J.D. Hansel

1950s Movie Reviews

White Christmas Review

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Some films are great entertainment, and others are high art, but some just need to serve a function.  This film is functional: it puts the spectator in a Christmas mood.  Using many of the tools and tricks of other classic musicals of its day, regurgitating old tropes, it makes the viewer want to watch it not for its own value, but because it is clearly the kind of film that ought to be on the TV set during the holidays.  It has the usual problems of musicals from the 1950s, most noticeably unnecessary musical numbers, and it has a heaping dose of the 1950s’ nostalgia for older times, even though those older days were far worse than the film’s own time.  Heck, if I have to watch one more classic movie that tries to romanticize minstrel shows, I might vomit.

Still, as one would expect, it has some amount of good music, good performances, and good visuals.  Danny Kaye demonstrates why he is an underrated legend of the silver screen, and the finale even grabbed my heartstrings a little.  At the end of the day though, the film isn’t trying too hard to be very good, and I hesitate to say it is good.  This was never anyone’s passion project.  It’s just fluff.  Fortunately, once the holidays roll around, I’m kind of in the mood for fluff.

War of the Worlds (1953)

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I usually have a pretty good idea of how I’m going to feel about a movie before I watch it – I’m just that kind of person.  Even when the trailers for a movie don’t do it justice – consider Baby Driver – I’m often able to see through the marketing and get a sense for what a film’s strengths and weaknesses are going to be.  I think that’s what made the 1953 War of the Worlds so disappointing to me.  I knew I would like elements of the visual style – the alien ships are absolutely brilliant, and some of the costumes and lighting are also notably excellent – but it actually wasn’t was colorful, dark, vivid, and theatrical as I’d hoped it would be.  It’s really rather painful to sit through thanks to its story, most of which I found fairly uninteresting.  Obviously, some of the writing is very smart – I am, of course, fully aware of the significance of H.G. Wells – but this story just doesn’t work as a movie.  The ending isn’t really satisfying, and the message is repulsively preachy and spiritual, even though it doesn’t make sense to do a “Thank God for His Gracious Ex Machina” ending after all the needless tragedy that fills the film.

In short, I can appreciate the film’s technical and creative accomplishments, but it’s far from my idea of great sci-fi.

An American in Paris Review

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Gene Kelly was working on this legendary musical at the same time as he was working on another: Singin’ in the Rain.  Unfortunately, it’s quite clear which of these two films had the most thought and work put into it – not American in Paris.  The film toggles between one story about Gene gaining recognition for his painting, which doesn’t really go anywhere, and another story about Gene falling in love with (and creepily forcing himself upon) a beautiful dancer, which is mysteriously resolved without explanation, all with unrelated musical numbers popping up throughout.  How charming.  Of course, one might say I’ve just described the average classic musical, and that may be true, but I wanted something better than average from a film with this level of status.  I wanted something more than an excuse for another jukebox musical for Gershwin songs, and this doesn’t offer that much more.

Yet, oddly, it still is charming and delightful.  Gene Kelly’s character, as much of a creep as he may be, is still likable, and his dances are still captivating.  The character dynamics and storytelling techniques are incredibly fascinating – has anyone ever heard of another film doing an opening voiceover like this film’s?  The visual styles used in some of the musical numbers are absolutely outstanding, with sets and color palettes that are not only gorgeous, but quite creatively and intelligently used.  I’m probably giving this film too much credit for its aesthetic accomplishments, but when a film knows how to do really cool ballets, that shouldn’t go unappreciated.  I can easily give the movie a hard time for being irritatingly flawed, but when a film has a great cast, likable characters, smart dialogue, lovely production design, careful artistry, and catchy music, I can’t help but give it my approval.

Roman Holiday Review

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Roman Holiday defies traditional classification.  On the most basic level, it’s a romantic comedy – after all, it is romantic, and it is comedic.  That being said, it’s not like any romantic comedy I’ve ever seen.  At a certain point it becomes clear that, as much as the two leads love each other, they don’t see how it’s possible for them to live out the rest of their lives together since one of them is royalty and the other is not.  Because the rest of the film feels like a fun, happy romantic comedy about escapism, the audience expects that, by the end, everything will work out such that they can be happy together, but this doesn’t happen – and logically it’s a given that it couldn’t happen.  I find it difficult to decide whether or not this counts as an example of bad screenwriting.

