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Beyond Arthur Kennedy, the key brilliance of Trial is of course that it offers a rare thing: it's an anti-communist film not aimed at preaching to the choir. Rather, it makes the argument in a way to appeal to sympathetic liberals, and while this is of course something of a lost cause from the outset, it's an interesting cultural product of the era. Speaking of, in a sea of ineffective propaganda this decade, I'll again shout-out Arrowhead, which in contrast to Trial gives the best conservative take on the perceived communist threat. Here's my write-up from a while back

domino harvey wrote: Fri Jun 03, 2011 11:19 pm
Arrowhead (Charles Marquis Warren 1953) While watching this film, it occurred to me that despite the spate of colorful heavies I've seen in so many westerns lately, it's been a really long time since I've actually been unsettled by an onscreen villain. So I welcomed the sensation as I watched Jack Palance, an actor I have nearly as many qualms about as star Charlton Heston, walk away with one of the most unnerving and threatening villains in not only all of westerns, but cinema. I think one reason his portrayal of the diabolical indian Toriano hits so strongly is that while westerns will on very rare occasions (and usually in liberal westerns, which this is definitely not-- but hold that thought) offer up a colored-in indian character, rarely are the villainous indians allowed to be anything more than just Evil Redmen. But here is a wholly disturbing character, a young Apache once-friendly with whites who arrives back from indian college looking every bit like Death himself, Palance's skeletal features jutting out to threaten all who look upon him. As his character positions himself among his people as a prophesied undefeatable leader destined to lead the Apaches, there's a growing sense of dread that is compounded by the remarkably negative tone of this film. The only other western that comes close in terms of almost unbearable bleakness of message is Man of the West, though this earlier film cannot resist a "happy" ending, if you can call it that after all that happens.

A central crux of the film, and one that can't be discussed without spoiling key plot points, is the very brutal political message at the core of the film.

Spoiler

Here is a strongly anti-Communist film that actually manages to convince rather than elicit light mocking and chiding. Heston's character is, and I'm sure many here will automatically relate, a total asshole that the film refuses to make the least bit likable. Indeed, his very brusqueness against all in his path, and his unrelenting negativity towards all indians and indian sympathizers seems like a set-up for a rebuttal that never comes. Heston is convinced that all the "friendly" indians, such as Katy Jurado's sweet washerwoman and the Apache scout, are really dormant traitors lying in wait to strike against the good of the whites-- and in a truly horrifying series of events, he is proven correct. This is a nightmare come to life and this film makes real the Red Scare and how it could effect otherwise rational people better than any other film I've seen. And thus Heston's dickishness becomes analogous to Joseph McCarthy-- sure, the film argues, he may be unpleasant and unlikable, but that doesn't mean he isn't right!

A chilling ideology, for sure, but surprisingly effective in cinematic terms. This film is a key discovery from this project, and one that deserves to be reevaluated by all.

The Last Wagon is indeed great, though far from my favorite western! Widmark gives a different kind of performance that works wonders against the grain of expectations, and the ‘message’ aspect could have sunk with embarrassment in other hands but is treated with care in how it unfolds as we get to know the character honestly and patiently through our frightened surrogates, which gives it the powerful sincerity of optimal melodrama.

nitin wrote: Wed Dec 04, 2019 2:21 am Would anyone recommend Robson’s From the Terrace (I realise it’s not from this decade) or Daves’ Kings Go Forth?

Yes. Neither is great, but both are worthwhile.

Drucker wrote: Tue Dec 03, 2019 2:41 pm

barryconvex wrote: Tue Dec 03, 2019 6:54 am There's such an embarrassment of riches this decade yet I have no clear cut number one. Nothing that jumps to the top of my list like every other decade at least. I'm looking forward to revisiting Bunuel's output, it's been years since I've seen any of them (will there ever be a Bunuel Mexican films box set?) and getting better acquainted with Sirk-I'm really only familiar with the Criterion releases. As of right now at least five spots on my list will be filled in by Chuck Jones and Tex Avery shorts. This is the decade where both reached heights no one since has come close to. Symphony In Slang, Robin Hood Daffy and Drip-Along Daffy might even be in my top ten.

I don't generally participate in these lists, and won't for this one, but saw your note about Sirk. Do not sleep on Imitation Of Life, which I saw in theaters last year, had me crying harder than I've cried in a theater...ever? And quickly cemented a spot as one of my favorite films of all time.

Just ordered the 2 disc blu that contains both versions. Thanks for the heads up and I hope you change your mind about the list!

Drucker wrote: Wed Dec 04, 2019 2:19 am Dainesy, I've pulled all the 1950s films out of my kevyip. Will begin tackling some this week!

Dainesy, wow. You make me feel 16 again.

