Forsaken 70’s Cinema: Peter H. Stone’s “1776″ Based on Broadway Show

by Sam Juliano

Back in 1972, upon the release of the film version of 1776 Vincent Canby put things in their proper perspective when he opined: “The music is resolutely unmemorable.  The lyrics sound as if they’d been written by someone high on root beer, and the book is familiar history, compressed here, stretched there – that has been gagged up and paced to Broadway’s not inspiring standards.  Yet Peter H. Hunt’s screen version of 1776, a musical play I somehow didn’t see during its three-year Broadway run, insists on being so entertaining and, at times, even moving, that you might as well stop resisting it.  This reaction, I suspect, represents a clear triumph of emotional associations over material.”  Others, like Rex Reed were not so hospitable, likening the film and the show it was based on as “a history lesson for the mentally retarded.”  The roll-out for the movie was most extravagent as it premiered at Manhattan’s Radio City Music Hall near the very end of that cultural landmark’s status as a movie house, before its advent as an exclusive concert venue.  (As a 17 year-old I saw the film during its run here, and vividly remember being assaulted by a Bob Dylan-The Kinks-John Lennon loving friend who accompanied me to the screening with a few others, and who vocirously objected to some of the film’s cornball song lyrics, telling me at th eend of the film: “You’re dead Juliano!).

The Travelling Players (no 26)

by Allan Fish

(Greece 1975 230m) DVD2 (Greece only)

Aka. O Thiassos

The love of Golfo, tragic and profound, deep in your heart will resound

p  Georges Samiotis  d/w  Theo Angelopoulos  ph  Yorgis Arvanitis  ed  Takis Davlopolous, Georges Trianthaphilou  m  Loukianos Kilaidonis  art  Mikes Karapiperis

Eva Kotamanidou (Elektra), Aliki Georgoulis (Elektra’s mother), Statos Pachis (Agamemnon), Maris Vassiliou (Chrissothemis), Petros Zarkadis (Orestes),

Is there any more eclectic, more challenging, more baffling director at work in cinema today than Theodoras Angelopoulos?  People don’t question his position as a cinematic master, no more than they would, say, Rossellini or Fellini, yet the fact is that this is probably the only film of his that I have seen and appreciated as any sort of masterwork; Ulysses Gaze nearly turned me to stone, Eternity and a Day only felt that long, while The Beekeeper, though with a great performance from Marcello Mastroianni, didn’t have the depth many claimed it had.   Though by no means faultless and still rather long, Players remains a spellbinding experience thirty years on, one for which the recent English subtitled Greek DVD was long overdue.

            A small acting troupe arrive in a provincial Greek town in 1952, just prior to the accession of the right wing military government.  In between wandering the streets, their minds wander to the last time they were here, just before the outbreak of World War II.  Then, the director had been arrested and executed at the conspiring of his wife’s lover, and his son realises what he has to do to gain vengeance.  When his sister, Elektra, takes him to see their performance of the play Golfo the Shepherdess, he kills his mother and her lover and runs off into the hills.  He is later captured and shot, but eventually, when one of the players returns, Elektra decides to start the troupe up again.

Betrayed by WordPress—”1776″ Review is Lost

by Sam Juliano

    After working three hours on my review of 1776, the review disappeared from wordpress after I clicked on the “save draft” icon.  This was surely the most disheartening  occurance I have ever experienced since helping to start Wonders in the Dark.  I don’t remember working this hard and long on a review, especially as I worked feverishly to complete it for some exposure on July 4th.  I am leaving my home for Manhattan now, and will attempt to get my thoughts together tomorrow for a re-write, but this really takes the wind out of you.  had I wisely opted to copy and save, before hitting the “save” I might still have it, but after going into wordpress, it is nowhere anymore.

     My holiday aspirations have been dashed, but more importantly I have had hours of my life squandered.  Ah well….

