Girl From Missouri (1934)

 “You could make me cheap and common.”

In Girl From Missouri Jean Harlow plays Eadie Chapman–a lowly chorus girl who’s determined to marry a millionaire. She gets herself added to the bevy of dancers slated to entertain geriatric millionaires and soon latches onto the crusty T.R Paige (Lionel Barrymore). Paine is at first amused by Eadie’s brazen behaviour, but sensing she’s trouble (and calling her a “blonde chiseller”) he fobs her off with some money right before he leaves for his home in Palm Beach. Eadie follows in hot pursuit–dragging along her faithful friend Kitty (Patsy Kelly).

Once in Palm Beach, Eadie elbows her way into Paige’s life and meets his playboy son, Tom (Franchot Tone). He severely underestimates Edie’s gold-digging tendencies, and interprets her morality to mean that she can be had for a few sparkly trinkets. He doesn’t realise that her insistence on marrying a rich man is based on her experiences with poverty. While he’s wildly attracted to her, marriage is the last thing on his mind, and it’s the only thing on hers.

Girl From Missouri is a wonderful, light film, and with a sparkling script written by Anita Loos, Harlow is at her comedic best. Some of the funniest scenes occur when she crashes into high society and tries her best to act like a lady. In one hilarious scene, Eadie wears an atrocious, impractical negligee that’s covered with ostentatious feathers. Friend Kitty helps with the comedy–while Edie hunts for millionaires, Kitty eyes any man in sight. The role of Eadie also allows Harlow to display the breadth of her acting skills in a scene when she tackles Tom and stands her ground fiercely. There’s nothing too serious here, but it’s all great fun. From director Jack Conway.

Absolut Warhola (2001)

“Before we got democracy, Andy was totally forbidden.”

Polish Filmmaker Stanislaw Mucha had a great idea–to travel to a remote area of Slovakia and discover Andy Warhol’s roots. Both of Warhol’s parents came from the village of Mikova and immigrated to America. In the bizarre documentary “Absolut Warhola”, Mucha travels to Mikova and uncovers several of Warhol’s aunts and cousins. One cousin in particular looks uncannily like Warhol, and another relative replicates Warhol’s art in needlework.

Andy Warhol (Andrijko Varchola) is something of a legend to the people of Mikova–even though most of them really have no idea exactly what he’s famous for. As one person says, “we knew he was a painter” but for a long time they didn’t know if he “painted rooms or houses.” Everyone interviewed has theories about Warhol. They all seem to be in agreement that it just wasn’t possible that Warhol was homosexual because no homosexuals ever came from Mikova. Along with this belief, come several other incorrect theories that Warhol’s wife shot him, she made him turn to men, etc. These interviews take on a surreal quality–especially when the filmmaker doggedly and valiantly tries to present the facts.

There’s also a trip to the Warhol museum in Medzilaborce–with its leaky roof, its rock singer curator, and its unwritten ban on gypsies. It doesn’t take long to realize that:

1)”Absolut Warhola” is as peculiar as its subject.
2) Warhol’s Slovakian background influenced his style. Mikova is an amazingly bleak and poverty-stricken area, but one cannot help noticing the gorgeous icons and their uncanny similarities to Warhol’s art.

While based on an extraordinarily original idea, the filmmaker’s deft handling of the material cannot cover the lack of substance here. A lot of the merriment comes from the bizarre characters trouped out for entertainment–the amateur trumpet player, the hostile shopkeeper, and the Andy Warhol Doppelganger who plays an accordion on the shell of a Soviet tank. There must be normal people in Mikova, but for the purposes of this film, they do not appear. And here’s a final thought–whatever would Warhol have thought of Mikova if he’d lived long enough to travel there, and what would the residents of the village have thought of him? For those interested in Warhol, or for anyone who wants to just watch something really odd, then “Absolut Warhola” is for you. In Slovak with English subtitles

Madame Sata (2002)

“I was born an outlaw and that’s how I’ll live.”

Joao Francisco dos Santos–also known as Madame Sata–led an extraordinary life. He was born a child of slaves in Brazil, and when he was seven, he was sold for a mule. As an adult, he lived in Lapa, Rio de Janeiro, and he spent 26 years of his life in jail. During Joao’s checkered career, he was a criminal, a boxer, a cabaret singer, a carnival star, and a murderer.