Hitchcock may have him beat on my homefront but this decade equally belongs to Rossellini, whose filmography I only recently explored more fully after a conversation with knives about a month ago. If this decade isn't his strongest (I think it is), it's at least his most transitory and reflective of his own growth and identity development. The Flowers of St. Francis, his best film, will no doubt place near the top of my list as the most naked exhibition of the complicated processes involved in arriving at a simple surrender of the self to spiritual-actualization. Simple doesn’t equate to easy here, and if viewed as a religious film I believe the broad scope Rossellini is trying to elicit will be lost to rigidity. Francis and his followers may seem like they are pure selfless figures but what if we look closer? When Francis asks the birds to stop chirping so that he may pray in silence is he living life on life’s (or god’s) terms, or is he trying to impose his will on nature? And what of Ginepro’s adventures, trying so hard to do right and say right that he continually disappoints and causes harm, until he decides to become his beliefs. Only in relieving his will completely does he transform into the force of goodness that can stop a ruthless giant from aggressing. He becomes a mirror, an object, and yet the most significant subject to help another change through being in the presence of another human being- the most frightening and unknowable threat- and realizing that he is safe. The most powerful action is often non-action, and showing rather than telling. This is how Rossellini sees the world now, acting through empathy, and accepting one’s place in a scary, unpredictable world allows it not to have to be so frightening after all, exemplifying the power of attitude and perspective to the ultimate spiritual realm.

The Bergman films waver in quality. Joan of Arc at the Stake is a weird musical dream that doesn’t quite work, because there’s such an emotional distance in technique. The content is clear in hammering in the movement from fear to acceptance, with support from the mystical forces, but this was done already in better ways from the same director between the two extremes, and there’s no intimacy in the images. Fear is a fun exercise in noir, taking the melodrama inherent in the genre more seriously than the other aspects and dismissing the fatalism at the end. Rossellini’s primary interest in film, along with empathy, is melodrama and it’s no surprise he goes this route, though the end result feels small in comparison to his other films with Bergman.

The Criterion set is where the perfect films lie, with Stomboli the best, as a juxtaposition between our lovely heroine and a prison on earth, that slowly reveals her to be imperfect as she moves against grating friction of material and spiritual barriers towards surrender of the will to faith. Here he destroys Bergman and then builds her back up again, using her status to accentuate the process and revealing her as no better or worse than any other man or woman. There’s no greater fear than feeling trapped for me, and this film has personal relevance as a result, but there’s hope in reframing that trappage by relinquishing control, for Bergman and by extension us. She is afforded unconditional compassion by Rossellini's camera and her 'flaws' are observed not as moral faults but internal obstacles projected onto the external that only her spiritual growth through positional outlook can change.

Europe ‘51 is a wonderful picture of the transformation of a person from polar opposite sides across the spectrum of humanism. If Stromboli was a portrait of the painful road to achieve the willingness to change one's spiritual position, this takes that idea (the most difficult part of the process, and why it took a whole film to detail) and runs with it by widening the scope of focus to the path of transforming selfishness turned to selflessness. Sure, Rossellini is turning Bergman into Francis and providing a social commentary on how unwelcoming our cultures are to such a force of good, but it’s also an incredibly optimistic film that proposes further hope not for Bergman but perhaps the rest of us if we followed suit. The smile at the end signifies a full life, as she refuses to resign her principles and accepts her issued fate without committing cognitive dissonance, like Joan of Arc, while all the people she helped cheer her on from outside. Are any of these people from the first 99% of her life before the transformation? Is that not some indication of a happy ending? Rossellini doesn’t think it takes a saint to be treated as one, or perhaps saints are just like you and me, but one thing is for sure and that's that the pulsing gratitude at the end is so overwhelmingly beautiful that Rossellini somehow turns tragedy into a transcendental euphoria.

Journey to Italy is so dense it’s nearly impossible to write about. George Sanders achieves a rare vulnerability, and he and Bergman spar with passive-aggressive coldness, taking turns at stunting the opposite partner's attempts at forging connections with the other (credit goes to Tag Gallagher for some in-depth analysis here on the Criterion disc). It’s an authentic composite of a marriage with deep-rooted communication patterns that service each ego in protection while dissolving the connective tissue of the relationship itself. The loneliness of each journey contains a spiritually vast scope of the beauty all around us, and it’s unclear if either character can step out of their ennui to see it, or if it will have any permanent effect that may propel them to change. Eventually it does, and we are reminded of the opportunities and beauty all around us, and the power of subjective significance in each moment that can initiate change in mindset, and if we’re lucky, in our actions too.