Don’t think that I believe all movies should have happy endings.  I don’t even necessarily think all comedies must have happy endings to count as comedies.  My problem with Roman Holiday is the futility of its events.  The ending requires the audience to believe that Princess Ann is now content to return to her restrictive duties as Princess now that she’s had her one holiday, even though there is little evidence to suggest she is.  Joe Bradley actually ends up worse off than he was at the start, having upset his boss and landlord and having lost a lot of money (not to mention a big story that would have advanced his career).  Neither of them should be happy, but the film tries to argue that cherishing the memories of this one wonderful holiday offers enough lasting happiness for the both of them (it’s a “better to have loved and lost” kind of story) even though this conclusion simply isn’t supported anywhere in the film – the viewer must assume this to be true.

Apart from this, however, the film is put together brilliantly.  Right from the very first scene (not counting the newsreel), the writing, camerawork, editing, and acting are all excellent, establishing the character with a carefully paced and wildly funny opening.  The rest of the film continues this high-level of craftsmanship and fun, making for one of the smartest romantic comedy films I’ve seen to date.  What’s particularly likeable about it is Audrey Hepburn’s performance – the only film of hers I’d seen before was Breakfast at Tiffany’s, and I’d always wondered why she was considered such a great actress.  I wonder no more, and I now look forward to seeing more of her work.

The Fly (1958) Review

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While I usually tend to think of 1950s monster movies as strictly cheesy, low-budget, pathetic B-movies, this film challenges that notion to some extent.  It fits the formula and has many of the same aesthetic qualities as the usual 1950s B-film, but it actually has quality actors and a budget.  Its writing is smart, and the forced happy ending gives away the fact that the studio execs had a close eye this film, which they never had on their B-films.  This film is shot in Cinemascope and with vivid Technicolor, suggesting it was meant to fit into the same family as War of the Worlds from 1953.  Still, it is, if we’re being honest, just a monster movie with weird effects designed to give some kids a cheap thrill.  As much as I like the screenplay and some of the visuals, the structure of the film sucks out all the drama, and the famous “help me” scene towards the end is so cheesy, bizarre, uncanny, awkward, and outright stupid that it makes the whole film a lot harder for me to swallow.  Thank heavens for the cool lighting and the great performances (who doesn’t love Vincent Price) that make this a fun horror classic.

Sunset Boulevard Review

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Every now and again, I’m quite surprised which members of my family decide to sit down by the TV and join me in watching a movie that I wouldn’t think is his/her kind of thing.  This happened most recently when I was spending a weekend at my parents’ house and I put Sunset Boulevard on the big screen.  This is a dark, dramatic satire of Hollywood mixed with Gothic chills and romantic comedy from 1950, yet my 12-year-old sister decided to watch it with me.  What made this so special is that Sunset Boulevard happens to be not only a great film by one of my favorite directors, but also a very useful teaching tool.

The first reason why this film is helpful for learning about film history is that it concerns icons of silent cinema, so it re-introduces its viewers to the era with a focus on Cecil B. DeMille, cameos by actors from the time, and an impression of Charlie Chaplin (a very good one, I might add).  Oddly, this actually makes it a very good example of 1950s cinema as well.  The films of the 1950s generally seem to show an awareness of the fact that Hollywood was in a state of crisis as its studio system was falling apart and its Code was weakening, and this film, much like 1952’s Singin’ in the Rain, parallels this with the crisis actors from the silent era faced when they had to learn how to succeed in the sound era.  This film, then, offers the flip side to Singin’ in the Rain, showing how tragic it was for the stars (like Lena) who couldn’t keep shining through the 1930s.  The one thing that makes this a poor example of 1950s film is that it can be seen as a film noir (a relatively small genre) due to its uncommon traits and tropes – voice-over narration explaining the story of how a man died, chilling exploration of the psychology of madness, a narrative about choosing between the good girl and the intimidating woman, deep, jagged shadows and wild chiaroscuro lighting, and general sense that everything is spiraling down towards a gloomy, unsettling end.

Best of all, Sunset Boulevard is a good example of a great film.  This is Billy Wilder at his best, bringing together a great cast and working through serious psychological subjects with a a healthy dose of comedy.  The script is smart, carefully setting up its rather forced story in a way that somehow still feels natural and giving nearly every significant character some wonderful, clever dialogue.  Gloria Swanson, of course, steals the show as Norma Desmond – I could taste the scenery she was chewing – and the performance she gives is surely one of the finest (and one of the most over-the-top) in all of cinema’s history.  The film is made that much better by its stunning visuals, which could have simply been there for the heck of it, but Wilder puts them to good use aiding the story, defining the characters, and saturating the drama.  The film that results may be rather slow and boring at times, but it is still one of the best introductions to Classical Hollywood cinema I know, and I hope to watch it with the rest of my family someday.  If Norma Desmond ever needed proof that the pictures didn’t get small, this is it.