The Weekly Gravy #103

I just want to note that, after setting a record for monthly views back in May (breaking 4,000 views for the first time), that record was shattered by August, which saw a stunning 6,865 views. 1,800 of those views were for my reviews of Coca-Cola’s Starlight and Dreamworld flavors, and all five of the most-viewed posts were soda reviews, but my reviews of Mississippi Grind and The Angel Levine also drew numerous views. My thanks to you for reading.

In Old Chicago (1938*) – ***

A few weeks ago, I watched 1936’s San Francisco, a romantic melodrama with an elaborate climax depicting the 1906 earthquake and its aftermath. It was a huge hit for MGM and the Oscars gave it major nominations (along with a win for Best Sound), so 20th Century Fox decided to get in on the action and gave us In Old Chicago, a film which takes more than a few narrative cues from San Francisco and climaxes with the 1871 fire. It was successful, albeit a shade less so than San Francisco – it made $900,000 less, not an insignificant sum at the time. But like San Francisco, it earned six Oscar nominations including Best Picture, and actually won two Oscars to that film’s one. However, it’s worth remembering that San Francisco isn’t a great film, and In Old Chicago, which apes it so closely, is farther from greatness still.

As in that film, we have a male lead who’s a bit of a rogue; instead of Clark Gable as Blackie Norton, we have Tyrone Power as Dion O’Leary, a gambler who seizes an opportunity to co-found the biggest and best saloon in all Chicago. We also have a male co-lead who’s on the straight and narrow, and loves the rogue even as he shakes his head at him; instead of Spencer Tracy as Fr. Tim Mullin, we have Don Ameche as Jack O’Leary, Dion’s brother, a crusading lawyer fighting the city’s pervasive corruption.

We also have a female lead who’s beautiful, a beloved singer, and pursued by the rogue; instead of Jeanette MacDonald as Mary Blake, we have Alice Faye as Belle Fawcett – but where Mary was an unknown whom Blackie helped make into a star, Belle is already a star, and is actually Dion’s business partner, having claim to a plot of land on a high-traffic corner. And where San Francisco was set mostly in the rough-and-tumble Barbary Coast district, In Old Chicago is set in a rough-and-tumble neighborhood called the Patch.

And there’s another businessman, a foil for the rogue both personally and professionally; instead of Jack Holt as Jack Burley, we’ve got Brian Donlevy as Gil Warren, Belle’s initial employer (and rejected suitor, as Jack Burley was Mary’s). Local politics also play a major part in the story, although Chicago deviates a bit from San Francisco here; Blackie runs for city office in that film, while it’s Jack (O’ Leary) who runs for mayor here, with Dion’s legally and morally questionable support.

Both films make use of romance, spectacle, musical performances, character comedy, and historical mass destruction. You can draw a line from them to Titanic – and who knows what tragedies will be successfully mined for romantic melodramas in the future? (Note that there has to be some note of hope at the end.)

Where Chicago stands more or less on its own is in the character of Molly O’Leary (Alice Brady), the mother of Dion and Jack – and, if you know your Chicago folklore, the owner of the cow who kicked over the lantern which started the fire in the first place. Of course, the real woman was named Catherine O’Leary, and while the fire started in or near her barn, the notion that she was at all responsible was based mainly on anti-Irish/anti-Catholic sentiments, and she didn’t have a son who was mayor at the time of the fire. She did have a son who gambled and owned a saloon…but he was two years old when the fire occurred.

No matter. Molly is a strong-willed, morally upright woman who perseveres in the face of tragedy – at the start of the film, as the family heads toward Chicago, her husband is killed in a wagon accident, and she becomes a washerwoman to support her young sons. She tuts at Dion’s irresponsibility and his relationship with Belle, she beams at Jack’s own uprightness in the courtroom (and tuts when his principles get in the way of his earning a living), but she’s no priggish plaster saint; she’s got an earthy sense of humor, especially after a few beers.

Brady’s performance is wildly different from her work in The Gay Divorcee and My Man Godfrey – working-class instead of upper-crust, dramatic instead of comedic, level-headed instead of flighty – but she’s very good, and her Oscar for Best Supporting Actress (only the second winner in the category) was, at least in the abstract, deserved. (I haven’t seen most of the other nominees.)

She’s the best part of the film, although the period sets and costumes and the depiction of the fire are impressive in their own right. Otherwise, it’s just an okay melodrama, very dated in a few respects – Dion’s aggressive pursuit of Belle is rather repellent now – forgettable in others – there’s no song remotely as memorable as “San Francisco” – and passably entertaining in the rest.

Power, his problematic character aside, is a lively rogue (with a heart of gold, of course). Ameche is properly priggish, and Faye is all right, at least when she’s able to display some spirit, but they both fall for a gambit so absurdly obvious you want to facepalm when Dion reveals it. Donlevy is suitably sleazy and Andy Devine, with his great scratchy voice, makes for some decent comic relief; in bit parts, Eddie Collins is amusing as a drunk (“This is the only bar in Chicago I haven’t been thrown out of!”) and it’s cool to see Rondo Hatton, with his distinctive features, as Gil Warren’s right-hand man.

