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by
Leonard Heldreth
Murder, mayhem dominate
plotlines
Murders dominate our films for this month.
One film is based on an actual event, one is a variation on the British
whodunit at the country estate, one is a chilling account of the effect
of a murder and the last is a full-fledged Spanish ghost story.
The Cat's Meow
On November 18, 1924 William Randolph Hearst, lord of a publishing
empire and the inspiration for Orson Welles' Charles Foster Kane,
invited a group of friends onto his yacht, The Oneida, for a weekend
cruise to celebrate the birthday of producer Thomas Ince.
The cruise ended abruptly the next day, and Ince left the ship
seriously ill and died shortly thereafter at his home. Many stories
have circulated about who was on board at the time, what really happened
to Ince and how Hearst, one of the world's wealthiest and most powerful
men, adjusted the facts to create a reality less damaging to his reputation.
Hearst swore all the guests to silence, and no one dared to break
that vow, even to identify who was onboard the yacht. No police investigation
occurred, there was no autopsy and no doctor or coroner ever spoke
publicly about what killed Thomas Ince. Peter Bogdanovich's recreation
of the event in The Cat's Meow is based upon what Welles told Bogdanovich
and, as Bogdanovich admits, is simply the most commonly repeated of
the many versions of what happened.
According to this account, the passenger list included Hearst
and Marion Davies (his mistress), Charlie Chaplin, Louella Parsons,
Thomas Ince and British novelist Elinor Glyn, as well as minor Hollywood
luminaries and mistresses. True or not, it's an amusing account of
jealousy, philandering, mistakes and misconceptions among the rich
and the famous, and for anyone interested in Hearst and Davies, it
counters the images of them in Citizen Kane. Although there are a
number of problems with the film, it offers enough rewards to make
it enjoyable. On the negative side, Bogdanovich is not the best director
for this type of film. His high point came with The Last Picture Show,
and despite some semi-successes, such as Paper Moon, his later work
often seems labored. His obsession with period accuracy here works
to his advantage, for he recreates Hollywood in the twenties in exquisite
detail.
Edward Herrmann is excellent as Hearst, exhibiting the stuffy
public persona which he attempted to alleviate with jokes and activity,
and showing his desperation over possibly losing Davies. Eddie Izzard
captures Chaplin's egotism, despite being stockier and earthier than
Chaplin. Cary Elwes is low-key and convincing as Ince, while Joanna
Lumley (the Ab Fab comedy series) is fine as Elinor Glyn. Jennifer
Tilly seems overly hysterical for someone as calculating as Louella
Parsons, but her fawning on Hearst seems appropriate, and history
verifies that shortly after this weekend, she signed a lifetime contract
with Hearst. Most impressive is Kirsten Dunst as the twenty-seven-year-old
Marion Davies. Hearst clearly loved Davies, so much so that he stifled
her career, forcing her to act in stodgy costume dramas when her real
strength was in comedy.
Hearst supposedly lost over seven million dollars trying to
push her career as a "serious" actress and built a castle
on a 240,000 acre ranch at San Simeon in California for her. Orson
Welles and Herman J. Mankiewicz used many of Davies' characteristics
to create Susan Alexander Kane-e.g., her interest in jigsaw puzzles,
her voice and blond hair, her subservience to Hearst in her career.
Unlike Susan Alexander, Davis never married Hearst, although
she remained loyal to him throughout his life, pawned a million dollars
worth of her jewelry to help him at one point, and moved out of San
Simeon at his death. Kirsten Dunst's portrayal of Davies may help
to rehabilitate Davies' image from that of a conniving gold-digger
to that of a charming, gifted comedienne who loved not wisely but
too well; even Welles admitted in later years that "we really
did a number on her."
Anyone interested in Hollywood of the twenties or in Chaplin,
Hearst, Davies or Citizen Kane, will want to see The Cat's Meow just
to revisit one of the juicier scandals of the period and to see interpretations
of some of its more interesting characters.
