My Favorite Movies: The Graduate (1967)

If you line up all the great American movies side by side, it is easy to tell where the line is divided between what can be considered classic and what is modern. There is a distinct difference between the movies of classic Hollywood before the late 60s and the ones that came out after the popularity of movies like Bonnie and Clyde, In the Heat of the Night, and The Graduate. There is no one specific reason for The Graduate being as monumental as it is. I think it simply hit the right note for a lot of people.

It also helped create the beginnings of what would essentially become the American version of the New Wave cinema movement that was rushing through Europe earlier that decade, but took a while to reach our side of the water. The movement was basically a rebellion against traditional movie-making. Boundaries were questioned and limits were tested. Our version led to movies like Midnight Cowboy and Easy Rider, but it did, more or less, begin with The Graduate.

Mike Nichols was pretty young for being an Oscar-winning director, though he had made the hugely influential Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? a year earlier. Only in his mid-thirties at the time, Nichols was at the right age to create something timelessly youthful. This is one of the rare films that truly understand the younger generation without talking down to it. I first saw it at a young age, which is when it makes the strongest impact. It stuck with me and it still holds up after years of repeat viewings.

This really is the sort of movie that should be dated, but isn’t. The movie’s style is undeniably from the 60s, yet it presents itself without flash or grandeur. Probably the most dated thing about it is the music from Simon and Garfunkel, which itself has become timeless. The film’s soundtrack is the first album I ever bought, and songs like “Mrs. Robinson,” “Scarborough Fair” and “The Sound of Silence” remain favorites.

People who either haven’t seen the movie or who only saw it once and have allowed their memories to conform to pop culture references, think that this is a story about a young man’s romance with an old woman. That is not so. This is not Harold and Maude, nor a romance in any way. It does begin with an affair between a twenty year-old college graduate and one of his parent’s friends, but does not exclusively revolve around it. In fact, the affair is only part of the story in forms of suggestion and implication and the word sex is never uttered.

The affair is merely a setting to more clearly showcase the loneliness and confusion that Dustin Hoffman’s character goes through, as well as serving as a catalyst for his relationship with the Katharine Ross character. Benjamin Braddock is the young man in question, and he is the everyman to which all teenagers can relate. He is frightened by prospects of his future, constantly infuriated by his parents, and incredibly eager to do something wild.

That is when Mrs. Robinson shows up, barreling into Ben’s room during a party one night and demanding that he drive her home. Once there, she tells him he must stay until her husband gets home at an undetermined time. This leads to the immortal quote, “Mrs. Robinson, you’re trying to seduce me.” She just laughs at him, “The idea never occurred to me, but I’m flattered.” She’s lying.

In recent years, I have come to feel sorry for Mrs. Robinson. Maybe I’m just getting older, because she is obviously the representative of the older generation, just as Ben is for the young. Anne Bancroft’s performance is a delicate mixture of coldness and the desire for attention. This woman is trying to bury herself beneath any relationship she can get her hands on. A telling scene is when Ben insists that the two have a real conversation. She suggests they discuss art, before stating she knows nothing about the subject. He then begins prying about her husband, and when he discovers they met in college, he asks what she majored in.

“Art,” she replies. I can’t decide if this is the truth or more burying, nor which one is more pathetic. She is clearly meant to be the villain of the picture because she does everything in her power to keep Benjamin and her daughter Elaine apart, even though they have grown quite fond of each other. Quite frankly, would you want your daughter running around with a guy you know first-hand is a pervert? This is supposed to make her mean, but I think it makes her real.

I have never felt any real connection between Ben and Elaine. He seems to fall for her mostly because she is much sweeter, nicer, and more pleasant than her mother. The sudden contrast is masquerading as love. I remember that the first time I saw The Graduate, I cheered for Ben and his quest for Elaine’s hand. Now, I just think he’s stupid. I can understand what leads him to the wild behavior that drives his actions for the second half of the film. Mostly, his parents are to blame. They are portrayed as extremely obnoxious people who have no time nor desire to really listen to their son.

Consider the scene of Ben’s birthday party, during which he is surrounded by his parents’ friends he doesn’t like, and forced to demonstrate his birthday present: a diving suit. He lunges into the pool and sits at the bottom, presumably waiting for things to change. That is why Mrs. Robinson’s proposal seems like the perfect way to get him out of his little funk. It seems to me that he never gives Mrs. Robinson due credit because she keeps to herself so much that her actions towards the end of the film come across as more cruel than they probably are. She did, after all, spark Ben’s fascination with her daughter, and she gave him a real purpose.