Chicago also won the last Oscar for Best Assistant Director and was nominated for Best Original Story (despite it being a total rip-off of San Francisco), Best Music (Scoring), and Best Sound, the last of which was pretty well deserved. Odd that the sets weren’t nominated, but with the Academy, you have to expect a certain measure of absurdity – like this okay film getting nominated for Best Picture over Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.

Score: 67

*Although it competed at the 10th Academy Awards, honoring the films of 1937, most sources list In Old Chicago as a 1938 film, it’s copyrighted as such, and according to the IMDb it premiered on January 6, 1938. While it may have had an Oscar-qualifying release in late 1937, I have yet to find any actual evidence of it.

Out of Africa (1985) – ***

On paper, Out of Africa makes sense as a Best Picture winner: a sweeping period epic, headlined by two big stars, based on the life of a renowned writer, shot on location in Africa by a well-regarded director coming off a massive hit—and pivoting from that film’s comedy to romantic drama, and big hit in of itself (the 5th highest-grossing film of the year). But then you watch the film—or do you? How many people actually go back to this film unless they’re watching all the Picture winners? And of those who’ve seen it, how many of them really remember that much about it? How much is there to really remember?

In 1913, Danish aristocrat Karen Dinesen (Meryl Streep) is starting to feel like an old maid, and suggests to Baron Bror von Blixen (Klaus Maria Brandauer), her friend and the brother of her current lover, that they marry; she needs a husband and he needs money. He agrees, and they plan to move to a farm in Kenya, near Nairobi, where they’ll start a dairy. But when Karen arrives in Nairobi, Bror (after a rather hasty wedding) tells her they’ll be growing coffee instead.

Their marriage quickly suffers for Bror’s frequent absences and infidelities, culminating when he gives Karen syphilis. She has already formed a bond with British hunter Denys Finch Hatton (Robert Redford), whom she met shortly after arriving in Kenya, and after she recovers, they begin a romance—but he too proves a free spirit with little interest in long-term commitment. Eventually, after Karen has divorced Bror, lost the farm, and arranged to return to Denmark, Denys is killed in a plane crash, and she becomes a renowned writer, memorializing him in her memoirs.

Yes, Karen Blixen was and is better known under her pen name Isak Dinesen, known for Out of Africa, its follow-up Shadows on the Grass, and her short stories, especially her Seven Gothic Tales and “Babette’s Feast,” which itself became an Oscar-winning film. There’s a key scene in the development of her relationship with Denys, where she tells him and their friend Berkeley Cole (Michael Kitchen) an improvised story, using a single line from Denys as a prompt.

It’s one of the film’s most engaging scenes, but most of the film is less concerned with Karen as a writer than with her as the manager of a farm, a European in Africa, and a strong-willed, frequently disappointed wife and lover. That wouldn’t be an issue if those aspects of the story were more interesting, but for all the star power and lush production, it amounts to very little.

Kurt Luedtke’s script is a big part of the problem. Based on Dinesen’s memoirs and several biographies, it tries to fit an 18-year span of time into 161 minutes, not itself an impossible task by any means, but the results are decidedly flawed. There are too many short scenes, too many characters that come and go without ever blossoming into fully developed characters, too many parties and candle-lit dinners and arrivals and departures and too little actual drama.

Fatally, we never really buy that much into the central relationship; we never really understand why Karen is so taken with Denys beyond his looking like Robert Redford and her marriage, which wasn’t exactly passionate to begin with, going flat. You can feel for Karen, marrying one man who was never any good and loving another who would never settle down, but as told, it’s not exactly a gripping story.

It doesn’t help that the film handles the racial politics of the setting in a pretty tame manner. Oh, it acknowledges that the native Africans are being treated as intruders on their own land, and that Karen has to go to considerable lengths to leave even a small amount of land for the Kikuyu to live on. But there’s never any sign that the African servants who work for the white characters are unhappy with their lot, and indeed they seem to be largely quite fond of and loyal to the white characters – or at least the ones we’re meant to like.

So, the Oscar for Luedtke’s script was quite undeserved. But what about the other six? Well, Best Cinematography was a solid choice. It does a fine job with the natural beauty of Africa, and there’s a striking image at the start of Denys silhouetted against a giant orange sun. Best Score wasn’t a terrible choice either; John Barry’s score is hardly his most memorable work, but it’s solid lush period-epic music. Best Art Direction was an iffy choice given the competition (Ran, Brazil), but the sets are fine. Best Sound I don’t really get; it sounds all right, but there’s just not that much that’s dynamic or ambitious about the soundscape.

Best Director wasn’t especially merited either; Sydney Pollack stages it competently, of course, but there’s no particular vision at work here. He’d been a major director for years and was coming off the enormous success of Tootsie, so I get it. But over Kurosawa’s only nomination, and for Ran no less? Not great. And Picture? Well, it’s only nominee of 1985 I’ve seen so far, and while none of the others feel like they had to win, The Color Purple might’ve held up better, Kiss of the Spider Woman would’ve been a daring choice, Witness has a memorable premise, and Prizzi’s Honor…I mean, John Huston was a legend, right?