This background information is on the back of the DVD box, and it was enough to make me want to watch the film…

Director Karim Ainouz’s film Madame Sata tries to take a deconstructive approach to Joao’s life of oppositional contrasts. He was capable of brutish violence, but lived with an extended family that included prostitute Laurita (Marcelia Cartaxo), 7 ‘adopted’ children, and transgendered Taboo (Flavio Bauraqui). Unfortunately, the film’s focus is squarely on the violent, ugly side of Joao’s life, so by the film’s conclusion, we are left only with the impression of a violent man whose hair-trigger temper landed him in jail. Ultimately, the film brings us no closer to why Joao is different from any other petty criminal.

The film begins with Joao working in a club where he assists a singer. While she’s out on stage, he’s imitating her act, and when she’s gone, he’s trying on her clothes. These moments of fantasy and beauty are in contrast to the sordid violence of Joao’s life. Cabaret allows a brief beauty into Joao’s terrible life, and it’s easy to understand why he is so drawn to the fantasy it represents. Unfortunately, the film fails to cover details of Joao’s life–his childhood is a big blank–and all we see is an explosive street thug. Several scenes show his brutal, harsh treatment of those he professes to love, and Joao is hostile, unpredictable and down right unpleasant.

I watched the film for Joao’s story, but little of it was covered here in the bar room brawls, a few bedroom scenes, and the emphasis on violence. It feels like a bit of a swindle to read the cover of a DVD that professes to portray the extraordinary life of an unusual man–only to discover that the film makes few references to the more interesting facts of his life. The DVD extras include more information about Joao than one can garner from the film itself. Extras include: director’s commentary, a behind-the-scenes look at the making of the film, and “Seams” a documentary. Although the film is colourful, the acting good, and the music lively and exotic, overall the film is a disappointment. In Portuguese with English subtitles.

The Politician’s Wife (1995)

 “The urge to destroy is creative.”

Fans of fine British television, prepare for just over three hours of splendid, riveting drama in The Politician’s Wife. This three-part film concerns a Tory politician, Duncan Matlock (Trevor Eve) and his loyal wife, Flora (Juliet Stevenson). When the film begins, a sex scandal involving Matlock and a “research assistant” Jennifer Caird (Minnie Driver) is just about to explode all over the front pages of the tabloids. London-based Matlock and his entourage hightail it back to the Matlock’s country estate where Flora lives with the children. Matlock’s aim is to break the news to Flora before she sees the headlines. Matlock realizes, and the Prime Minister has made it perfectly clear, that Matlock’s political future depends on whether or not Flora stands by her errant husband. Matlock’s first imperative is to salvage his career, and he coldly calculates Flora’s role–expecting her smiling, public participation.

Flora, who’s been wondering why reporters are gathering outside of her home, is devastated when she hears about the affair. She’s been under the illusion that she had a happy, healthy productive marriage. Her first impulse is to pack her bags and leave, but the forces of the Tory party close ranks and conspire to minimize Matlock’s affair and ensure she remains at her husband’s side. Even Flora’s father pressures Flora to remain–his hopes are pinned on Matlock’s career too. Flora’s decision to leave affects so many people, and she’s subtly reined in and pressured to portray the dutiful forgiving wife. “The Politician’s Wife” sympathetically illustrates the complexities of Flora’s position as she gradually realizes that she’s married to a scumbag.

Flora is the perfect politician’s wife. While her husband possesses good oratory skills, Flora is the brain behind her husband. Naively, she married Matlock believing in his finer qualities, but the machinations behind the affair and the subsequent fallout, reveal Matlock as a hard, devious, polished, unethical man who cares nothing for his constituents. But what is good for Matlock is not necessarily good for the Tory party, and Flora gradually decides to destroy her husband’s career.

With a fine cast, and stellar acting, the superb Juliet Stevenson steals the film as Flora Matlock. When the film begins, she’s the confident, secure, demure wife of a rising star in the Tory party, and she’s her husband’s biggest fan and greatest credit. She unravels when she discovers the affair, but due to the fact she’s in the public eye, much of her unraveling is done in private. As a woman who’s used to playing a role for the camera, she turns this skill to her ability–using it to survive and gradually devising a subtle plan for her husband’s destruction. Excellent entertainment.