He is still a very selfish, misguided guy, though. He throws away his entire life to chase after this girl he only had one date with. His parents did spend all that money on his education and really did have only the best in mind for him. Other adults are equally dismissed, even though there probably was a good career in plastics. Youth would rather be free of authority than stuck in a life-long routine. That is why I see this movie as more of a cautionary tale than an inspirational one, though it presents its message subtly.

At the end of the film, Ben convinces Elaine to run away with him. Within moments, they are bored with each other. This proves that rebellion is not triumph and infatuation is not love. That’s the way I see it, and others would be pleased to argue with me. That’s the beauty of the film. It presents the basic, simple facts of the case and lets the viewer fill in the emotional blanks. You may find yourself relating to Mrs. Robinson, or cheering for Ben, or even despising all of the characters involved. Any way you see it, each viewing will still be just as fresh, interesting, and funny as it was last time.

My Favorite Movies: Fargo (1996)

A while back, when anyone would ask me what my all-time favorite movie was, my response would be that I have so many favorite movies that I couldn’t possibly pick just one. After some careful thought on the matter, though, I have selected a title that does represent everything I love about the movies. Now when I am asked that question, I can safely answer Fargo. 

It is arguably the best, and certainly the most famous, of the films from Joel and Ethan Coen, two brothers who write, produce, and direct all their movies simultaneously. They often alternate who gets the credit. For example, Joel gets the directing credit for Fargo, even though they both had everything to do with all aspects of the production. With Fargo, they created a masterpiece that cannot be lumped in with any single genre. It is equal parts drama, comedy, and thriller, and is highly successful as all three. I usually remember the more dramatic things the most when recalling the film, and am usually surprised to rediscover how funny it is as well.

One of the Coens’ greatest ticks is repetition. When we are first introduced to the main characters, Marge and her husband Norm, it is early in the morning and he says she needs some breakfast. 

“I’ll make you some eggs,” he says. She responds that he doesn’t have to because she has to run, but he argues that she needs her breakfast. 

“I’ll make you some eggs,” he says again. 

The things other people seem to most remember are the funny dialects of the Minnesota natives and the particularly gruesome demise that befalls a main character, though I wouldn’t dare spoil it here. What the film is primarily concerned with is the simple lives that are lived by an entire subculture of America: those wonderful people from up north.

At the beginning of the film, a text screen appears claiming that it was based on true events and that the names have been changed to protect the innocent and that the incidents that occurred remain intact. In contrast, at the end of the credits appears the disclaimer that nothing in the film is intentionally similar to any real-life people or places. So, in a way, the film is a hoax, and some could call it false advertising, but I don’t really see it that way. People often take historical liberties when creating a cinematic adaptation of actual events. Frankly, if Fargo had been based on a true story, the Coens’ attention to detail would far surpass that of their more historical peers.

Look at the scene in which the two featured criminals commit the bloody triple homicide that leads to the investigation at the front of the story. The manner of its telling is matter of fact and incredibly attentive to an exactness that could have easily been built off of truth. Consider also the scene towards the end of the film in which Steve Buscemi is firing a gun, and notice how many times it’s fired and why. It is as if there was a record of what must happen in this moment and that there is a true desire to portray it accurately. It is easy to imagine William H. Macy going to the prison holding the real Jerry Lundegaard, and studying him in order to copy his accent and mannerisms. But there is no Jerry Lundegaard. There is only William H. Macy. 

I recall a story about a young lady from oversees (I forget which country) who took her life savings and came to America to find the million dollars shown buried in the movie. That is a true story and I can imagine how disappointed she must have been when her attention was finally brought to that credits disclaimer. That is proof that this film has real power on the uninitiated to convince them that it is truth. They probably swear up and down that what they’ve seen is real, and that is a testament to the perfectly rendered realism of the Coens’ films.

I have briefly seen clips of Frances McDormand in real life and they have solidified how great an actress she is. Concerning the creation of police officer Marge Gunderson, the Coens and McDormand did something really amazing. They went farther than just creating a character. Marge is a real person. Even though she doesn’t even have her first scene until a third of the way into the film, her presence is the most memorable asset it has. It is such an immersive and minimal performance that it is easy to miss the fact that she is acting.