Gosford Park
A number of reviewers saw parallels between The Cat's Meow and
Gosford Park. Both had roots in the murder mystery genre that places
a number of people in an isolated situation in which someone dies.
Both had large casts and talented actors. Both were set in the 1920s.
Both were directed by famous directors whose recent accomplishments
were not up to their earlier efforts. And while these parallels exist,
in almost every way, Gosford Park is a bigger and better picture.
Director Robert Altman has always been a risk-taker. He likes
large casts with interlocking storylines and overlapping dialogue.
Using the script as an outline, he encourages his actors to improvise
while he keeps the cameras running. Sometimes the results are films
unequaled in their originality and spontaneity-M*A*S*H, McCabe and
Mrs. Miller, Nashville, The Player, Short Cuts. Sometimes the results
are films that don't quite succeed or never move beyond uninspired
improvisation-A Wedding, Popeye, or Ready to Wear. Fortunately, Gosford
Park falls into the first list. The original screenplay won Julian
Fellowes an Academy Award, and it clearly owes debts not only to Agatha
Christie (the victim is murdered not once but twice-if that's possible)
but also to the very popular British television series, Upstairs,
Downstairs. Like the latter, the narrative follows not only the problems
of the aristocrats but also those of their corresponding servants.
Some film reviewers seemed confused by character relationships,
even after two viewings, but they were obviously taking the film too
seriously. The fun of Gosford Park is seeing the gorgeous and meticulous
sets and watching the first-rate ensemble acting from some of England's
top thespians-Michael Gambon, Maggie Smith, Eileen Atkins, Alan Bates,
Charles Dance, Derek Jacobi, Helen Mirren, Kristin Scott Thomas, Emily
Watson, etc. Even the bit parts are excellent-witness the cook who
speaks to the late arrivals while she enjoys a cigarette and then
is later interrupted as she provides sexual comfort on one of the
kitchen tables.
Gosford Park was nominated for an academy award for best picture,
Altman received a director nomination, and Helen Mirren and Maggie
Smith received supporting actress nominations. Anyone who likes Masterpiece
Theatre, British murder mysteries or stories about the British class
structure and country living between the world wars will revel in
it.
The Devil's Backbone
Guillermo del Toro, the thirty-six-year-old director and writer
of The Devil's Backbone, was born in Mexico and has worked both in
Spain (Cronos 1994) and in Hollywood (Mimic 1997); he recently directed
Blade 2 (2002). This film is set in the later stages of the Spanish
Civil War and carries with it much of the symbolic trappings of that
political event, e. g., the failure of idealism to prevail against
the ruthlessness of the impending fascist dictatorship.
Virtually all of the action takes place in an orphanage for
the children of people killed fighting for the Republican cause. A
huge crucifix in the courtyard disguises it as a Catholic school and
thus sympathetic to the rightist forces. Also in the courtyard is
a huge Fascist bomb, one end buried in the dirt, the fins on the other
end extending into the air. The bomb did not explode when it fell,
and it was supposedly disarmed, but some boys say it still ticks.
Into this setting comes the new boy, Carlos (Fernando Tielve);
he is left at the orphanage and assigned to the bed of Santi, the
boy who disappeared the night the bomb fell and whose ghost haunts
the orphanage. The orphanage is run by Carmen (Marisa Paredes) and
C‡sares (Federico Luppis), assisted by Jacinto (Eduardo Noriega),
a young man who grew up at the orphanage and has returned. Carmen's
wooden leg and C‡sares' impotence visually illustrate their crippled
situation, and Jacinto has returned because he believes the Republicans
have hidden at the orphanage a stash of gold which they are using
to finance the war.
As the war continues and the situation deteriorates, Jacinto
becomes increasingly desperate to find the gold. Betrayals, explosions
and demonstrations of bravery from the boys carry the action forward.