Foolish Wives (1922)

“I am writing a love letter to your wife.”

Directed by and starring Erich von Stroheim, the 1922 silent film Foolish Wives centers on the ne’er-do-well Russian, Count Karanzim (von Stroheim) and his two ‘cousins’–Princess Olga (Maude George) and Princess Vera Petchnikoff (Mae Busch). While this trio live high on the hog in a splendid villa overlooking the ocean in Monte Carlo, in reality they’re impoverished. The Count’s story is that his Russian estates are entangled due to the Revolution, and this often leaves him short of cash. But behind a whirl of social events, the Count and his cousins live on the proceeds of counterfeiting and money laundering with the Count fleecing the occasional rich woman as a hobby. The first few scenes establish these three as a nasty bunch. One of the princesses spitefully pinches a servant, and the decadent Count downs his daily dose of Ox-blood as a breakfast aperitif.

The American envoy to Monaco, Andrew Hughes (Rudolph Christians) and his much younger, naive wife Helen (Patty Dupont) arrive, and it doesn’t take long before the Count is whirling his monocle at his latest victim. The Count–a “notorious heartbreaker” exploits Helen’s tendency towards romanticism, and his designs–which ostensibly are towards her wallet–also include compromising her and taking advantage of her vulnerability. He exploits Helen’s loneliness and her husband’s inattention by saying, “Husbands are foolish. With them, a woman won is a woman secure.” Then he proceeds to romance her with flattery and attention.

Erich von Stroheim steals the film with his well-defined role of the ‘noble’ scumbag–he’s incredibly slimy in spite of his immaculate clothing and matching Borzois. The film allows glimpses into his dastardly schemes, and one of the best scenes takes place when he wrests his servant’s life savings from her. He’s already promised to marry the poor deluded girl, and a few well-placed crocodile tears from the vain Count are all it takes to convince her to hand over her meager savings. In another excellent scene, the camera captures the servant Maruschka’s spiral through the mental states of rejection, jealousy, revenge and madness.

The Alpha DVD is acceptable. There are few problematic, overly dark scenes that occur at night inside the home of a haggy procuress, and the print is a little scratchy in places. Fans of silent cinema and/or von Stroheim should enjoy this tale of wickedness and deceit.

100 Days Before the Command (1990)

“Why are you goggling at me?”

The Soviet film 100 Days Before the Command is the tale of the fate of a handful of raw young recruits who attempt to retain their humanity in a bleak, senseless, brutal militaristic culture. The film blends moments of brutality–a drunken officer returning at night and urinating on the face of a sleeping recruit, for example–with endless nude scenes. The director, Hussein Erkenov, states that the inclusion of nudity was a deliberate action aimed to show the recruits’ vulnerability and innocence. Well, I can buy that, I suppose–the naked shower scenes, the sprawled, tangled half-naked bodies in the abandoned woodshed, and the prolonged soapy rub-downs etc do invoke a certain ethereal ‘lost boys’ quality (think Hylas and the Nymphs–but the nymphs are all male). However, after wrestling with the possibility that perhaps this film wasn’t set in a basic training camp for recruits after all, but instead was perhaps a nudist colony, I was still left with a dull feature, sparse dialogue and quixotic editing. In Russian with English subtitles.

The Sheik/Son of the Sheik (1921 & 1926)

“For once your kisses are free.”

If you’ve heard about the charisma of silent star Rudolf Valentino and wondered what all the fuss is about, then a wonderfully packaged DVD from Image Entertainment is for you. The DVD presents two films The Sheik (1921) and The Son of the Sheik (1926) and naturally, Valentino stars in them both. In The Sheik directed by George Melford, Valentino plays the role of Sheik Ahmed Ben Hassan, a French-educated desert dweller. The incorrigible, willful heiress Lady Diana (Agnes Ayres) runs amok in an Arab town. The Sheik comes to town to gamble in the Arab-only casino, his eyes lock on Diana, and the die is cast. Diana sneaks into the casino disguised as a dancing girl, but all those veils don’t fool the Sheik, and he unmasks her. When the Sheik learns that Diana is taking a tour in the desert, he decides to kidnap her and take her to his sumptuous tent with the intention of making her his bride. Diana doesn’t take kindly to the kidnapping thing, and this makes for a bumpy romance….