The Machine to Kill Bad People is a rather hilarious satire on the impulse to do the ‘right’ thing by critiquing action itself through rigid religiosity revealing its hypocrisy of a controlling will against Franciscan practices, or even God. The plot follows a fantastical camera that kills people one deems as ‘bad’ or ‘sinners.’ The judge, jury, and executioner is man. It’s not a complicated idea, but it’s a very funny one and plays like a predecessor to a Coen brothers proverb picture.

Dov'è la libertà? is another comedy that evokes more Fellini than Rossellini, even when compared to their other collaborations, which can be chalked up to Rossellini abandoning the project at some point. Still, there’s a lot to like here, taking the drama of adjustment to a foreign world outside of prison and implementing a simple yet absurd plot to break back into prison, satirizing society in seeking this confinement as a source of comfort. It’s hard to tell what scenes Rossellini shot, but there’s enough conceptual similarities to a man trying to be good in a world that doesn’t support or recognize his outlook to see how it’s somewhat inspired by Rossellini’s own Franciscan views.

India Matri Bhumi begins by declaring itself to be a neorealist documentary only to morph into a melodrama with a clear narrator briefly, and then waver back and forth between this docudrama and an exploration of the cosmos. Experimental in its fusion of the corporeal and the spiritual, it’s recommended for fans as Rossellini shifts his focus again to more abstract ideas distancing himself from the form. It’s a good indicator of his movement towards empathetic and didactic history films in the years to follow.

General Della Rovere plays a bit like the early Bergman collabs with De Sica a swindling selfish con artist who develops empathy slowly but surely, arriving at the acceptance of his new self in step with his surrender. It’s an entertaining film but less risky than the preceding thematic entries of the decade, in regards to its aims beyond an investing piece of historical fiction.

At least four, maybe five, of these will likely wind up on my top 50, but all are worth exploring. Apart from Flowers of St. Francis, which I've already said I think to be one of the best of the decade and somewhere around the best ten or fifteen films of all time, the Bergman/Rossellini Criterion set is a goldmine that's well worth picking up. Note: I also took Tag Gallagher's advice and watched the English language versions, which I'd recommend especially for Stromboli as it really does make a world of difference in accessing the material through Rossellini's camera onto Bergman in relation to the rest of the world as the outcast she is (in all the films, really).

TMDaines wrote: Wed Dec 04, 2019 12:26 pm

Drucker wrote: Wed Dec 04, 2019 2:19 am Dainesy, I've pulled all the 1950s films out of my kevyip. Will begin tackling some this week!

Dainesy, wow. You make me feel 16 again.

“Daines! Daines!”

Has Anybody Seen My Gal?: Charles Coburn is a cinematic treasure, and just when I thought he couldn’t be funnier, this film comes along and uses his best assets to land a seemingly impossible series of gags. This isn’t the first time Coburn has played a rich man faking his way through a layman’s world for laughs, but it might be the best of the bunch. His surrealist finger painting is so funny that can only be topped by Roberta’s reaction to it, in one of its best scenes, though I’d wind up down a rabbit hole of writing a book if I engaged in the process of trying to single out any more when so many are equally perfect. The hilarity finds its way to meet melodrama but keeps this aspect light and makes the mother figure rather exaggerated as a kind of cartoonish satire, but doesn’t minimize the consequences of this superficial stance. It’s to the credit of the script and actors, but mostly Sirk and the editing room, that this film never really sinks into a pit and humor shines through each despairing scene, allowing the darkest of moments to still remain in light. It even has a weird half-musical scene! I appreciated the mature choice not to go for capital-M “Message” in Coburn remaining humble and secretive throughout the shenanigans all the way to the very end (and his stone-faced attitude throughout the melodramatic extremities is really the key focal point that keeps the vibe from boiling over). In fact, the subtler message this ends with is fitting for a spirit-of-Christmas movie, which I suppose it is in its iconography already but doubles down with the final thematic notes. Dare I say this comedy is Sirk’s best film? I think it is. Coburn’s dance with jazz hands and all certainly helps.

