love story seemed to borrow its concept directly from Christopher Isherwood's "Berlin Stories," specifically the Sally Bowles "Cabaret"-inspired chapter in which a naive, struggling writer recalls (via his typewriter) his doomed love affair with a capricious entertainer who got caught up in the phony glitz and decadent glamour around her. But from then on, it was anybody's guess. A potpourri of other musical shows and films flashed through my mind --from the typical (Jose Ferrer's "Moulin Rouge," "Can-Can," "Les Girls," "An American in Paris") to the more imaginative and surreal ("Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band," "Blade Runner," "Fellini Satyricon," Fosse's "All That Jazz," the phantasmagorical "Yellow Submarine", anything Gilbert & Sullivan-ish, and Disney's "Aladdin"). Don't even ask me why on some of these.
Nicole Kidman's Satine could have easily been based on the life of the indelible French star Renee Adoree, a one-time circus performer who became a Folies Bergere dancer. She subsequently was ushered to Hollywood and illuminated one classic love story, "The Big Parade" with John Gilbert, that remains a silent screen treasure. A frail beauty, Renee died in her mid-30s of tuberculosis/consumption.
Once the incessant battering by the camera's eye took a breather and I was allowed to actually focus on something tangible -- like the love story -- I found the enticing, highly photogenic Kidman, coupled with Ewan McGregor's honest-guy Christian, to be quite affecting as a pair, even moving. And that wasn't easy. The visual bombardment and gimmicky use of modern songs constantly threaten to isolate the viewer from the film's emotional core. Fortunately, it did not succeed.
Speaking of, the use of contemporary pop and classic rock songs worked better at the beginning when it was a novelty but, of course, the pattern eventually wore out its welcome as I started spending my time ingenously thinking about what next classic hit should be used for the present scene -- much like the so-so musical "Mamma Mia!" wherein a series of Abba songs are thrown together (very weakly) to create a ridiculous storyline. I thought the "Material Girl" number (despite the engaging presence of Jim Broadbent's bombastic impresario, Zidler, and Richard Roxburgh's oily villain, the Duke of Worchester) was stretching a potential good idea too far. However, Kidman's breathy song stylings and, especially, McGregor's sturdy pop tenor handled the love songs quite effectively.
As for the handling of simple little love stories, however, I sincerely hope Luhrmann doesn't get any ideas by setting his sights on a remake of "The Fantasticks." I don't think the fragile little story could take it!