The Son of the Sheik directed by George Fitzmaurice was made just 5 years later, and it’s the better of the two films. Valentino plays two roles–young Ahmed and his father the Sheik (the hero of the first film who’s now middle aged). Ahmed falls in love with Yasmin (Vilma Banky), a dancing girl whose father is a thief and a bandit. Yasmin’s father has promised her to another member of the gang, and this spurned lover sabotages Yasmin’s budding romance by capturing and torturing Ahmed. Ahmed, believing that Yasmin betrayed him seeks revenge–and of course this means carrying her off in the desert and throwing her in yet another sumptuous tent.

Image Entertainment’s juxtaposition of the two films allows the viewer to see the progress of Valentino as an actor. In the first film, his facial expressions are limited to gleeful grins, but in The Son of the Sheik he’s mastered a range of expressions–from cold disdain, to passion and distress. In The Sheik there’s an attempt at colorization. The daytime scenes are gold tinted. The dawn scene has a pink tinge–while the night scenes have a blue-black cast. The Son of the Sheik is much more fluid, much more exciting, and full of stunts–swordplay, fighting, and leaping on beautiful horses that race across the desert sands. The Son of the Sheik also displays Valentino stripped and tortured by the evil bandits, and the filmmaker is confident enough to include elements of comic relief found in the relationships between the thieves. The thieves’ lair–the Cafe–is stuffed full of smoking dancing girls with “hips full of abandon”, and they drive the customers mad with desire. But even with the humour, The Son of the Sheik is a much darker film for it contains a controversial implied rape scene.

Extras include three short clips of film. The first clip Rudolf Valentino and His 88 American Beauties is about 12 minutes long and shows Valentino judging a beauty contest. The second 3-minute clip is The Sheik’s Physique. It’s a teaser of sorts and shows Valentino undressing to change into a bathing suit before he lounges on the beach falling asleep. The third clip (about three minutes long) is newsreel of Valentino’s funeral in August 1926.

There’s an irony in the fact that The Son of the Sheik ‘ages’ Valentino almost beyond recognition by giving him a double role as both the hero and the hero’s father. Sadly, Valentino’s early death negated aging–he died at the age of 31 from complications of appendicitis just days after The Son of the Sheik premiered.

Neighbors (1981)

“You’re not the ideal neighbour. You sank my truck, insulted my sauce, and you violated Ramona.”

Based on the novel by Thomas Berger, Neighbors, one of the great cult classic comedies from the 80s, was John Belushi’s last film. This dark comedy film explores the horrors of suburban life through the lives of terminally bored Earl and Enid Keese (John Belushi and Kathryn Walker) and their relationship with their new annoying neighbors Vic (Dan Ackroyd) and Ramona (Cathy Moriarty). When the film begins, it’s Friday night, and Earl and Enid return home in their station wagon to their sprawling colonial mansion in the suburbs. Their home is right next to a house that’s stood empty for 6 months. Earl, who’s exhausted by his commute from the city, settles down to begin his normal mundane weekend parked in front of the television. Little does he know that nothing will ever be the same again….

Earl’s peace and quiet–and also his terminal boredom are permanently shattered with the arrival of the bizarre new neighbors who move in next door. Vic sports a large tattoo on his right forearm that says “Born to Party”, and Ramona is an elusive lithesome woman who teases Earl from his drone-like stoicism. Vic and Ramona shove their way into Earl’s quiet life, breaking all the rules of politeness, and leaving Earl unsure of exactly how to respond. Earl seems to be a fairly mild-mannered person–although this may be just because his normal response mechanisms have been gradually worn down by the commuting treadmill. Earl appeals to Enid for a united front against the obnoxious neighbours, but she’s more than a little titillated by Vic, and like Earl, she welcomes anything that breaks the desperate humdrum boredom of their mildly antagonistic marriage.

Most of us can identify with the suburban horrors of pushy new neighbours. Earl responds to Vic and Ramona’s antics at first with suspicion and then with implied violence and one-upmanship. With a giant unpredictable electrical pylon, a stinky chemical-induced swamp, a hostile tow-truck driver, and Vic and Ramona full of tricks and practical jokes, it’s not a good weekend for Earl. Or is it? Earl’s life is a system of patterns and predictable routine, and his relationship with his neighbours highlights the inadequacy of his life. Are Vic and Ramona the worst thing that can happen in a neighbourhood? Are they escaped loonies who threaten Earl’s middle-class existence or are they a catalyst for change and liberation?