The Naked Spur: Could this be the most psychological of all westerns? No one is innocent as they all battle the pull to greed and self-interest against the remembrance of moral values that become more faint, like mirages in the desert of the mind and soul, as these men stray from the structure of law that brings order and stability to their consciences. This dissonance is amplified by the claustrophobic social quarters in which they find themselves, an uncomfortable and bizarre feeling as most scenes take place in open physical spaces, but these men are strangers to one another - including the two who have a supposedly deep history between them (or I suppose this is the point: that they have a "long" history but not a "deep" one, a seemingly impossibly futile connective tissue between men as lost as Mann's evaluation of these, destined to define their relationship by unemotional signifiers like time). Since each man struggles to even contend with morals as a primary conscious priority, they are all placed on a relatively level playing field, with the worst (Ryan) only dubbed so by his position in the established ‘order’ of the other three flawed majority, a transparently subjective and meaningless assignment of value masked as one of sound definition. This is a sly trick on Mann’s part and he places special importance on Leigh’s role in assigning a hierarchy of morals to actions as all that separates who are heroes and who are doomed by the finale, though Stewart’s entire catalogue of redemptive symptoms, in every scene that he finds it inside himself, is actually brought out with significant help from Leigh. This only cements the idea that man’s will power outside of socialization through order is futile in isolation sans support, and produces a Hobbesian outlook in the nature of the reptilian brains of men in an apolitical and antisocial world, bordering on horror in how close we can come - or already are- to this fate. What seals this as even more cynical is how Leigh's woman is not only a support, but a need for this change to occur, reducing one's will power to almost completely muted effect and reinforcing powerlessness against the western landscape this time internally focused to the equally frightening and inaccessible barriers inside one's psyche, as hopeless trappings to overcome while emasculating the men at the same time in the face of 50s patriarchal role assignment and American bootstraps ideologies applied to mental health (another shameful taboo).

Mann made two (arguably) better westerns this decade, both of which lean a bit more toward the existential side, though philosophy is present here too clearly in the social-political thought pointed inwards to meet the psyche which becomes its plain of field. Those later works are psychological too, but this one just feels so tense with ambiguous and torn people that are more uncomfortably aloof than the later films, a sensation that only gets more heightened every time I revisit it. I suppose these works are all so complex that whether one weighs towards philosophy or psychology is in the eye of the beholder, though when the text is as densely saturated with human ugliness as this it hardly matters. Perhaps ironically, the collective sacrifice Mann makes of all the men still paints it as one of paradoxically anti-humanist and humanist attitudes: they all have equal worth judged through an absence of god, but that worth is subjective and valued at zero as a result of this cold absence of objective morality or jury, a parental resource that they are unconsciously seeking for support to no avail, and are thus even more lost than Mann has already left them through other more direct means.

I haven’t seen every film he made leading up to it, but the Naked Spur still feels like the first movie to give Stewart the rope to explore the psychological intensity Hitchcock will brilliantly bring out this decade— it’s a shame he’s so well known for his aww shucks affability, because his best roles are really kind of fucked up!

domino harvey wrote: Thu Dec 05, 2019 5:49 pm I haven’t seen every film he made leading up to it, but the Naked Spur still feels like the first movie to give Stewart the rope to explore the psychological intensity Hitchcock will brilliantly bring out this decade— it’s a shame he’s so well known for his aww shucks affability, because his best roles are really kind of fucked up!

On the flip side, I actually think this innocent everyman staple that defines Stewart's public image and legacy works in his favor to make these darker (and better) outings all the more unsettling and even horrific. As someone who grew up on It's a Wonderful Life, this really was a sobering and uncomfortable awakening only amplified to a more disorienting experience by Stewart's Tom Hanks-level expectations for social geniality and moral confidence, and even continues to have this effect because of the conditioned response still in place from that fixed idea in his persona, despite clear evidence of this as a facade!

The Naked Spur was the unequivocal highlight for me in a recent Jimmy Stewart run at a theater near me. Since you focus mostly on directing and thematics, I have to mention it: I'm sure the jolt was a little harsher for me, going from the preceding double bill of late-30s/early-40s romcoms Come Live with Me and Vivacious Lady, but Stewart's performance of simmering, bitter determination and sudden, absolute, thundering rage is one for the ages, one I was completely blindsided by, even knowing his work with Hitchcock and having been "prepared" for the "darker" side of Jimmy after Winchester '73 and Bend of the River just a few double bills before. This is one I'm very eager to revisit...

Appropriately, I was typing this between twbb's post and dom and twbb's replies.

In many ways I think it's his most unnerving performance as well, partly because his inaccessible ambiguity is so hazily smothered within him without an outlet, while Vertigo (the obvious contender) is precisely about him finding outlets, even if they turn out to be empty guises and failures that produce further trauma. At least he has a relationship with the world around him, to some degree, if only briefly!