Her life is documented so thoroughly, that we get the impression that she goes right on existing, even when she isn’t on screen. Her frustration at a drive-thru, her sickness from her pregnancy, and her awkward meeting with an old friend hold just as much interest as the more exciting portions of the film. This is because Marge is doing what we do every day and that makes us comfortable with her. She is only a heroine because her luck and spunk assist her in just the right times and get her to just the right place to do her job as best as possible. Still, she is also far more intelligent than most of the people surrounding her.

Take, for instance, the scene in which her partner informs her he has put the word out for a search for license plates beginning in DLR. 

“I don’t think I agree 100% on your police work there, Lou,” she says, pointing out that they should probably be looking for dealer plates. She is too kind too allow the situation to become uncomfortable.

“Have you heard the one about the guy who couldn’t afford personalized plates ,so he went and changed his name to J3L2404?”

Another highlight is when she interviews two girls who met up with the criminals in question. They are very dumb, with one consistently insisting that the little guy was funny looking. Not in any particular way, just funny looking. It must take Marge a lot of effort to avoid sarcasm most days.

Another great performance is given by William H. Macy as the guy who sparks action without having very much to do with it. He sends a couple of nasty guys to kidnap his wife so that they can all share in the ransom money from her wealthy father. It is amusing and depressing watching his befuddlement as things go more and more downhill. Blood is shed, he winds up in prison, and he never even gets to see the money. It is like Marge says in the wonderful moment while she is driving the surviving crook away from the scene of the crime, “There’s more to life than a little money, you know. Don’tcha know that? And here you are, and it’s a beautiful day. I just don’t understand it.”

The movie could have easily ended here and still would have been great. But the last scene is actually quite simply Marge and Norm sitting on their bed, talking about postage stamps. Fargo cares so much about the little things like two people just happy and content to be near each other that this becomes the most important moment in the film, even overshadowing all the more traditionally intriguing murder and corruption. This is what makes the movie so terrific. You betcha.

My Favorite Movies: The Wizard of Oz (1939)

What movie from any time or any place in the world has had a bigger impact on viewers than The Wizard of Oz? It is certainly the most seen and well-known motion picture ever made, endlessly parodied and referenced, with every single little thing that appears in the movie now a permanent part of American culture. One of its endearing qualities is its association with pretty much every person’s nostalgia attached to it. Most people see it when they are children and then always associate its images with their childhood. Even I, who was raised in a strict Baptist church that strongly protested letting parents show the movie to their children because of its depiction of “good witchcraft,” saw it at a young age. I know this because I remember having nightmares about the witch flying past my window.

I have seen The Wizard of Oz many times through the years, to the point that I have taken it for granted. Having just watched it for the first time in years, and for the first time as a real adult, I am only just realizing what an extraordinary force the movie is. It’s easy enough for grown-ups to laugh at all its goofiness, with the singing midgets and talking trees, but what would the movie’s fantasy world be without these charming moments of cute whimsy? It would be bleeding terrifying, that’s what.

Residing alongside all the cute characters and bright colors of Oz are, of course, the Wicked Witch and her flying monkeys. Margaret Hamilton’s evil sorceress is arguably the most famous element of the film, and she is a real scene-stealer, croaking and cackling the movie’s most famous lines (“I’ll get you my pretty, and your little dog, too!”) and building up to her messy demise. If children are scared of the movie, it’s probably because of her, and why shouldn’t they be? She threatens to kill the main character.

The film is also psychologically frightening. Even though it ultimately suggests that the entire fantasy section is a dream, consider the fact that the moral of the story is “there’s no place like home.” This refers to a real home with a real family. Note that Dorothy lives with her aunt and uncle who ignore her, and she loves her dog Toto so much as to suggest that it is her only “real” family. The idea that that family could be taken away from her is what makes her want to run away, and why she would dream that an evil witch has nothing better to do than threaten it.