The Golem (1920)

“Be lifeless clay once again–lest the powers of darkness take vengeance.”

Golem the 1920 silent German film from directors Carl Boese and Paul Wegener is set in 16th century Prague, and it’s a simple story with fantastic overtones based on Jewish folklore. Elderly Rabbi Low (Albert Steinstruck) goes to the top of his tower and reading the stars, he predicts a great disaster will soon befall the Jewish people. To prepare for the disaster, Rabbi Low, dabbling in sorcery creates a man from clay known as the Golem. In theory, the Golem is supposed to protect the Jewish ghetto dwelling community from the impending disaster, and Rabbi Low works furiously against time to finish his creation before disaster strikes.

But disaster comes in several ways. The Emperor delivers an edict that all Jews must be banished for the city, and this order is delivered by the knight, Florian (Lothar Muthel). He arrives at the Rabbi’s dwelling with the declaration of expulsion in one hand, and a flower that he sniffs occasionally in the other. Just this small gesture of idly waving the flower back and forth before his nose conveys the knight’s lack of humanity towards the ghetto dwellers. While the knight’s errand is ostensibly over, he begins casting his eyes on the Rabbi’s daughter, Miriam (Lyda Salmonova).

With the Golem created, the Rabbi brings his creature to life during an elaborate ceremony of the Black Arts. The Rabbi intends to use the Golem as a demonstration of his power and his brilliance–and hopes that by doing so, the Jews will be allowed to stay in the city. Unfortunately, his plans go awry. The Golem’s emotions seem to lean towards the negative side of humanity. Is this a corruption of black magic, or is this human nature at its basest?

It’s impossible not to watch Golem without being struck by some similarities to James Whales’ Frankenstein (especially one scene at nearly the end of the film). The film’s sets are incredibly complex–the ghetto is within a walled section of the city and entered only by a huge, locked gate. Winding cobblestone streets are lined with tall, stone multi-level buildings. The Rabbi’s home is quite fantastic–gothic arches, and a stairway carved from stone. Those interested in German Expressionist cinema will want to watch the film for its historic value alone. The Alpha DVD print is quite acceptable, and my copy had no blemishes.

The Lover (AKA Lyubovnik) 2002

“She knew how to keep a secret.”

In the Russian film, The Lover middle-aged Mitya (Oleg Yankovsky) is devastated when his wife, 37-year old, Elena drops dead of a heart attack. As he mourns and tries to readjust to life without her, he finds a discarded love letter written to another man. Mitya discovers that his wife had a long-term affair that began shortly after their marriage. Mitya begins questioning his wife’s friends and relatives about the affair and discovers the identity of the other man, former army officer Vanya (Sergei Gamash).

This is a remarkably subtle film–a character study that focuses on Mitya’s attempts to cope with each new startling phase of discovery. At first he mourns for his dead wife, but then he discovers that he didn’t really know her. Loss, denial, outrage and anger must all be experienced while Mitya pieces together the puzzle of the last 16 years of his life. Almost against his will, Mitya begins to establish a relationship with Vanya, and it begins badly with hostility and accusations–as if they still have something left to fight over. But both of these men are solitary souls who loved the same woman, and just as she eluded them from total possession in life, she now eludes them both in her death. And this leaves them both with a vague feeling of disquiet and many questions. Who did she ‘really’ love? Would she ever have left her husband? Why did she remain with him? And who is the father of her child?

This quiet study in human anguish is beautifully acted and accompanied by exquisite, perfectly composed cinematography. Both the story and the vivid cinematography subtly emphasize that Mitya and Vanya’s homes are only 5 stops apart on the same tramline that conveniently runs in front of both of their homes. The tramline is the symbolic representation of the connections and the distance we maintain through our relationships, and it is to the cinematographer’s credit that trams are portrayed here so beautifully. At nighttime there are scenes of snow swirling in front of tram lights, two trams passing each other across a deserted town square, and flashes of electricity spark briefly from the power line as the tram moves slowly off into the dusk. The film asks the question–How well can you ever really know another human being? And the answer is unsettling. Directed by Valeri Tadorovsky, The Lover is in Russian with English subtitles.