therewillbeblus wrote: Thu Dec 05, 2019 5:42 pm Has Anybody Seen My Gal?: Charles Coburn is a cinematic treasure, and just when I thought he couldn’t be funnier, this film comes along and uses his best assets to land a seemingly impossible series of gags. This isn’t the first time Coburn has played a rich man faking his way through a layman’s world for laughs, but it might be the best of the bunch. His surrealist finger painting is so funny that can only be topped by Roberta’s reaction to it, in one of its best scenes, though I’d wind up down a rabbit hole of writing a book if I engaged in the process of trying to single out any more when so many are equally perfect. The hilarity finds its way to meet melodrama but keeps this aspect light and makes the mother figure rather exaggerated as a kind of cartoonish satire, but doesn’t minimize the consequences of this superficial stance. It’s to the credit of the script and actors, but mostly Sirk and the editing room, that this film never really sinks into a pit and humor shines through each despairing scene, allowing the darkest of moments to still remain in light. It even has a weird half-musical scene! I appreciated the mature choice not to go for capital-M “Message” in Coburn remaining humble and secretive throughout the shenanigans all the way to the very end (and his stone-faced attitude throughout the melodramatic extremities is really the key focal point that keeps the vibe from boiling over). In fact, the subtler message this ends with is fitting for a spirit-of-Christmas movie, which I suppose it is in its iconography already but doubles down with the final thematic notes. Dare I say this comedy is Sirk’s best film? I think it is. Coburn’s dance with jazz hands and all certainly helps.

I'm glad to see people heaping the praise on this film. I just discovered it a couple of years ago, thinking it was going to be minor Sirk. Every filmmaker should have a work so minor! Coburn is just a joy here, and I love his chemistry with child actress Gigi Perreau (never heard of her before this and that's a darn shame). One of my favorite aspects of this movie is that it functions as a low-key musical, with songs and music playing a strong role in this family's daily life. Performances grow organically from a record playing or an organ grinder in the park, but the film takes the time to let the characters express themselves through song and dance. I don't think this can beat Imitation of LIfe as my number one Sirk, but it's pretty close and with more viewings, who knows?

My girlfriend, who likes very few non-horror films and is easily put off by even the most charming old Hollywood actors, absolutely loves Coburn to the point where she’ll only really sit down to watch films with him in it for these projects with me. I’m convinced that he’s impossible to dislike. And yes, his relationship with Gigi Perreau here belongs on the mantle with the best cute odd couples from film history.

The Flowers of St. Francis (Roberto Rossellini 1950)

I feel rather foolish for letting this sit on the shelf for so many years. Maybe if I'd known the Italian title more accurately translates to Francis, God's Jester I would've more readily given it a chance. No, this is not some dutiful slog through the vagaries of faith, it's a film about a man doing what he was born to do. He knows himself and his capabilities, has found his place in the world and is content in it. His own inner peace makes him the kind of man other men follow. Mingus, Coltrane, Keith Richards and the great hip hop producer Showbiz (among many others) have all struck me as having this same kind of spirituality. As it is with Rosselini's version of St. Francis in this great movie, being in their presence is inspiring and uplifting.

For instance-when the kind hearted but dim witted Ginepro cuts off the foot of a pig to feed an ailing brother he is met with much anger from both the swineherd and Francis. Francis orders him to beg the farmer's forgiveness but the farmer won't hear it and walks away in anger. When he returns he brings the rest of the pig and gives it to the followers perhaps as a form of atonement for losing his temper. Ginepro is Francis' comic foil and an endearing figure but he also seems to have little comprehension of the compassionate way of life Francis calls for. He can only blindly follow instructions, cannot reason and gets the group in potential danger when he wanders into a warlord's camp to preach. In the movie's most comedic scene Ginepro encounters the barbarian Nicolaio and is immediately hauled before him (but not before being literally tossed around like a beach ball and dragged behind a mule by Nicolaio's army) to face execution. The tyrant (played by Aldo Fabrizi, the only professional actor in the entire cast) in comically oversized battle armor that must be operated by a sizable crew dwarfs little Ginepro. Nicolaio brings him to his tent and tries his hardest to be enraged. But instead, touched by his utter lack of guile, takes mercy on Ginepro and releases him.

Francis and his followers have boiled away the fat of anything unnecessary and reduced life to its barest essentials-food, clothing and shelter. Anything extraneous is given to the "poor" (although how much poorer they could possibly be is difficult to imagine) and all of God's creations are given their due respect. In one nearly wordless scene Francis offers the comfort of an embrace to a traveling leper only to be rebuffed and left weeping and calling out to God on the dusty road. Is he weeping because this wretch is beyond even the simplest of kindnesses? Or that this stricken man has seemingly been forsaken by God? I wasn't sure while watching but I think the leper has awakened in Francis a deep reserve of love that he didn't know he had. When he crumbles to his knees he does so in awe of the ability that's been bestowed upon him-the blessing to have love for even the lowliest of God's creations.

I don't think one can watch this without assessing their own spiritual depths or the state the world is in as it compares today but I hope that doesn't make it sound like a chore, it most definitely is not. The 90 minutes breezed past and the overall tone is celebrant. it's often very funny. Whimsical and perceptive. As it is told in vignette form it has a warm, open ended tactility, like a dog eared copy of a favorite book that one flips through to favorite passages. The closing scene in particular is one of the most touching "goodbye" scenes ever filmed. I'll easily find a spot on my list for it.

