Toni Erdmann

Toni Erdmann

I just don’t know if you’re always doing as well as you say you are.

I dunno; maybe I’m just a touch too cynical a person. I looked at the poster up there, with all the quotes all over it proclaiming that this would be a laugh riot, hilarious and moving as well, and so I went into the film expecting it to be… a laugh riot, hilarious and moving as well. Again, this is the cynic in me talking, but: I guess I should be shamed for going into a film expecting it to be what it says on the tin. I believe I only laughed once during the nearly three hour running time of Toni Erdmann, and thanks to my ability to infer everything this film was going to try and do with its story and characters once I’d gotten used to them, which took about fifteen minutes, the film became a nearly-three-hour exercise in seeing a film perfectly play out exactly as I’d inferred it would. Add to it that the film was trying to derive basically all of its humor from awkwardness and uncomfortable situations, a la Bridesmaids, and I was none too pleased to be forced to sit through this one.

Winfried Conradi is a retired music teacher with little to do, as well as a humor streak within him the length of his arm, which he exercises by pulling pranks and jokes on basically everyone who comes into contact with him. This includes his businesswoman daughter, Ines, who takes her life as seriously as you’d expect a business contractor to a major oil company would do, and thus her father’s constant joking when he’s around her is an incessant source of discomfort. When he surprises her by showing up at one of her assignments in Bucharest, their natural butting-heads comes to a small breaking point, and he leaves her apartment to head home. A few nights later, with Ines at a bar with her friends, in enters Toni Erdmann, with scraggy black hair and the weirdest set of teeth the women have ever seen; they and the hair are fake, of course, because the man is clearly Winfried, who seems intent on interrupting his daughter’s life to inject a little spontaneity and humor in whatever way Ines would least prefer him to do so. It’s after a few meetings that Ines realizes her father isn’t going to stop, and so she begins to play along and challenge his authenticity to the pseudo-role. I kinda wish there was more to talk about with Toni Erdmann than just the story and characters, but there really isn’t, since most of what I would otherwise talk about was minimal and basic in every regard. So, with that said, the two main characters of the film are well fleshed out in their own right, and the film does reach a humane moment in the end that feels earned, if only because the film spends so much time getting there. But, with the film being marketed as quite possibly the funniest films of the year, I couldn’t help but feel let down at how little amusement I got from the film. I even use the word amusement instead of laughs to try and broaden the category a tad, since the film’s actual content consists largely of the uncomfortable tete-a-tete between Ines and Winfried (often in his Erdmann persona), but even then, there was little amusement for me, mostly because I was able to infer what the film wanted me to get before it even began trying to get me there, as I said in the opener. Maybe I was a little too struck down by films like Bridesmaids that I can’t even enjoy a modestly-awkward film like this one, I don’t know.

I pretty much feel like I have to apologize to basically the rest of the cinematic community for how I ended up on this one, which makes me feel more than a little indignant. Everyone who’s anyone in the critical community loved this to high heaven, and I’m sitting here after sitting through the film, going: yeah, it’s got a nice moment at the end, with a nice lesson to impart, but was it really worth it? Was it really worth everything the film puts on the screen and goes through? Really? The fact that I ended up with that opinion of the film at all suggests to me that; no, it really isn’t, and that I feel like it’s being required of me to love this more than I do makes me really, really frustrated. Again, maybe I’m just more cynical than the average person. I actually felt pretty solid about tackling the running time of this one when I went into it today, and that I’ve come out of it on the other end feeling the way I feel… I just really don’t want to feel this way. I tried with Toni Erdmann, and maybe it’s that I’m not ending up with everyone else about it that’s making me the most frustrated of all.

Arbitrary Rating: 6/10

Moonlight

Moonlight

You gotta decide for yourself who you’re going to be. Can’t let nobody make that decision for you.

Ed. Note: I’ve decided the best way to juggle the new 1001 films along with the current Best Picture odyssey, remembering that I’d need to keep each Best Picture year relatively fresh in my head for the Judging Oscar segments, is to not juggle; I’m gonna put Best Picture on hold until I’ve finished with the new additions. I technically haven’t started 1939 yet, so I’m gonna hold off on doing so until I’m done with 1001 again, and hopefully the influx of newer, (hopefully) worthwhile films will reinvigorate my odyssey once I get back to it.