Judy Garland as Dorothy is a warm and lovable performance and the movie wouldn’t have worked so well without her. Something most people seem to miss is how scared this little girl is. We all know that Garland was several years older than the character, but she brings such a timidity to the role that we believe it for every second. A wise-cracking Shirley Temple defiantly skipping through Oz would have been ridiculous and would have meant nothing. Judy Garland plays the part not far from the truth and, therefore, it rings even more true. Horror stories persist that the studio pumped her full of speed at the beginning of every shoot and followed it with a tranquilizer. The uncomfortable brassiere she had to wear to make her chest appear flatter also caused her physical harm, and none of it could have helped her eventual drug addiction and untimely death. What she got in return, whether she wanted it or not, was eternal stardom.

Although the movie’s story, message, content and psychological effect on all who see it have been the source of much careful study through the decades, the film was never meant to be analyzed. Its sole intention is to be a pleasing entertainment, which it continues to be. Although director Victor Fleming and his crew obviously had no idea they were making what would become the most beloved film ever, but they were surely anticipating success. MGM gave it the largest budget of any movie to date, which was topped the same year by their own Gone with the Wind.

The art design of The Wizard of Oz is one of its many pleasures, evoking a style most commonly associated with the stage, only bigger. I often hear complaints about how the sets and costumes look fake and silly and aren’t big and realistic enough. I also heard someone say once that a bigger yellow brick road would not have been a better one. One of the delights of watching this movie in our time of great technological advancements is being able to see a magical world that actually exists. No matter how much more expensive creating an Oz today would be, the 1939 one is still more real. It is my opinion that computers have stolen all the true charm of the movies for this reason. I suppose the only real complaint that could be raised about natural special effects is that they do sometimes go awry, like when Margaret Hamilton was severely burned during a fire mishap.

The Wizard of Oz is a prime example of cinematic imagination at its peak. Watching it seventy years after its release is a reminder of the wondrous things film is capable of, now that we’re living in an age where actually awe-inspiring movies are a rarity. That is this movie’s power. It sparks a feeling of innocence and amazement inside all of us that few other things can. To a certain extent, the movies couldn’t exist as they do without Dorothy, Toto, the witches, the monkeys, the Scarecrow, the Tin Man, the Cowardly Lion and the Great and Powerful himself. These are our nation’s symbols of childhood, and the best place I can think of to start discovering great movies. 

My Favorite Movies: The Night of the Hunter (1955)

The Night of the Hunter is one of the few films that has been firmly cemented into the critical consciousness without ever having been widely recognized by audiences. Anyone who sees it will never forget it, but so few people see it. It was a movie against type. It featured styles and techniques that were incredibly new alongside ones that dated back to the silent era. German expressionism, the style used in films like Nosferatu and The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari, was resurrected in an alarmingly Southern American setting. Most alarmingly, the film is decidedly unconventional, playing out in its own curious world with little care as to whether or not the audience is keeping up with it.

Charles Laughton had been one of the most successful British actors, starring in numerous popular American movies throughout the 30s and 40s. With The Night of the Hunter, he was giving directing a go for the first and only time. He had purchased the rights to a ridiculous novel of the same name and commissioned James Agee to write the screenplay. Reports say that Agee was in the darkest stages of drunkenness at the time and that Laughton changed much of the script himself. Agee died before the film was released.

The cast of the film is strange and varied. As two kids with a big secret, there are James Gleason and Evelyn Varden, who, quite frankly, are never altogether convincing as actors, but can perhaps be excused as children. Then there is Shelley Winters as the woman driven half-mad by the execution of her criminal husband and willing to give into the first seemingly good thing that comes along. Also giving what is oddly enough one of the finest performances of her career is Lillian Gish, former silent star who is more than praise-worthy in her sound appearance here.

Robert Mitchum was cast in the lead as a sinister preacher bent on seeking out a treasure hidden by one of his prison mates. Mitchum starred in this film at a point in time when he was still more or less a recognizable star, but had not appeared in a major Hollywood motion picture for years, having been more famously involved in a drug scandal. It is perhaps this history that makes his performance so believable. Harry Powell is a downright evil character and one that would have never worked without Mitchum behind it.

If the film had been made today, this character would not have been so exaggerated or so theatrical, probably toned down to a dismissible slasher. Powell is more than just a killer or a thief and cannot be described with any such narrow moniker. It is even debatable if he is crazy or not. Shown having actual conversations with God that usually concern the need to wipe out sin in ways God would not have actually approved, Powell seems to have created a loophole in Earthly morality. He considers himself above the logic of a world that would consider most of his actions wrong, because he is excusing them with divine authority he does not possess.

