Monday at the Movies - October 29, 2012

Welcome to Week Thirty-Nine of “Monday at the Movies.”  With Halloween coming up this week, here are a few movies that suit the season.

Arsenic and Old Lace (1944) – Directed by Frank Capra (of It’s a Wonderful Life fame), Arsenic and Old Lace is to Halloween what Die Hard is to Christmas – set on the night in question but with little to do with the actual holiday.  Instead, the film flies off on its own fantastic plot, in which the holiday decorations are only incidental.  Here, newlywed Mortimer Brewster (Cary Grant) finds his honeymoon plans deterred when he learns his aunts have a dead body in the window seat; throw in his homicidal brother Jonathan (Raymond Massey, disguised as Boris Karloff), another brother who thinks he’s Teddy Roosevelt, and a drunken Doctor Einstein (personal favorite Peter Lorre), and it’s madcap mania as only the Forties could provide.  Though the plot sounds grim, Arsenic and Old Lace is fantastically funny and is easily one of my favorite movies of all time.  Grant is at his slapstick best, chewing the scenery and pacing frenetically without being “too cool for the room.”  Massey is menacing within the boundaries of a comedy film, and Lorre is as always a scene-stealer of the highest order.  In fact, as with any great film, the supporting cast here is exceptionally strong, with no one performance falling below the bar of excellence set by the film.  The standout scene here is the one in which Jonathan and his aunts haggle over which has killed more people:  Aunts Abby and Martha agree that they’ve killed twelve people, while Jonathan insists he has thirteen kills to his name.  In any other movie, it’d be a dark and dismal moment, but in Arsenic and Old Lace it’s unbelievably hysterical, one in two-hour-long line of memorable scenes.  Now if someone could get on that remake with Robert Downey, Jr. I’ve been planning.

The Shining (1980) – Out of the fog and into the smog, The Shining is a more traditional choice for All Hallow’s Eve.  It’s Stanley Kubrick’s spookiest flick, loosely adapted from the Stephen King novel of the same name.  Whether you think the movie is about Native American genocide or how Kubrick faked the moon landing or if it’s just a story about a guy who goes nuts with his family in the mountains, The Shining is damned creepy.  Jack Nicholson stars as Jack Torrance, new caretaker of the Overlook Hotel during the off-season; slowly but inexorably, Jack is driven mad by the winter weather, the badgering of his wife Wendy (Shelley Duvall), and the interference of potentially supernatural elements.  I first saw the film when I was too young to appreciate it, mistaking the film’s slow-burn approach to horror for sluggish, dry monotony.  As usually works for me, watching it with a crowd changed my perspective on the film, allowing me to savor the unsettling elements of the film and even appreciate the significant changes Kubrick made to the source material.  Nicholson’s performance is classic id, whose insane and wild-eyed mugging for the camera immortalized the “Here’s Johnny!” refrain.  Child actor Danny Lloyd, too, is a fine foil for Nicholson; his contemplative psychic ability is a pitch-perfect counterpoint to Nicholson’s agitated energy without ever allowing the audience to relax. It may not be the best Stephen King movie, but it’s one of Kubrick’s more enjoyable films.

That does it for this week’s edition of “Monday at the Movies.” We’ll see you here next week!

North by Northwest (1959)

I've always said that my favorite film from Master of Suspense Alfred Hitchcock was his voyeurism drama Rear Window (1954). Then I graduated to loving Shadow of a Doubt (1943), doubtless because I was a budding Joseph Cotten fan at the time. This spring I had the opportunity to re-view Hitch's 1960 masterpiece Psycho and declared it my favorite.

Now that I've had the pleasure of finally seeing the master chase film North by Northwest, I'm reconsidering my list. I'm contemplating throwing it out altogether due to the sheer impossibility of choosing a favorite from among these. And I haven't seen enough Hitch, I know, to fairly assess the entire canon. More gems, I'm sure, await me.

As Madison Avenue exec Roger Thornhill, Cary Grant finds himself enmeshed in a world of espionage, all thanks to a case of mistaken identity. Superspy Vandamm (James Mason, whose voice I now realize Eddie Izzard has perfected in his imitative routines) confuses Thornhill for CIA operative George Kaplan, and the chase is on: Thornhill is off to find the real Kaplan with the help of femme fatale Eve Kendall (the radiant Eva Marie Saint), while Vandamm wants to stop Thornhill/Kaplan from thwarting the dastardly smuggling of secrets.

In some ways, this is, as screenwriter Ernest Lehman remarked, "the Hitchcock picture to end all Hitchcock pictures." It's a sweeping epic across America, unlike anything Hitch had done before. The suspense is non pareil, the score by Bernard Herrmann thoroughly rousing, and the direction extraordinarily gifted. This was Cary Grant's last film with Hitchcock, and the two - as if knowing this was their final collaboration - have thrown everything into the movie.

The brilliance of the film lies in the film's ability to thrust us directly into Thornhill's shoes. Like the hapless ad exec, we have no idea who George Kaplan is, and we have even less idea what he has to do with the whole story. As Thornhill pieces together the stray tidbits of information he gets, so do we. However, very early on, we learn something that Thornhill doesn't: George Kaplan isn't real. This is the ultimate MacGuffin, Hitchcock's favorite film device - the plot element that drives the story and characters forward but is ultimately inconsequential (think the $40,000 in Psycho or the eponymous Maltese Falcon from 1941). The characters are ultimately chasing a ghost, yet it's not the ghost that holds the weight of the story. It's how firmly characters believe in the ghost that truly matters.

I tend to be a more passive filmgoer than most; that is to say, it's very seldom that a movie gets me physically riled up. Of course, emotions run high when I'm watching a movie, and I'm not embarassed to say that film has made me cry as many times as it's made me laugh. Yet by the end of North by Northwest and its (in)famous grapple atop Mount Rushmore, my heart was racing. Take that, Jack Bauer - this is the ultimate spy story.

So much literature has been exhausted in lauding Hitchcock for his masterful direction, yet I must beg permission for a few more words of praise. The direction here is perfect, never allowing the viewer to forget important plot elements such as the pistol loaded with blanks. And of course, for sheer potent sexual suggestion, nothing beats the film's closing shot of a train driving into a tunnel. It says a lot that no one's beaten this imagery, the strongest in subtle erotic imagery since the dual cigarettes in 1942's Now, Voyager.

If it's a no-holds-barred thrill ride you're after, I can't think of a better one than North by Northwest. Coming before James Bond, Jason Bourne, and all those other similarly-initialed superspies, I can't help but feel that this was a pioneer film from which a lot of espionage dramas have taken their cues. You'll be surprised at how familiar the film seems, yet you'll be dazzled by how immersive the experience is.

Just keep an eye on the MacGuffin.