I’m sure anybody reading this is aware of the hilarity that occurred at the Academy Awards this past year, when the wrong envelope was given out for the final award, resulting in the wrong film being announced as the winner of Best Picture; the producers of that film, La La Land, even fully gave their speeches before the mistake was finally made known, and the real winner was able to be recognized: Moonlight. Now, most of the shock that occurred when Moonlight’s win was uncovered was justified; La La Land went into the ceremony the overwhelming favorite to win, especially having tied the record for the most Oscar nominations for a single film, and the two other films it tied with eventually went on to win Best Picture themselves, so really it was the upset win of the night, especially with how it went down. So, did Moonlight actually deserve the win? Is it really a better overall film than La La Land? Now, having seen both films, I feel I can say: Yes, it is. It’s by a smaller margin than I was expecting going into the film, but I feel the Academy made the right decision, at least between the two films.

The film is a three-part tale of one young man, who goes by a different name or nickname in each section, growing up as a black adolescent in a drug-dealing neighborhood of Miami (the location isn’t as important as the rest, though). His mother, a drug addict herself, is hardly a positive influence on his life, and indeed he is basically without such people until a chance encounter with Juan, a drug dealer himself, who becomes the young man’s de facto role model in a much more beneficial way than you would think a drug dealer would be. Each of the three stages of the young man’s life, from childhood to adolescence to adulthood, is a different story, but each shares thematic elements among the entire film. What separates Moonlight from most of the other coming-of-age dramas in recent memory is two things: the protagonist, Chiron, is both a black youth in America, as well as a gay youth in America, and it’s these two things combined that provide most of the dramatic characterization in Chiron’s story; him trying to figure out what kind of person he is, with all the conflicting influences and obstacles in his life. Despite the film’s setting and narrative, which would seem to make the story rife with conflict, there is surprisingly little of it in Moonlight, though it is there at the film’s key junctions. What there is instead in Moonlight is mood; the film treats its material with a soft touch, a quiet reverence, that amplifies the effect of the film’s importance in regards to Chiron and his growing up, but not enough so as to be inflating the story to heights it otherwise has no business being in. The cinematography is slight, but effective; the acting is muted, but with enough knowhow to flare up when it needs to to make things happen; everything about the film was perfectly paced and controlled, but not in an ostentatious way like other films (like The Revenant, which has everything amped to eleven).

I was impressed as hell that this was director Barry Jenkins’s second ever feature; it had a finesse and a control to it that most features, even of today, seemed to lack. Most of all, though, what I liked about it was how pure a film it was; how simple it was, which only seemed to enhance its effect. I can absolutely see how many people are regarding it as the best overall film of 2016; I don’t know if my opinion of it got to that level, but I certainly appreciated the heck out of this. More than anything, it was exactly what it needed to be, and it was thanks that what it needed to be was at such a high standard that it’s ending up as critically lauded as it is, I think. Kudos to Jenkins, and kudos to the Academy for recognizing this one; it was definitely worth seeing.

Arbitrary Rating: 9/10

Boys Town

Boys Town

There’s no such thing as a bad boy, I’m sure of that.

Director Norman Taurog seems to have an affinity for working with young casts in his films; first he wins Best Director and is up for Best Picture with Skippy, and now he’s up for both awards once again with Boys Town, a film headed by Spencer Tracy and Mickey Rooney in as best a manner as they can. Now, knowing what Taurog had to accomplish to get the performances he needed in Skippy, I hesitate to give him too much credit for what does work in Boys Town, since I’m unaware of what he had to do to make it work. Most of it, I suspect, is due to Tracy and Rooney basically being Tracy and Rooney, especially since the rest of the film seemed to be so manipulative in getting you to feel just what it wants you to feel, but, like I implied, Boys Town does ultimately work. If only just.

Spencer Tracy is Father Flanagan, who finds a new life purpose call to him after he receives a confession from an inmate on death row. Troubled by the poor state of the reformatory in town for young delinquents, he elects to start his own, founded on proper principles and the notion that no boy is a bad boy if given the chance. His idea quickly expands to become Boys Town, a small autonomous town built, run, and governed by the formerly-delinquent boys who come to live in it. Enter Whitey Marsh, who is sent to Boys Town by his convict brother Joe so Whitey will hopefully not end up like him, despite Whitey’s general purpose seeming to be exactly like his brother. Now it’s up to Father Flanagan and the boys of Boys Town to make sure Whitey ends up on the straight path, especially in the face of Joe’s escape from custody. I do kinda wish I had more to say about Boys Town other than ‘it’s fairly good, if you’re interested in seeing it’, but that pretty much sums up Boys Town. The only other comments I had towards the film were for the music, which was particularly on-the-nose 100% of the time (which grew kinda annoying as the film went on), and for Rooney, whose acting style consisted of mugging as much as possible for the other players, but it added the necessary amount of energy to the film where it otherwise would’ve stagnated, so I guess I can look past it. I’d also echo the sentiments of others in wondering exactly how Spencer Tracy ended up winning Best Actor for this, when all the role called from him was to have a warm heart, demeanor, and voice, which was something Tracy could’ve managed if he were missing all four of his limbs, but I haven’t seen all the nominees for Best Actor for 1938, so I can’t say whether or not Tracy really deserved it or if it was just a particularly weak year in the category.

