
Ana
de Armas in Sex Party and Lies (2009) in 1080hd
Rachel
Weisz and Liv
Tyler in Stealing Beauty (1996) in 1080hd
(openmatte version)
Weisz
Tyler
I suppose Bernardo Bertolucci is
the least Italian of all the great Italian
directors. Before this, he had not made a movie in
Italy in 15 years, and this one wasn't much of a
homecoming in the sense that it is in English, and
is really about a bunch of Brits and Americans
living in and visiting a countryside villa in
Tuscany.
Stealing Beauty begins with the arrival of
19-year-old Lucy Harmon (Liv Tyler), an American who
has traveled to Italy after her mother's suicide, on
the pretext of having her portrait created by an old
family friend. Her real reasons are more complex.
Her mother's diaries reveal that Lucy was conceived
in this very villa, but mother's words do not reveal
the identity of her real father. All of her life,
she has been told that her father was the man
married to her mother, but now she knows that to be
false and wants to know who it really is. She also
thinks perhaps this would be a good time to lose her
cherry. Of course, these projects have to follow a
certain chronology. It would be wise to determine
who dad is first, in order to avoid sleeping with
him.
That's pretty much all there is to it, and you can
bet that she will find her dad and her deflowerer,
and that they will be two different people, so
there's no real mystery. In fact, the film even
shows you who her father is before she knows. Given
that complete lack of plot or suspense, the film has
to rely on character and atmosphere to hold your
attention.
Well, characterization ain't it. Lucy, the central
character, is underwritten and what little
personality she has is vacuous. She is 19, but she
seems to have the mind and the emotional development
of a 14 year old. We see her poems, empty-headed,
lacking in talent, riddled with spelling mistakes,
rhyming childishly like Burma Shave signs.
The dye (sic) is cast
The dice are rolled
I feel like shit
You look like gold
I didn't make that up. That was
the real poem, verbatim. Do you believe that was
written by a 19 year old whose mother was a
distinguished poet?
Big sigh.
I used to teach English to high
school juniors. They were 16-17 years old. The level
of sophistication in their thoughts and writings
were far beyond anything Liv shows in this film. One
of my classes was a "sweathog" class, but they, too
could express their thoughts far better than Liv
does here. So the character we see in the film
writes and speaks in a manner far less sophisticated
than a 16 year old slow learner, yet she is supposed
to be the 19 year old daughter of a noted author!!
Poor old Bertolucci seems to be out of touch with
the development of humans through adolescence.
Perhaps he's forgotten the kinds of thoughts and
capabilities we have at certain ages. Or perhaps he
really wanted the character to be 14, but couldn't
face the reactions he would have gotten from the
press and religious groups, so he kept the character
the same, but simply said she was 19. I don't
know. I do know that it isn't a realistic 19 year
old of any kind.
Hell, how many beautiful 19 year old virgins do you
know? Now that I think about it, it seems that he
absolutely must have written this character to be
14, only to cave to some external pressure.
It really doesn't matter, anyway, because this Lucy
is really not a person at all. She's just a symbol
of youthful beauty, like the blonde in the
convertible that keeps turning up in those Lampoon's
Vacation movies, except our Lucy is a symbol of
innocent youth rather than high-spirited youth.
If the part was meant to be vacuous and beautiful,
Liv Tyler nailed it. In her performance, and in the
accompanying interview, she demonstrated a head
devoid of thoughts, and an intellectual
maturity level less than her physical age. Her use
of baby-talk terms like "ex-specially" in the
interview was, well, exspecially irritating. But you
have to admire the genius in casting her. She is
beautiful, innocent-looking, and perfectly suited to
play a girl who was deceived about the true identity
of her father. That's exactly what the film needed.
The secondary parts weren't developed much better.
Except for Jeremy Irons as a dying author, the
characters were cut out of cardboard stereotypes and
dressed up in the official Betsy McCall "eccentric
wardrobe", sort of like "East Village Barbie". Irons
rose above the rest of the cast, nearly carried the
whole movie himself, either because his part was
written better or, more likely, because he
personally breathed life into it. It was refreshing
to see him use his considerable talent to play a
role with no sinister character traits, and he
pulled it off with great dignity and genuine
humanity.
I guess you think I'm going to tell you to avoid
this film. Not so. I enjoyed it.
"Come again, Scoop? If the plot and characterization
is poor, what the hell did you like?"
Great direction is all about
atmosphere. Are you impressed with the plot and
characterization in A Touch of Evil? The plot is
grade-z junk, and the characters were all cartoons,
although Orson Welles' character was a fascinating
cartoon. People think that is a great film because
of its atmosphere. Same thing with Stealing Beauty.
The atmosphere of the film is very similar to
"Sirens". The locals live in an isolated hilltop
community where they live some kind of pagan
existence, amid unique statuary, golden and green
hillsides, naked swimming and sunbathing, eating,
lovemaking, and music. It is a moveable feast
without much movement. Like Sirens, it takes place
in an isolated self-contained community headed by a
freethinking artist. Like Sirens, this film did for
me what a good doobie used to do in the old days
when I was uptight. It just bathed me in a wave of
contentment, and sucked me into its hazy world. By
the end of the film I was lying in a hammock in the
Tuscan sunlight, talking to the rest of the
characters, enjoying their comings and goings.