Great thoughts barryconvex! I think your multiple readings of the leper scene are spot on, though I’d add that Francis’ reaction potentially has further divide in his ambiguity: that of the ego, something that Francis tries to replace with faith to suppress along with his id in favor of the superego or conscience- but every human has one (and we see Francis’ flare up in small moments: trying to control the birds to stop so he can pray in silence, ordering his children around including chastisement playing god). So he could also be experiencing an internal sadness (a kind of subtle self-pity) that he can’t help the man, or even more painful, not be recognized for his efforts, as well as feeling grateful that god has spared him such a fate- which also carries both humble and selfish parts (simultaneously not being special, but having a direct connection to god thinking about you is not humble by definition). Each ambiguous feeling births another splitting ambiguity to the nature of being presented with inexplainable life events. I’m not suggesting that Rossellini is calling Francis a hypocrite or making any specific inferences on his own, but he is calling him a man, and when vaguely allowing for all these interpretations (I don’t believe any of what I said is particularly intentional on Rossellini’s part, but instead it’s the ambiguity that he’s allowing for in presentation) he creates a path for direct existential connection between audience and this man as well as to a higher power through humane validation and then lets Francis’ spiritual actions void those analytical significances leaving only pure spiritual love to remain significant.

So when Ginepro takes the pig foot or does any of the other forced actions assigned to his own analysis in attempts to follow an ideology, he fails, and even the pig farmer’s offering is from a place of resentment, and he will not adopt a Franciscan approach to life as a result of having met them (importantly, the goal is not to model Christianity as much as selfless kind pacifism). However, the giant will, specifically because Ginepro finally chooses to do what Francis does and reduce himself to an object (I believe knives has said a flower, and I agree) nullifying his will to engage in ego-driven acts. That doesn’t mean he is any better or worse than Francis because all people have them but the importance is not to act on them, just as Francis didn’t with the leper. Ginepro’s staticity becomes a spiritual presence in not reacting to the giant’s own fear and so the giant is spiritually affected by this mirror, himself reduced to the sum of his own actions, ego, and fears, and moves towards embracing a Franciscan way of life himself, at least in that moment following the awakening.

As you said it’s both a simple and a spiritually complex work that is only as complicated as one chooses to make it on their own path to voiding those points towards spiritual growth and embracing simplicity. As a very analytical person this film works for me perfectly for this exact reason: it’s a canvas for my own philosophical musings and then turns into a mirror to prompt me to abandon these as meaningless in the face of ineffable mysticism, like the path of Ginepro and then the giant, and it’s a gift of reprieve from the self that is Rossellini’s greatest achievement here as much as a clear presentation of the optimism that comes with that surrender.

Fascinating thoughts as usual blu. I wanted to ask if you've seen Pialat's Under The Sun Of Satan. Any similarities are probably superficial (this is another film I haven't revisited in years) but I did think of it while watching Flowers.

I haven’t but I’ll pick it up today, sounds interesting!

Daddy Long Legs

Continuing in the trend of positive revisits for these projects, this catapulted from a place of fondness to one of complete adoration. Here is a very different musical than The Band Wagon but equally funny (why is it that just about all the best comedies this decade are musicals?) with excellent numbers, witty lyrics and a wildly entertaining, sharp script. The way the French culture is appreciated through a process of respectful joining rather than a push for assimilation has always made this stand out, even if this detail is softer in the scheme of the film’s other strengths. Astaire’s character might be the most likeable of all the films I’ve seen of his, strange considering the weight of the socioeconomic discrepancies placed in plotting that doesn't tend to draw out my sympathies, but he’s so relatable in a casual way that nothing else matters much. Also distinct from the Minnelli is where the compassion is pointed, not on the art form for magic but in direct human connection, the shift in perspective yielding contentment from selflessness rather than self-fulfilling joyous boosts; that is, until love is found which ignites the self rather than the other way around, and thus everyone is on an even playing field for this opportunity. No one is better than the other but it’s a very welcome direction, though this might boil down to it being a folk vs show musical (I think I got that right? Even if there is a strong fairy tale vibe too, and a portion of the numbers are imagined..) it still feels rather unique in its execution and the empathy and general kindness Astaire and Caron exude altruistically, coupled with a surprising lack of pretension. This is a fresh kind of optimism, fitting for a musical while the material is also almost too innocent in its specificity of details for such extravagance, yet all parties pull it off with flying colors in grounded dance that doesn’t compromise its elegance. This is one of at least four musicals likely to make my list, but I have a feeling a few more will vie for a spot with so many months still to go!