Is this film really as good as to warrant five Oscar noms, of which two were wins, including Tracy, who became the first to win consecutive Best Actor Oscars? No, not really. Is it still worth a watch if you think you’d like to see it? Yeah, probably. That’s pretty much the mindset that Boys Town left me with; yeah, it’s okay, but I can’t really get myself into a twist over the film enough to really recommend it. I can’t speak for the entirety of Norman Taurog’s filmography, but that the man has no films on the 1001 list seemed to be the right call, as far as the two films of his I’ve seen have gotten me. Boys Town might be one of the good films of the 1930’s, but one of the best of the year? I’m not particularly sold on that.

Arbitrary Rating: 7/10

Four Daughters

Four Daughters

What have I done to deserve such daughters?

Four Daughters would seem to be a part of one heck of a year for director Michael Curtiz; he wrapped up two of the five nominations for Best Director for this and Angels with Dirty Faces (and, amazingly, not for The Adventures of Robin Hood), in a feat that would cause the Academy to alter the rules for Best Director nominations for years to come (indeed, the only director to manage the same feat since the Academy’s rules were lessened in the category is Steven Soderbergh in 2000). It would seem indeed that Curtiz has the skills and the knack for presenting them to warrant his double nomination… until one actually sits down to watch Four Daughters – then it appears to be just that: seeming. This, as it has in the past, comes with one of my more common caveats: it’s not that Four Daughters is a bad film, because it technically isn’t. But, that’s the thing; the film knows that it is technically a good film, and instead of rolling with it and letting it flow a natural course, decides to take charge and show off exactly how good a film it’s been trying to be.

The titular four daughters are the Lemp sisters; Emma, Thea, Kay, and Ann, each a part of a musical family led by their father, and each with their own talent to bring to the group. Each, it would seem, also has a potential suitor in the mix, and it’s the inter-mingling of potential suitors and the potential wives that are the four daughters that forms what amounts to the plot of this film. If that doesn’t sound very interesting, I wouldn’t blame you, but for what it’s worth, Four Daughters does do an admirable job of trying to make it interesting, even for those who would otherwise not be interested. Four Daughters the film ends up being what would happen when you take a decent director, Curtiz, give him a script that could be best described as “yet another ‘blank'”, not bother to fill in that blank, and then Curtiz goes and gives you 110% into the resulting film… resulting in this film. Granted, the third act goes to some surprisingly affecting areas, mostly due to how unexpected it was compared to the first two-thirds of the film, but even with this, everything involved with the production of the film comes off as being better than what the film itself really deserved, from Curtiz to the titular four-some, and even some of the supporting players, from John Garfield to May Robson. The interplay involved in the dialogue was also another highlight, having the characters bounce off each other to a ridiculous degree, as if the script couldn’t help itself and decided to go all out with it for lack of a better way to show off its own talents.

Here’s the thing that bothered me the most about Four Daughters; it was clever, sure, but not only did it know how clever it was (or was supposed to be), it felt inclined to show off how clever it was every five seconds or so, if not through the script or dialogue then through the incessant camera moves and framing setups (I assume to show off what a skilled director Curtiz is), or certain actions of the characters, which I assumed was to fill in the spaces where the film felt that another instance of clever dialogue might be a bit too much or improperly placed. There’s a very fine line between being genuinely smart, fresh, and innovative, and trying to manufacture the concept of being smart, fresh, and innovative, and Four Daughters is so far beyond that line that it has lost sight of the line entirely. It reminded me a lot of Stage Door; way too self-indulgent in the first parts, and then inserting some darker material that is very nearly undeserved given the lead-up to it, all to get the film to the climax it ultimately wanted the whole time. I don’t know if I’d give this a recommendation, even with the general consensus of this one ending up a slight bit higher than what I ended up with, but I will say at least that it’s not an entirely unworthwhile endeavor to sit through the scant hour-and-a-half of this one, mostly thanks to everyone bringing their best to a film and a story that otherwise wouldn’t have merited the effort. I don’t know if that would count as a win, but it’s certainly not a loss.