The other nominations were for Streep (she’s good, of course), Brandauer (probably the best part of the film, since the morally gray Bror is easily the most interesting character), the costumes (fine), and the editing (no). Redford is often cited as the major weakness of the film, and he’s not great, but I think the writing is the bigger problem. Malick Bowens is quite good as Farah, Karen’s butler and the most prominent African character, but of course he wasn’t nominated for anything.

Score: 66

The Brood (1979) – ***

We all know that stress takes a toll on the body. Even if it doesn’t cause ulcers (thanks, H. pylori) it can rob us of sleep, cloud our minds, aggravate our aches and pains – and in the case of Nola Carveth (Samantha Eggar), it can lead to the development of a sac from which we birth small hominids (the titular brood) which we unconsciously control with our emotions – when we’re at peace, they’re benign, but when we’re upset, they can become homicidal.

Yes, we’re in David Cronenberg territory, in a film which grew out of an ugly divorce and custody battle with his first wife – context which makes the film somewhat uncomfortable to watch and process. At the same time, I think it’s clear that Nola’s problems aren’t that she’s a woman, but that she’s surrounded by people – mostly men, except for her mother – who passively fail her or actively manipulate her. In the latter category is her therapist, Dr. Hal Raglan (Oliver Reed).

The film opens with Dr. Raglan conducting a role-play session in front of an audience with his patient Mike (Gary McKeehan), assuming the role of Mike’s emotionally abusive father and forcing Mike to confront his own resentments and push through them. Raglan calls his method “psychoplasmics,” and houses his patients at his Somafree Institute. Nola he keeps isolated from almost everyone, except himself, his staff, and her daughter Candice (Cindy Hinds).

Nola’s estranged husband Frank (Art Hindle) objects to this, especially after he discovers scratches and bruises on Candice’s back, and tries to gather evidence to use against Raglan in court. Meanwhile, Candice’s grandmother/Nola’s estranged mother Juliana (Nuala Fitzgerald) is murdered by an assailant we only glimpse, who flees before the police arrive. It then kills Nola’s father Barton (Henry Beckman), who was preparing to challenge Raglan over his keeping Nola isolated.

The assailant dies shortly after Frank arrives on the scene, and later the coroner reveals that it has no umbilical cord and no genitals, only a sac of nutrient fluid which limits the creature’s lifespan. What he doesn’t know is that there are more of them, and after two of them abduct Candice and kill her teacher, the stage is set for the revelation of their true nature, and the final confrontation between husband and wife.

Cronenberg has always been full of fascinating ideas, and the basic premise of The Brood is, shall we say, a fertile one. It was one of his early films – his fourth professional feature, and the first to feature what I’d consider major actors – and to a degree it shows; he would soon grow more proficient at translating his ideas into a dramatic context or freeing them from the needs of drama altogether (just look at Crimes of the Future). There are neat ideas here, but the actual narrative isn’t quite sophisticated enough for them to serve as more than window dressing.

Cronenberg would also improve as a director, both on a technical level – the brood’s attacks are pretty clumsily staged – and as a director of actors, though he’d also be able to afford better ones. Reed is excellent as Raglan, his great voice and sly presence combining manipulative menace and soothing authority (Raglan is really a fascinating character, certainly not a hero but too complex to dismiss as a simple villain) and Eggar embraces Nola’s pain and rage alike, sympathizing with the one while showing us the destructive force of the other. She also embraces the bloody horror of the climax; she definitely understood the assignment.

But they’re not really the stars of the film, Hindle is, and while he’s not bad, he just isn’t as dynamic or memorable as they are (though, to be sure, Frank isn’t that memorable of a character). And even as child performances go, Hinds is fairly weak, though it’s hard to say if she’s simply a stiff actor or if Cronenberg was trying to go for a blunted affect and went too far. Some of the supporting cast are strong – McKeehan is movingly pathetic as the broken-spirited Mike – but most are adequate at best.

On a technical level, it’s fairly solid; Mark Irwin’s cinematography is decent, Howard Shore’s score (his first, and the first of many for Cronenberg) is full of anxious strings, Carol Spier’s art direction revels in the wonderfully tacky aesthetics of the 70s, and the gore effects are modest but quite acceptable. It all hints at better things to come, but in its own right, it’s still well above average.

There are moments here to treasure: Jan Hartog (Robert A. Silverman), casually revealing a cancerous growth on his throat, a drunk Barton caressing the police-tape outline marking where Juliana’s body was found, the scene at the coroner’s, lit in lurid magenta, or the opening demonstration of Raglan’s methods, where he plays the role of Mike’s abusive father. And the ending, which Danny Peary criticized in Cult Movies for not being more optimistic, is well-judged in light of the established theme that trauma is inherited, passed down, grows over time, and is incredibly difficult to exorcise. There’s room to hope that the right lessons have been learned. But the final shot of Candy’s stoic face tells us that whatever the outcome, she’s got a long and difficult road ahead.

Score: 75