The film presents a marvelous and eclectic selection
of music to accentuate the erotic and sensuous mood
of their world. Folk, rock, classical, swing, tango
- having only sensuousness in common.
And the camerawork is luscious.
Just let yourself be carried away by that
atmosphere, and you'll never notice the film's
weaknesses. Sure, it's just a Zalman King film with
more class and a higher I.Q, but is that such a bad
thing?
Cheryl
Smith and others in Farewell, My Lovely (1975) in
1080hd
Bob Mitchum had a unique screen personality.
To every role, war hero or criminal, he brought a
presence that said, "I won't talk a lot, but I'll listen
to you if you aren't too irritating. It's just that
talkin' takes a lot of energy. I'll even let you give me
a little shit, because gettin' riled up is a waste of
energy, but pushin' me too far would be a
mistake." He was the embodiment of a certain type
of quiet strength. Oh, yeah, Gregory Peck had some of
the same sort of persona, but in a God-fearin', sexless
way. Bob Mitchum took that Peck thing and added several
more layers: sexual charisma, danger, world-weariness,
cynicism, even a hint of sleaze. Mitchum even went to
jail on a marijuana rap back in the days when people
thought the ganja was about a hair's breadth from
heroin. I suppose Peck could probably have played the
menacing Max Cady effectively, but I doubt he'd have
wanted too. And Mitchum probably could have played
Atticus Finch, but would they have wanted him?
Mitchum, the quintessential American type, got two tries
at playing the honest detective known as Marlowe, a
quintessential American character created by Raymond
Chandler. In both cases, the films were remakes of
wartime classics. Farwell, My Lovely was a remake of
1944's Murder, My Sweet, which starred Dick Powell as
Marlowe. The Big Sleep was a remake of an eponymous 1946
film (originally filmed in 1944) which starred Bogie
himself. Bogie WAS Philip Marlowe, possessing Marlowe's
same sense of integrity so stubbornly ingrained that it
led him into inconvenient directions, sometimes even
into decisions contrary to his own self-interest. More
than one underage starlet reported having been picked up
by Bogie at a Hollywood party and driven home - to her
parents! That is exactly what Marlowe himself would have
done.
I like Bogie in the role better than Mitchum, but I like
Mitchum better than anyone else I've ever seen in it,
and I like his interpretation of the obligatory
voice-over narration better than anyone's. His voice
carried just the right combination of resignation,
idealism, and cynicism. Farewell, My Lovely is the
better of Mitchum's two Marlowes, and in fact is quite a
good movie. Chandler's novels are very difficult to
whittle down to screenplays because they are so
complicated, and because all the characters are
disingenuous except Marlowe himself. It's difficult to
follow a plot based on dialogue when every single
character is lying or hiding something. The other
Marlowe films have worked because of atmosphere, wit and
style, not because of careful or understandable
plotting. Farewell, My Lovely is different. The plot is
still complicated as hell, but it's reasonably easy to
follow. After watching the movie, I pulled out my copy
of the book and skimmed through it to see how the
screenwriter approached the project, and I finished that
exercise very impressed. The film's story is like the
novel's story, but details have been omitted and even
changed entirely. At times the complete focal point of
the story has been shifted, and it all works - possibly
even better than the novel, although one always misses
all the intricate details that can be explored in a
book. My hat is off to screenwriter David Zelag Goodman.
I had never heard the name of David Zelag Goodman before
writing this article, and was fascinated to see that he
wrote some respected screenplays in the early 1970s, did
so prolifically, and then just kind of disappeared. IMDb
offers no clues to this mystery.
Straw Dogs (1971)
Farewell, My Lovely (1975)
Monte Walsh (1970)
Logan's Run (1976)
Lovers and Other Strangers (1970)
Man on a Swing (1974)
Goodman not only did a good job at adapting
the plot, but he also layered in some clever parallels
between Marlowe's cases and the events happening in the
world at the time. For example, things go well for
Marlowe at the beginning of the film. He solves two
missing persons in two days and also manages to pick up
an incredibly hot rich chick, so he mentally compares
himself to DiMaggio, who was at the time just a few
games shy of the all-time hit record. As DiMaggio passes
the record and keeps adding to his record, a cocky
Marlowe wonders if DiMaggio will just keep hitting in
every game forever (implying that he may do the same,
although Marlowe is too modest to say so directly). Of
course, DiMaggio is finally stymied by a couple of
mediocre pitchers, because all streaks must end.
Marlowe's own streak meets a similar fate, disappointing
him and breaking his heart, but ultimately enriching us
by providing fodder for the usual poetic and melancholy
voice-over musings.
The film delivers a comprehensible plot, some touching
moments, and some great Marlowe narration from Mitchum.
In addition, there are all the atmospheric elements you
need in 1941 Los Angeles: neon signs flashing on and
off, sassy dames, drunken floozies, big galoots, wise
guys, ugly mugs, washed-up fighters, crooked cops,
crookeder politicos, lots of street slang, and Harry
Dean Stanton. In my book, that pretty much makes
Farewell, My Lovely a must-see if you like film noir of
the hard-boiled detective variety.
|