Arbitrary Rating: 6/10

You Can’t Take It With You

You Can't Take It With You

That family of yours… Boy, they knock me for a loop!

Regular readers of this blog will know that I have a thorough history with theater. Even with this, though, I’d never seen You Can’t Take It With You, either in the theater or on the screen. It seemed to be quite popular, seeing as I found multiple high school productions of this one on YouTube, so I was expecting a smart comedy-esque picture, thick with dialogue and feel-good sensibilities, especially since this film version would be helmed by Frank Capra, the current king of feel-good sensibilities in this chronological era of Hollywood. I dunno; maybe it was because I’ve been through several Capra pictures in a row, and thus the film’s charms ended up being somewhat diluted; maybe it was because of the theatrical background of the script, that the film appeared to hit every note exactly as it should’ve, almost too exactly; or maybe it was just because the film seemed to try a little too hard, but this film… well, it was just a tad too much of whatever it was trying to do at any given time.

Tony Kirby, son of the illustrious banker Anthony Kirby, finds himself in love with one of his father’s company’s secretaries, Alice Sycamore, who unknown to Tony has quite the extensive and multifaceted family, full of quirks and eccentric talents. Also unbeknown to Tony is the fact that Alice’s family lives on the last unsold property in a 12-property block that his father needs to isolate a competing company and put them out of business. Naturally, when Tony wants to marry Alice, she insists their families should meet, and if you’ve seen any sort of comedies from basically any era of Hollywood, you know how well that’s going to end up going down. I will say, after the aimlessness of Lost Horizon, it was certainly nice to see Frank Capra back to form, though it might’ve been thanks to the theatrically-sourced screenplay. All the Capra touches of wholesomeness and Americana are here, with plenty of oddball moments with the Sycamores to make you chuckle and smile and gee-willikers aren’t they just a hoot of a family to watch. Comedy can be a really fickle beast if it isn’t handled right; what can make something genuine and funny can also, if the line is toed a little too far, end up being mildly insufferable for directly trying to be genuine and funny. You Can’t Take It With You, if it doesn’t cross that line fully, does have plenty of moments that absolutely toe that line, which means the film has unfortunately not aged as well as some of Capra’s other pictures. That being said, viewed from the perspective of an audience from 1938, it’s certainly enjoyable, probably and especially because of its theatrical background, and Capra does do a good job of translating the dialogue and event-based action of the theater to the screen. That, and the ensemble cast is excellent all around, I suspect thanks to their commitment to the material and making it work as well as they can.

This has its moments, the ones that work, but this also has plenty of those other kind of moments, the ones that make you wish they’d held off a little bit so the moment could’ve worked instead of being a tad too far. Most of the former kind comes in the resolution act of the film, as well it should, and most of the latter comes in the middle section, which means that most people will have to suffer through the middle section to get to the better portions of the ending, which is pretty much a foregone conclusion for a typical Hollywood film of this time. That You Can’t Take It With You falls into this category instead of avoiding it or transcending it, to me, doesn’t make it a Best Picture winner, or rather it shouldn’t, seeing as this did win the top prize as well as Best Director for Capra, his third in five years. This was fine, as almost all Capra pictures are, but “fine”, even a Capra fine, shouldn’t be enough to take home the big one.

Arbitrary Rating: 7/10

Pygmalion

Pygmalion

She’s so deliciously low… so horribly dirty.

Even despite his role as Ashley Wilkes in Gone With the Wind, I don’t know much about Leslie Howard. Apparently, he was rather well regarded in the 30s, even fielding two Oscar nominations for Best Actor before his conspiracy-laden death in the mid 40s during WWII. The second of those nominations came for this, Pygmalion, which he also co-directed, so he would certainly seem to be a man capable of wearing many hats. Now, theater and film aficionados will be quite familiar with the title of Pygmalion, a George Bernard Shaw theatrical play that went on to become the basis for the musical (and later 1964 film adaptation) My Fair Lady. Countless people have doubtlessly seen the later version starring Audrey Hepburn, but I’d imagine much fewer have taken the time to see the original. Really, though, that’s quite a shame; this version is actually pretty good, especially if one is able to take to the British style of writing and humor used to an almost dizzying effect here.