Cries and Whispers (no 27)

by Allan Fish

(Sweden 1972 91m) DVD1/2

Aka. Viskningar och Rop

The wrinkles of indifference

p/d/w  Ingmar Bergman  ph  Sven Nykvist  ed  Sib Lundgren  m  Frédéric Chopin, Johann S.Bach  art  Anna Asp, Marik Vos  cos  Marik Vos, Greta Johansson

Liv Ullmann (Maria), Ingrid Thulin (Karin), Harriet Andersson (Agnes), Kari Sylwan (Anna), Erland Josephson (Doctor), Georg Arlin (Karin’s husband),

There is surely no colour in the spectrum that has been so expressively and symbolically used in cinema as red.  Just think of the girl’s coat in Schindler’s List, the lipstick in Black Narcissus, the eponymous shoes worn by Norma Shearer, the room occupied by Michael Anderson in Twin Peaks, the free-falling carnations in Heimat, not to mention the incredibly rich textural use by Zhang Yimou and Krzysztof Kieslowski in films we needn’t name.  Yet no film, before or since, has ever tried to incorporate a colour into a film’s very being in the way Bergman’s masterpiece uses red.  It has often been thought to have represented blood and, while it may be too vibrant for that to be taken literally (Kubrick got it right with the blood gushing from the elevator in The Shining), it’s still an astonishing coup that Bergman pulls off with almost supreme brilliance.

            In its essence, the plot recalls the likes of Tolstoy, Chekhov, Genet and even Proust, and follows the dying days of a thirty-something woman, Agnes, cared for by her maid, who has recently lost a child of her own, and her recently returned sisters, the earthy Maria and the aloof, almost scary Karin.  Her final hours, and those that follow her death, force all three other women to face up to hidden demons. 

L’Innocente (no 28)

by Allan Fish

(Italy 1976 125m) DVD1/2

Aka. The Innocent

A lesson in infidelity

p  Giovanni Bertolucci  d  Luchino Visconti  w  Suso Cecchi d’Amico, Luchino Visconti, Enrico Medioli  novel  Gabriele d’Annunzio  ph  Pasqualino de Santis  ed  Ruggero Mastroianni  md  Franco Mannino  m  Frédéric Chopin, Franz Liszt, W.A.Mozart, C.W.Von Gluck  art  Mario Garbuglia  cos  Piero Tosi 

Giancarlo Giannini (Tullio Hermil), Jennifer O’Neill (Teresa Raffo), Laura Antonelli (Giuliana Hermil), Rina Morelli (Tullio’s mother), Didier Haudepin (Frederico Hermil), Massimo Girotti (Count Stefano Egano), Marie Dubois (Princess),

If ever a film demanded to be called luxurious, this is it.  Visconti’s final masterpiece has the intricate visual beauty and hidden emotions of many of his greatest works, and is a definitive example of his mournful studies of a decaying, soon to be wiped out Italian aristocracy.  Not only does it recall The Leopard, it also looks forward to Scorsese’s The Age of Innocence in its visual décor, narrative style and stately rhythms.  Yet even Scorsese would have to admit that Visconti is the true master.  No other director quite got over the atmosphere of understated feelings, hypocritical gentility and sheer opulent voluptuousness as Visconti.  It’s all summed up in the polite applause to the musical soiree which they attend for social purposes, despite generally despising the music.   

            Set in the Rome of the 1890’s, the tale follows Tullio Hermil, an Italian aristocrat and serial philanderer who ignores his beautiful wife, Guiliana, in favour of the beautiful widow, Teresa.  He admits his affair to his wife and even asks his wife to stand by him.  However, when he ends up spending a few days at his mother’s estate, he finds himself falling in love with his wife again, only for his illusion to be shattered when his mother tells him that she is convinced Guiliana is pregnant. 

Manhattan (no 29)

by Allan Fish

(USA 1979 96m) DVD1/2

He adored New York City

p Jack Rollins, Charles H.Joffe  d Woody Allen  w Woody Allen, Marshall Brickman  ph Gordon Willis  ed Susan E.Morse  md Tom Pierson  m George Gershwin (including “Rhapsody in Blue”)  art Mel Bourne

Woody Allen (Isaac Davis), Mariel Hemingway (Tracy), Diane Keaton (Mary Wilke), Meryl Streep (Jill), Michael Murphy (Yale), Anne Byrne (Emily), Karen Ludwig (Connie), Wallace Shawn (Jeremiah), Karen Allen, Mark Linn-Baker,