I think the fact alone that Powell is such a wicked character and a preacher is part of what makes the character so memorable. This film was released not long after the removal of the Hayes code which had previously limited Hollywood’s ability to put anything remotely offensive into their movies, including the appearance of a man of God who was anything less than pure. The most memorable thing about the character, though, is his speech about good and bad as demonstrated by the words “love” and “hate” that have been tattooed on either hand. There are a great many film fans who can quote this scene without faltering.

The most frightening thing about The Night of the Hunter is the bizarre world it creates. It does not take place in reality, but in a sort of dream. It is said that it was always the intention that the film create what would be perceived as a children’s nightmare and many images support this. The first time Harry Powell turns up anywhere near the children is when his shadow is very suddenly cast onto the wall of their room. He stands outside their house ominously singing the hymn “Leaning on the Everlasting Arms.”

I actually find it a bit strange that nobody ever really comments on the fact that this movie features children in genuine danger. This was certainly uncommon for its time and remains so today. The scene where Powell chases the children is really quite horrifying. They escape his grasp in a makeshift boat, but only barely. Another iconic image is that of the children sleeping in someone’s barn as Reverend Powell is riding a horse past them in the distance. The boy looks on in awe and asks a good question: “Don’t he ever sleep?” Monsters seldom do.

There seems to be some debate in the critical world as to whether or not the ending is appropriate. Not to spoil anything, but the movie does conclude cheerfully. Brother Love conquers Brother Hate, partly with the help of the Lillian Gish character. I think the scene in which Gish, gun in tow, defiantly sings back at Powell is one of the most chilling in the film, but because it is so triumphant. Others don’t see how a Sunday school lesson is the right climax to a horror story, but they are missing the point. The film’s intention is not only to terrify us, but mainly to inspire. Can you imagine how cruel it would have been to end the film the only other possible way?

When it was released back in 1955, nobody liked it. It was far too unusual and different. Audiences and critics alike had no idea what to do with it, and it sank into obscurity. Many years later, it received a renewal of interest, and is now often referred to as one of the greatest movies ever made. Despite this, it is a still relatively unknown picture. Perhaps if audiences had realized how great it was sooner, Laughton would have made other masterpieces. Instead, he cut himself off from the industry almost entirely and died seven years later. Thankfully, his brilliant, haunting, and only work has been well preserved through the years and can be enjoyed regularly by those who know it.

This is not how you watch a movie.

I have made a personal resolution not to watch movies with other people anymore, at least not for the first time. I go to the movies pretty much every week, often with friends and family. I prefer going by myself. Anytime a friend asks me to go to a movie, I always want to say no, yet almost always say yes. It’s simply a matter of manners. There’s never really a good reason for saying, “Yes, I want to see that movie, but by myself, if you don’t mind.”

For most people, seeing a movie is a perfect hang-out activity. As such, not agreeing to see a movie with a friend is like saying you don’t want to hang out with that person, which may not necessarily be the case. I just get so easily annoyed when it comes to the movies because they are my primary distraction in life. It drives me crazy to sit next to someone who is not paying attention, whether because they’re talking or texting or intermittently leaving. This is all an incredible distraction for me who is actually there to watch the movie without interruption. The annoyance increases if someone leaves by their own choice and then asks me to further delay my viewing enjoyment by asking what happened while they were away. And sometimes it can’t so easily be explained in a hurried whisper. Use the restroom and get refreshments before it starts and this will rarely be an issue.

There are other things people do at the movies that distract and annoy me, like fidgeting, eating, sniffling and breathing heavily. I understand these things can’t be helped and I hold nothing against the person doing them, but that doesn’t keep them from deterring my immersion in the movie. Again, when I go to the movies, I want to watch the movie. If I want to hang out, I’ll do it elsewhere.

Some people specifically go to movies with their friends to discuss it afterwards. I do not enjoy this. For one thing, I typically write my reviews the next day, to allow enough time for the movie to sink in and my thoughts to come together. Immediately after the movie is not a good time for me to give my opinion at any real length. This is particularly obnoxious when I hated the movie and my friend loved it, or vice versa. I usually avoid saying anything at all in these situations, and the whole thing can be so awkward that the experience is soiled. This goes for situations where you’re seeing a movie that contains content you know the other person doesn’t like, which results in spending half the movie worrying about it. It’s far better to go alone and bother just with your own opinions.