In the background is the question of Santi-what happened to him, why
does he appear to Carlos and what will it take to pacify his ghost?
The acting is always competent and sometimes excellent. Marisa
Paredes is instantly recognizable to any fan of the films of Pedro
Almodovar, starring in his High Heels, The Flower of My Secret and
All About My Mother (Almodovar and his brother co-produced the film).
She is excellent here as Carmen, who hates herself for giving herself
to Jacinto. Luppis as C‡sares powerfully coveys an aging man
fighting for what he believes and willing to kill to protect the woman
he still loves. His scene sitting at the window with a rifle across
his lap waiting for the return of the marauders could have come from
a Peckinpah movie. Eduardo Noriega (Open Your Eyes) is believable
as Jacinto, who will do anything to get the gold. All of the boy actors
are convincing.
Del Toro effectively contrasts the harsh barren setting of the
day, with its isolation, empty plains and sweltering sun, with the
orphanage at night, a labyrinth of passages, closing doors, basements,
subterranean pools and beckoning ghosts. When Carlos follows the frightening
figure of Santi, a boy with his head crushed and the blood seeping
upward, and disappearing into the air as though it were in water,
Del Toro generates genuine frissions of fear from some fairly traditional
elements. This is a serious ghost story with no apologies, and in
its own way, it's as good as, or better than, The Others, directed
by Del Toro's countryman and reviewed in this column previously.
Perhaps most impressive about the film is Del Toro's merging
of the political action and symbolism with the fear and horror of
the ghost story. While the boys may fear the ghost, it is the horrors
of the adult world that ultimately threaten to destroy them. At the
end, as they set out from the destroyed orphanage, supporting each
other and limping down the road that leads across the empty plain
to the distant horizon, Del Toro pulls no punches about their chances
of survival in this warring world. (In Spanish with English subtitles.)
In the Bedroom
Based on an Andre Dubus story, Todd Fielding's In the Bedroom
combines a powerful and compelling story with superb acting to create
one of the most memorable films of the year. Making his directorial
debut, Todd Fielding has previously been most familiar as the piano
player, Nick Nightengale, in Stanley Kubrick's Eyes Wide Shut.
Fielding worked with Dubus to shape the story into a screenplay
before the author died in 1999, and the narrative retains that measured
quality of the best literature--an inevitable movement whose direction
only gradually becomes discernable but whose momentum cannot be stopped.
The title refers to the innermost part of a lobster trap from which
there is no escape, but it metaphorically refers to the relationship
between Matt Fowler (Tom Wilkinson) and his wife Ruth (Sissy Spacek).
The film opens with scenes of a golden Maine summer in which
Frank (Nick Stahl), Matt and Ruth's son, is having an affair with
Natalie Strout (Marisa Tomei), a mother of two who is not yet divorced
from her husband Richard (William Mapother), son of one of the wealthiest
families in town. This first third introduces the town, the characters,
and the situations, and it's a little slow at times, although beautifully
done.
Then something terrible happens that changes the entire situation
and grabs the viewer like a vise. The second third of the movie places
great stress on the Fowlers, and the third describes the response
to that stress.
Performances are superb throughout. Wilkinson, Spacek, and Tomei
were nominated for Oscars (as was the film for best picture), and
all turn in sensational performances. Equally good, however, are the
supporting parts, such as William Mapother, who at first seems like
a spoiled brat with bad hair, but gradually his ability to manipulate
and to be most dangerous when he is most servile is revealed.
In the Bedroom is unforgettable-the shock of what happens in
the film, the confrontation between Wilkinson and Spacek, Wilkinson's
chilling comment to his friend, "I couldn't wait," and the
last shot of Wilkinson lying in bed smoking a cigarette while his
wife calls from below, "Do you want some coffee?" Anyone
interested in the best of independent American filmmaking will want
to see it.
--Leonard G. Heldreth
Editor's Note: All films reviewed are available
as DVDs or videotapes from local stores.
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