Looked back upon from the safe distance of over a quarter of a century, Woody Allen’s masterpiece can now be seen for what it is, disassociated with all the baggage, emotional and professional, that accompanied it at the time.  Indeed, the same could be said of Allen’s entire oeuvre as he certainly hasn’t made any really major films in over a decade (Crimes and Misdemeanors and Husbands and Wives being the last).  Many will scoff at my including only four in the entire list (the others being Sleeper, Annie Hall and Hannah and Her Sisters), but the fact is that Allen’s output is just not quite as idolised as once it was; Bananas and Love and Death are hilarious but very patchy and the later Crimes and Misdemeanors, though undoubtedly original and blessed with superb performances, left rather a sour taste in the mouth, ditto Husbands and Wives.  Manhattan’s inclusion is not simply down to it being his greatest film, or because it represents the typically Allenian depiction of stressful city life in the modern era.  It’s included because, deep down, it’s a love letter not to romance, but to a city.  As Allen goes on to say in that iconic opening dictation, “New York was his town and it always would be.”  Whereas Allen’s other major films could be transposed to any other American metropolis, Manhattan just couldn’t for many reasons other than the eponymous one.  It’s also unique in his filmography as it was shot in a widescreen letterbox process (though still in the mono sound he religiously uses to this very day).  

Nashville (no 30)

by Allan Fish

(USA 1975 161m) DVD1

We must be doing something right to last 200 years

p  Robert Altman  d  Robert Altman  w  Joan Tewkesbury  ph  Paul Lohmann  ed  Sidney Levin, Dennis M.Hill  md  Richard Baskin  art  uncredited

Geraldine Chaplin (Opal), David Arkin (Norman Chauffeur), Barbara Baxley (Lady Pearl), Ned Beatty (Delbert Reese), Karen Black (Connie White), Keith Carradine (Tom Frank), Henry Gibson (Haven Hamilton), Keenan Wynn (Mr Green), Lily Tomlin (Linnea Reese), Ronée Blakely (Barbara Jean), Shelley Duvall (L.A.Joan), Allen Garfield (Barnett), Jeff Goldblum (tricycle man), Barbara Harris (Albuquerque), Michael Murphy (John Triplette), Gwen Welles (Sueleen Gay), Scott Glenn (Pte.Glenn Kelly), Christina Raines (Mary), Elliott Gould (himself), Julie Christie (herself),

So goes the opening song sung by egotistical Henry Gibson in Altman’s multi-layered mosaic of seventies America and it’s amazing how many critics have pointed that phrase out as key to the film’s understanding.  Produced just in time for the American bicentennial it’s certainly apt in that way, but the very idea of longevity breeding right is not only pretentious but naïve (after all, how right would that make China, Egypt and Rome?).  However, his story, which is roughly based on the idea of a concert held in support of a presidential political rally ending in tragedy, is the merest framework for its twenty plus characters to weave their individual tales. 

The Enigma of Kaspar Hauser (no 31)

by Allan Fish

(West Germany 1974 110m) DVD1/2

Aka. Every Man for Himself and God Against All/Jeder Fur Sich und Gott Gegen Alle

Are you a tree-frog?

p/d/w  Werner Herzog  ph  Jorg Schmidt-Reitwein  ed  Beate Mainka-Jellinghaus  m  J.Pachelbel, T.Albinoni, Orlando diLasso, W.A.Mozart  art  Henning V.Clerke

Bruno S. (Kaspar Hauser), Walter Ladengast (Daumer), Hans Musaus (unknown man), Brigitte Mira (Kathe), Michael Kroecher (Lord Stanhope), Willy Semmelrogge (circus director), Henry Van Lyck (cavalry captain), Elis Pilgrim (pastor), Enno Patalas (Fuhrmann), Volker Prechtel (guard),

Through his series of memorable collaborations with actor Klaus Kinski (particularly those great studies of ego- and megalomania Fitzcarraldo and the earlier Aguirre, Wrath of God), Werner Herzog is guaranteed his place in movie history.  It is therefore perhaps ironic that his greatest film does not showcase the undoubted talent of Kinski, but an anonymity, in every sense of the word.  Unlike many films dealing with such enigmatic mysteries, it does not even attempt to explain the central mystery, but rather to see the world through the eyes of its protagonist.  And a very cruel but beautiful world it is.