 In most cases, I watch movies alone in my room. Throughout the film, my door remains shut and my phone off, and I take as few breaks as possible. However, the benefits of seeing movies on the big screen while you still can are great enough to warrant my regular visits even when they’re aggravating. That is why I’ve decided to simply stop seeing movies with other people. Not to offend them and not to cut myself off from the world, but because I literally cannot enjoy a movie unless I’m alone, and it’s foolish to keep ignoring that. This all probably sounds very obsessive and silly to most, but it’s the way I feel about it and I wanted to explain myself before anyone started getting mad at me. Besides all my selfish intentions, I’m also helping my friends by not going with them, because they should be just as concerned about being annoyed by me as I am by them.

Look at it this way. When you’re reading a book, you probably don’t put up with someone sitting beside you talking, chewing loudly, nudging you, or asking what’s happening. If you don’t invest in a movie just as much, then you’re not fully experiencing it. All movies, even bad ones, deserve enough respect that we at least pay attention. That is all.

My Favorite Movies: Citizen Kane (1941)

Every ten years, the British Film Institute’s Sight and Sound magazine polls hundreds of critics and directors to come up with a list of the greatest movies ever made. This year was one of those years, with Alfred Hitchcock’s Vertigo ranking number one. Citizen Kane was number two. This is unheard of. If there’s one thing about Orson Welles’ masterpiece that is widespread common knowledge, it’s that it is the greatest movie of all time. Everybody says so. When the film was released in 1941, it was met with a great deal of hatred and envy and some quiet praise. Decades later, it crept into its throne as it became the king of film study and criticism.

If we must pick just one movie as the greatest, it may as well be Citizen Kane. However, this crown has done the movie a bit of a disservice. A modern movie-goer who never watches classics may watch Citizen Kane out of context because of its reputation and not see it as a cinematic miracle. In fact, I have heard just as many negative reactions to the movie as positive ones, because I have noticed a tendency for people to dislike whatever’s the most popular. Those who aren’t yet familiar with Vertigo will soon hate it.

What all the understood praise doesn’t convey is that Citizen Kane is a truly great movie. Its production has become film legend. Welles was only 25 when he wrote, directed and starred in the film, the first he had been involved with and one of the only ones he’d ever have complete control over. The story of the rise and fall of an enormous newspaper tycoon was seen as a jab at William Randolph Hearst, who used his power to try to keep the film from release. He did succeed in temporarily burying it and guaranteeing that Welles’ future career would be overshadowed by studio meddling, for fear that his free creativity would only get everyone into trouble. The reason it became so well regarded later is usually attributed to the technological advances with deep focus and other camera tricks, the unprecedented addition of ceilings to the elaborate sets, and all the other notoriety.

What never seems to come up is how great Welles’ storytelling abilities were. I think the movie’s greatest strength is how disconnected it is. We were never meant to care about the man the story is about, but rather to care about the story itself. There are many clues, the most obvious of which is the revelation of just what “rosebud” refers to, that suggest that the point and moral of the film is that the man’s life we are witnessing doesn’t ultimately matter. As such, it is very cold and, therefore, very powerful. There are scenes that still give me chills no matter how many times I’ve seen them, and the fact that the movie always leaves me feeling drained proves that it did its job well.

The biggest danger in Citizen Kane’s famous greatness is the temptation to overindulge. Everyone falls back on it too much, studies it too extensively. If the movie was nothing but a textbook guide to cinematic trickery, it would be worthless. I do believe to an extent that Welles was probably more interested in perfecting than entertaining, but his film is great above all else because it actually is entertaining, as well as perfect. A movie can be great by being one or the other, but having both is what elevates it to the top of the ladder.

Citizen Kane was one of the first classic movies I ever saw. I watched it along with several other essentials many years ago with the intent of seeing the movies everyone ought to see. Knowing nothing about it, its greatness was a surprise to me and the impact was long-lasting. Even now that I am aware of its true place in movie history, I still see it and revisit it as a great movie that has been a part of my movie life since the beginning, not just as an object to be unraveled. I can also easily call it one of the primary reasons I became so fully interested in film from an artistic perspective. The movie has left a similar impression on so many others, making it one of the most influential movies ever made. Orson Welles was a great entertainer and artist, but was most valuable as a pioneer. There haven’t been too many individuals who had the genius to single-handedly change a whole medium. Welles was one of them and, 70 years later, Citizen Kane is still changing everything.