There’s Always Tomorrow

I can’t entirely hate a movie full of validation when people on the screen are as annoyed with MacMurray as I am. In all seriousness this wasn’t bad at all, and Sirk takes his time to dress MacMurray into a sympathetic figure, a sad sack who is relatable enough not to be pathetic, and his interplay with Stanwyck early on initiates vicarious experiences of “what if” romantic fantasies. This is a good topic for Sirk to tackle and he does it without resorting as deeply into the ridiculous excessiveness, instead muting his own tendencies to overcook and staying present to allow the discussions of memories to unveil authentic nostalgia and brief pockets of symbiotic emotion forming inexplicit connection. Eventually, like clockwork, this does reach expected space but it also ends just as realistically as it does cynical, reminding me in a way of the much better Quine film Strangers When We Meet, though that film eliminates the fatty annoyances of most melodramas, including some Sirk. This was better than I expected, even if I prefer a few others Sirks this decade, of which only one, maybe two, will make the list. Though looking through his prolific turnout at the end of his career, and given that I just saw my favorite Sirk for the first time last week that will surely be kicking off an old favorite for a spot, I’ll keep an open mind as I continue through his filmography.

The question is, has he ever made anything quite like Has Anybody Seen My Gal? or more importantly, what’re the Coburn gems for this era? (Besides the obvious answer of every one.)

Gentlemen Prefer Blondes

It’s a rough decade for Hawks, but I’ve always liked this cute minor musical-comedy. The film feels very small in its ambitions, not a signifier I tend to apply to many of Hawks’ efforts, but this laid back quality minimizes expectations and mimics as a kind of comfort food. There’s one gag that I enjoy far above the rest, involving the boy on the ship (“you’ve got a lot of animal magnetism”) acting as Monroe’s limbs and voice opposite Coburn (!) and a few more that work like the booze-as-water manipulation, though nothing else really sells this to be anything particularly special. Not a list contender but a worthwhile watch.

Sabrina

A rewatch didn’t do much but keep this in its place as a solid Wilder romantic dramedy, held up by the talents of the script and main cast. The comedy elements work but it’s Hepburn’s talents in unfolding her character’s own awakening as she moves into her identity and establishes confidence in herself that makes this stand out as a great movie.

Saint Joan

Well I finally got around to this, and will add to the fire for this film’s strange greatness. This film gives the other Joan of Arc adaptations an unpredictable opponent as potentially the best of the lot (sacreligious I know), impressing through the narrative and contextual manipulations Preminger issues this story, concocting something truly original and creatively perverse. Widmark is ridiculous, which I can only chalk up to him playing so against type he either didn’t know what to do with the part or Preminger sought to apply his hamminess to the most pathetic of characters. Seberg is absolutely terrific in her debut, doe-eyed with innocence and dedication, as if mimicking her own devotion to the craft as well as her character’s faith. Seberg’s (and perhaps equally credited here as Greene’s and Preminger’s) Joan is more complicated than other adaptions have allowed. She is fleshed out in self-actualization with a (mostly) secure identity, and we are afforded opportunities to witness her attitude instill hope and confidence in older men of higher ranks and statuses. However, her own insecurities still shine through briefly and we are reminded of her human nature, even as she suppresses them and lies to herself and others, playing mother, servant, and expert. Is her ego driving her just as her faith? Preminger seems to be poking the bear a bit more aggressively than, say, Rossellini in Flowers or Bresson in Diary, but this is partially due to his interest in exploring character more deeply than the others. Preminger wisely continues his mature stance of showing without telling, and we believe in Joan as a result, at the very least believing that she believes, which is all that matters here.

As the objective truth becomes unimportant, the compassionate lens of the character study is catapulted into the spotlight, Joan’s protagonist infused with so much energy that we become serene, angry, humbled, depressed, and resentful right there with her, and through her. Whether these are the emotions a vehicle of God would possess is besides the point, they are those that a human does, and much like Francis and his children in Rossellini’s film, her story becomes spiritual by way of the existential, with doses of intimate psychology just close enough to join her with empathy but far enough away to avoid the trappings of the analytical angle and instead move towards a lighter dreamy blend of fantasy and realism, that becomes Preminger’s format for the spiritual. On a larger sociological level, Joan’s solidification of a nationalist identity challenges the sensitive patriarchal rigidity, and in this way the witchcraft angle plays out much like Dreyer’s Day of Wrath. This film is more theatrical and so there’s more space to venture towards extremes in content vs visual expressiveness in the Dreyer, here via Greene’s script and Preminger’s skills at imbuing energetic intensity into all performances while capturing them closely with a delicate curious and fearless camera. It’s a careful examination of passion battling fear, from a passionate and fearless filmmaker, a grounded response under a veil of spiritual questions.

mizo, I look forward to your “extended piece of writing” on this one!