Leslie Howard is Henry Higgins, a phonetics professor who finds a young flower-seller, dirt poor and dirt covered, and through a fortuitous series of verbal repartee with a friend, decides to take her in and teach her everything he knows in order to transform her into a proper English lady. There’s little more to the plot than that; the film is really about verbal wit and the characters that employ it to and against each other, namely in Higgins and the flowergirl Eliza Doolittle. The script, adapted by Shaw himself from his own play, knows its characters like the back of the author’s hands, and it’s thanks to Shaw’s writing skill that the film and the characters come across so well-rounded on the screen. The film, in addition to being smartly written, has a sense of humor to it that’s, for lack of a better word, cracking; this is a British comedy in every sense of the burgeoning genre, and considering I hadn’t thought much of the film before I started it, I was quite pleasantly surprised to find myself snickering rather often during the film’s short running time. The rest of the film’s production was also quite skilled, from the capable and often inventive direction and camerawork to the acting by Howard and especially Wendy Hiller as Eliza.

What I think makes Pygmalion ultimately work as a whole, as opposed to being too much of something or too smug for its own good, is that it knows exactly what kind of film it needs to be, and makes the effort to be exactly that, and not any more or any less. It’s smart, and smart enough to know how to not be too smart, and although the film does have an ambiguously pseudo-happy ending tacked on against the wishes of Shaw, the film is still skilled enough to get the story it wants told across, which is more than a lot of other films of the era can say that they’ve done. This impressed me, and again, that’s more than I can say about a lot of other Best Picture nominees in the same fold, so I was especially thankful for this one.

Arbitrary Rating: 7/10

Test Pilot

Test Pilot

It was a thrill to see you come out of the sky. It’ll be a greater one to see you disappear in it.

After my rewatch of Captains Courageous turned out as well as it did, I got a little excited when I found out that Test Pilot was also directed by Victor Fleming, just one short year before he’d go on to have one of the best directorial years in Hollywood history. It also stars Clark Gable, Myrna Loy, and Spencer Tracy, so goddang by golly does this one have some heavy hitters in all aspects of it. In my usual bit of research, I got the impression that this one would have some of the best aerial sequences put to film since Wings, which I was looking forward to even without Test Pilot being set in a war (which, to mention, was something to be thankful for). While the flying sequences were certainly well done, if a little transparent with how they managed to film most of them, where the film really succeeds is by taking its own high-flying premise and seeing what happens when you look at it with your feet planted squarely on the ground.

Clark Gable is Jim Lane, a renowned test pilot for plane prototypes, where his job is to push the planes he flies as far as they can reasonably be handled, and then further than that. In one instance, he is poised to set a new coast-to-coast flying record, but his plane begins to dump oil and he’s forced to land it somewhere in Kansas. Here lives Myrna Loy, who houses Gable until his crew, chiefly his main mechanic and devoted best friend Spencer Tracy, can make it there to fix the plane, and as things are wont to happen, the two fall in love over the course of a single day. However, Loy’s young farmgirl soon comes to realize: the only thing that may be more stressful and harrowing than being a test pilot, pushing yourself and the high-flying machines you operate to and past their limits, is being married to a test pilot. After the film got going, a lot of things surprised me about it. For one, for a film called Test Pilot, I was surprised at how much of the film didn’t deal with planes and flying, opting to give us the aerial sequences in sustained bursts spaced quite a bit apart instead of all together or throughout the two-hour running time. I was also surprised at how much of the script consisted of the main trio cracking wise at each other (which they did as well as any other), which made me feel that films like His Girl Friday and The Big Sleep, both done by Test Pilot screenwriter Howard Hawks, were absolutely only a few years away. What surprised me the most, however, was somewhere in the middle, during one scene with Loy and Tracy talking to each other about Gable, when the film dropped the cracks and got pretty damned serious, and alarmingly affecting as a result. This film isn’t about the dangers of being a test pilot, or the thrill of adventure that calls to pilots like Gable’s Jim Lane; it is about how the dangers of being a pilot and the call to adventure that Lane answers to an almost reckless degree affect the people who truly care about him – best friend Tracy and partner Loy. All three stars have rarely been better in a script that really knows how each character affects the others, in both good ways and very negative ways, and by the end, I was impressed as hell with the overall film.

You might think you know where the film is headed only twenty or thirty minutes into it. You would be right; the film does end up pretty much how you’d expect a film like this to end up. What you absolutely will not expect is how the film manages to get to the end, and for a film made near the end of the 1930s, I was amazed at how mature and forward-thinking the screenwriting was, and equally amazed that it all came across the screen so well, thanks to the main stars. This picture will wallop you, mostly because a picture like this, for when it was made and released, really comes out of nowhere with how effective, and affecting, it actually is. Kudos to Victor Fleming, writer Howard Hawks, and the stars of the film; I was expecting this to be particularly thrilling and with maybe half as much backbone in-between the flying sequences, but man was I not expecting what I actually got with this.

Arbitrary Rating: 8/10