My Favorite Movies: Psycho (1960)

One of the things commonly lacking in the minds behind the film of today is perfectionism. Throughout the last century, many of the greatest geniuses of the movie medium have been acute perfectionists. One of the greatest of these was Alfred Hitchcock. He had every possible angle for his films carefully constructed in his mind, often put down on paper in little storyboards depicting all potential shots that could be used in the film. These would be altered and reconstructed and deleted until it was just the way he envisioned it should be. By the time shooting actually began, there was very little room for error. It had all been planned to the extreme and everything would be just right. The result being that the audience would be seeing only precisely what Hitchcock meant them to see.

Take the famous shower scene in Psycho. Most people who see the film, particularly those who saw it in 1960, think they have seen two things. First, they think they have seen a nude woman. This is nowhere near true, as none of the more than ninety shots used in the scene show anything below the shoulders, with the exception of a brief shot of her stomach. Besides, actress Janet Leigh was wearing a body suit. Second, they think they have seen a woman get stabbed. The knife never touches her. It is moved up and down in a violent motion, but never pierces any skin. It is an illusion. We are told to see things and we have no reason to doubt we have seen them. Most of the movie and its plot works in the same way.

The most marvelous thing about Psycho is its deception. The shower scene is just one example of how we come to believe things that are far from true. This is because the direction is so convincing and controlled that we have no time to question anything we've been told. This makes the twists and surprises when they arrive that much more surprising. I am sure that it is not a spoiler anymore to point out that Janet Leigh's character, Marion Crane, dies. She is stabbed to death while taking a shower at the Bates motel. A simple string of events lead her to this end. She has stolen a rather large sum of money from her employer and has attempted to run off with it and share with her boyfriend. When we are first introduced to Marion, we would not believe that she would become a criminal so easily. When she does become a criminal, we cannot believe that anything really bad would happen to her. Both things happen quite suddenly.

When the man whose money she steals waves the cash around in her face, she is surprised. She spends the remainder of the scene behaving in as nonchalant a way as expected. Yet, the next time we see her, she is stashing the cash. I don't even think she thought this through very well. Something worth noticing, is the color of Marion's undergarments. Before she steals the money, they are white, and afterwords, they are black. Hitchcock has planted subliminal signs of character even down to mere clothing. With Norman Bates, we get signs through things like posture, nervous grins, and random lashes of anger. One of the best segments in the movie is when Norman takes Marion to the back of the hotel office, which is filled with large stuffed birds, and they vaguely discuss the future. She makes allusions to what she plans to do with her new fortune, and he laments his future stuck with a failing hotel and an invalid mother. When she suggests, very innocently, that he send her to a home, he gets angry.

This is the first time we notice something wrong with this guy, and it's all about the mom. His life revolves around her. In fact, he has no life outside of the old hotel. "A boy's best friend is his mother," he argues. I have great respect for Anthony Perkins' performance in this movie. It is, like everything else in Psycho, perfectly crafted. Perkins became Bates for this movie (and continued to play him in cheap sequels, which I shall not mention any further), a role mostly played from a presence. It is a very awkward presence that would make most acquaintances uncomfortable around him even if he didn't go a little mad sometimes. Yet, most of the time, there doesn't seem to be anything truly wrong with him. It takes more than half of the movie before we get full proof of his insanity, with only hints prior. This is the way it should be. There would be no proper mystery to the proceedings if we seriously knew he was bonkers from the get-go.

Besides being arguably the most thrilling movie on Hitchcock's resume, and indeed one of the most thrilling of all time, Psycho was important historically as a breaker of taboos, and not necessarily in the way you would think. For one thing, yes, there is visible bra-wearing in this movie, which, no, was not common at the time. However, that was not exactly news, since most advertisements for the film were graced by a partially-unclothed Leigh, warning viewers that this was for MATURE AUDIENCES ONLY. The biggest problem for most was the strong nature of the violence, although it would not be considered very harsh today. As I said earlier, nothing actually happens onscreen, and there is only very briefly any blood. The black and white cinematography helps along those lines a bit in making daylight scenes scary that would not have been as frightening in color. Another big taboo broken here is in the showing of an onscreen toilet. Not only is a toilet actually shown, it is flushed, which was absolutely unheard of, and extremely shocking. Such were the 1950s.