Lili

This is one that’s been with me a long time, far before joining this forum, though it’s no surprise that domino and I share a love for it given the themes of identity and complex sociological questions this asks not only the medium but the audience's participation in it. This is a fairy tale story that is soaked in G-rated visualizations and folly, but right from the first scene the pit in any adult stomach is poisoned, where our naive Lili is nearly exploited and sexually assaulted in a foreign space sans supports, and subsequently passed around to and from toxic men, deprived of any opportunity to realise her ‘self’ nor be recognized as visible let alone dignified. It’s a curious kind of anti-fairy tale that starts with what sounds like the ending to one (girl achieves catharsis in traveling to a distant land on the promise of fulfilling her dreams by guardian angel) only to have the rug pulled out from under her into a kind of reality-as-horror film where women are viewed and treated as purely sexual objects by the male gaze (already established in a wordless exchange between two people before Lili enters the screen).

Leslie Caron plays the kind, pure innocent with the same intrigue that she would give another innately good person in Daddy Long Legs a few years later. Of course it’s only Ferrer, himself meek and fearful (to the point of exhibiting public cruelty and self-destructive alcoholism), who is a worthy person for Lili, and it’s fitting that his empathetic qualities make him feel like an outcast in Walter’s cynical milieu, and bring him to a state of sorrow similar to hers. The movie seems to be advocating for a healthy dose of self-consciousness as the secret ingredient for widening one’s peripheries and achieving empathy and connection in the murky waters of a world that doesn’t support such acts or even the base of these perspectives. This characteristic is a kind of antidote in that way, but one that exists, along with music, art, playfulness (puppets, and more), jokes, and identity. One just needs to find them. Though, when even on the stage a magic trick consists of sexually aggressive unwanted exploitation of women by men, I suppose it’s even rare in that ‘magical’ space! Even the romantic courting starts as an intervention to interrupt a suicide attempt, and its born to serve as a distraction to the darkness engulfing them both. It’s also worth pointing out that Lili’s dreams involve her masquerading as a sexual object, as if this idea has been so rooted in her experience from this social context that it is woven into her identity even in the safety of dreams.

This anti-fairy tale idea succeeds because of this negative space surrounding Lili and Paul’s fantasy resembling the antagonistic environments and figures in those stories. The difference is that here it’s real, it’s our world, and that the characters (and we) need to escape into a fantastical medium to be relieved of the associated psychological assaults, or at least offered a reprieve, though the exploitation even in Lili’s own fantasies make this an even more complex exposition, for whose dreams are we experiencing when we get this relief? Are they Lili’s, Paul’s, ours, or perhaps a collective consciousness only possible in the corners and crevices of a movie, itself a creative dream? Are we all that tainted by this horror that we can’t even effectively realise the antidote more clearly or easily? Is this why even Lili only returns to Ferrer in the end because she engages in the deepest fantasy (within a filmic fantasy) that couldn't sustain her connection to Ferrer itself following his selfish tirade, and is this indicative of the actual strength of their connection or her, and perhaps our, delusions? This meta-contextual experience is self-reflexive in more ways than just sexism and deprivation of identity, but in merging the real world with fable, and achieving a twisted kind of romance in the process, while reminding us that it’s a miracle that we can even find it at all... if that is what we're looking at in the end, and I'm not so sure it is.

It’s very telling that Audrey Hepburn fell in love with Mel Ferrer and pursued him after seeing Lili— I can’t even with what that says about her psychological profile!

In the clinical field we call that “bananas”

IMDb lists of the first three iterations of the 1950s: v1.0, v2.0 and v3.0

Thanks, though the third one needs to be made public

I'm sure I do this every time.

Sabrina, my second favorite Wilder by far and a likely candidate for my list, is much like the Apartment in mixing its pitch black dramatics with acidic comedy. I mean, the first act of this movie with the suicide attempt isn't even really a comedy! The titular role is so well suited to someone like Hepburn, who always looks so fragile on screen and yet possesses a clear inner strength to counteract it, that it's hard to imagine who else at that time could have possibly played it-- a true star performance. Holden and his bleach blonde Benoit Magimel-anticipating look is clearly just there as a favor to Wilder, and Bogart is too old to plausibly fill the role's shoes, but he's so hangdog that you kind of pull for him regardless

Daddy Long Legs and Saint Joan made my list last time, but I'm not sure they'll make the cut this round-- they're still amazing movies, there are just a lot of amazing movies this decade. And I'm still not emotionally prepared to think about the culling process for the next decade! If this list extended even one year forward into 1960, my Top 5 alone would conceivably be completely different!