When Psycho was first released, it was done in an unprecedented manner. Only four screenings were shown each day at any theater. You would have to be careful to buy tickets ahead of time because of the popularity, and to ensure the utmost secrecy of the climactic surprises, the doors remained shut for the duration of the film and could not be opened. Audience members were requested to not share the finale with friends. In an age where spoilers abound on various movie and social networking sites, a movie like Psycho could have never succeeded. It's true that the ending isn't really a secret anymore, but there is always the off chance that someone may not have seen the film before, so I always try to keep my mouth sut when discussing it.

I can say, though, that even after multiple viewings, Psycho remains one of the most exciting films of any era or genre. It is a masterpiece that can only add enjoyment with repeat viewings, because works of art were meant to be enjoyed more than once. And I truly do consider this horror movie to be a real work of art, something that can't really be said about many others of its kind. Such superb cinematic trickery could only be pulled off by a handful. It helps to be a perfectionist.

They can't all be winners.

(Originally written for my other blog a year ago.)

There is an expression that is used to explain the large followings of certain cult films: "It's so bad, it's good." Troll 2 is so astoundingly horrible, it's great. Troll was a cheesy horror movie from a few years earlier about this troll that possesses a little girl and so on. Troll 2 has nothing to do with that movie. There aren't even any trolls in it. It is about goblins who look like midgets wearing burlap sacks and cheap Halloween costumes, because that's exactly what they are.

In the movie, a family of four go on vacation to the little town of Nilbog (Hint: it's goblin spelled backwards.) where the pesky vegetarian goblins who reside there repeatedly attempt to turn the newcomers into plants by forcing them to eat moldy food or drink bad milk. Then they eat them. Thanks to the help of the Magic Stone, goblins can also turn themselves into anything they want, so throughout the movie they appear as crazy humans. The only way they can be defeated is apparently with a double-decker bologna sandwich. I don't know why.

If the above paragraph made sense to you, you should be applauded. In all seriousness, Troll 2 is so bad it transcends the word "bad." I mean, what would we usually describe as a bad movie? Crappy dialogue, terrible acting, or a general misunderstanding of the simple logic of film-making, perhaps. Troll 2 has all three, but I don't think any of the crew had any idea that they were making what would later become known as one of the worst movies of all time. In the wonderful documentary Best Worst Movie, a fan describes it as being like a movie that aliens made after watching human movies for a few years. It can't even be described as a movie. It is a confusing, ridiculous, and somehow beautiful object at which you can't help but marvel.

The biggest production barrier was that the director, Claudio Fragasso, was Italian and spoke very little English. He and his wife wrote the screenplay based on what they believed Americans talked like and insisted that the lines be read exactly as written. This produced some of the most hilariously absurd moments in film history. The most famous being the scene in which one of the young male stars, after watching a girl get turned into green goo, states in a monotone voice, "They're eating her.....and then they're going to eat me. Oh my Gooooooooooooooo...." It trails forever in the most undramatic, least scary, most uncomfortable way possible. The video clip of this scene received over two million views on YouTube and sparked countless imitations and parodies.

There are too many other similarly horrible scenes to mention, including the numerous scenes featuring Michael Stephenson (the young boy in the family)'s dead grandfather showing up and saying heroic things before disappearing again for no reason. Equally hilarious is the seduction scene that involves corn-on-the-cob ("All we have to do is heat it up.") and the awkward conversation between a young couple with unintentional gay implications.

The star of the film, George Hardy, is a dentist who appears in the aforementioned documentary along with the rest of the cast and it is nice to see him recognize how truly terrible his ninety minutes of fame really were. Some of the other cast members took it a little too hard; the girl who played the daughter refuses to include it on her resume and will not appear at fan conventions, and the woman who played the mother became a recluse. There is one part of Best Worst Movie, when director Fragasso is jokingly asked by a fan why it is called Troll 2 if there aren't any trolls in it. He angrily responds, "You understand nothing!"

He seems so earnest in his belief that Troll 2 isn't bad that it almost makes you wish something was just lost in translation and that it isn't complete crap. Though he is obviously frustrated that the film gained popularity because of mockery, he does say at one point that it's just as much an honor to have made the worst movie of all time as the best. In the same way, it is vitally important that there be a worst movie of all time and other terrible movies. How else could we appreciate the good?