            In 1828 a young man, Kaspar Hauser, is dropped off into the town square in Nuremberg and left there by the man who has been his only contact with the outside world.  The letter he carries in his hand informs those who read it that he has been kept effectively imprisoned in a small dingy cellar for his entire life, since being left to the unknown man’s care as a foundling.  Though some of the everyday townsfolk show compassion, it is a well to do gentleman who teaches him the finer things in life.  Sadly, however, Kaspar Hauser’s happiness is short lived.

Monday Morning Diary (June 29)

by Sam Juliano

This is the first post in a brand new weekly column here at WitD that aims at getting readers to talk about what they’ve seen during the previous week, what they’ve listened to, what they might have seen on stage or in concert, or even what they may have watched on DVD or listened to on CD.  This post is also open to ‘anything’ that one wants to talk about, and that includes DVD announcements, politics or recent passings, like Michael Jackson’s which is sure to be brought up here.  This post is meant to stimulate discussion, and each new submission may well bring talk in one direction for a good part of the thread.  Finally, as I often see 2 to 5 films theatrically every week, in addition to some plays and concerts in the mix often enough, I simply am unable to review everything, and feel this is my way to attain accountibility and allow for some discussion and sharing.  I will often use a picture from one of my events to go with this thread, but this week it’s Michael Jackson.

     My own week ended on an excrutiatingly sad note with this terrible news about Michael Jackson, and despite rational pleas to scale back from fellow WitD colleagues Allan Fish and Tony d’Ambra, it’s just my nature to react this way.  As our good friend Movie Man has rightly asserted, Jackson’s death for all of us who grew up with his music have “lost something.”  His bizarre antics of recent years for me have done little to taint his iconic status, and hearing his music over the weekend brought tears.

     I saw two films this week, Food Inc., and Moon.   I saw Moon first on Thursday night, and found this science-fiction opus as heavily cliched, tedious and redundant.  Only Clint Mansell’s score survived the debacle, although I can’t really say that Sam Rockwell isn’t up to the task.  The documentary, Food Inc., makes the contention that just about everything we eat is made directly (or indirectly) from corn.  It also makes the stomach-churning assertion that a humburger we eat may come from 8 different cows.  Lovely.  It also reveals that there are presently only 13 slaughterhouses in the US, and that the food industry has a stranglehold on everything produced and eaten.  Really nothing we don’t already know, but reasonably well presented.

Moon  **   (Landmark)

Food Inc.  *** 1/2  (Montclair Claridge)

I saw two stage works this week:  Delroy Lindo in The Things of Dry Hours at the Theatre Project on 4th Street off 2nd Avenue, and The Little Foxes, a classic play by Lillian Hellman, presnted by the prestigious New Jersey Shakespeare Society on the lovely Drew University campus.  The Lindo play boasted some strong acting by the star and the reast of the cast, but it was extremely dull and forgettable, rarely more than verbal histrionics all to little resonance.  The Little Foxes, on the other hand, was an exquisite production, with wonderful sets, fine use of entrance and exit portals and outstanding performances.  With this play it practically “can’t miss.”

I also finished Rivette’s Out 1 on DVD.  I wish I could say I liked it as much as Movie Man and Allan, but I’ve leave the possibility of discussion here.

So what would you like to discuss?

Mirror (no 32)

by Allan Fish

(USSR 1974 106m) DVD1/2

Aka. Zerkalo

Andrei’s childhood

p  E.Waisberg  d  Andrei Tarkovsky  w  Andrei Tarkovsky, Alexsandr Misharin  ph  Georgy Rerberg  ed  L.Feiginova  m  Eduard Artemyev  art  Nikolai Dvigubsky

Margarita Terekhova (Alexei’s mother, Natalia), Philip Yankovsky (Alexei, aged 9), Ignat Daniltsev (Ignat/Alexei, aged 12), Oleg Yankovsky (Father), Alla Demidova (Lisa), Anatoli Solinitsin (doctor), Larissa Tarkovskaya (Nadezha), Innokenti Smoktunovsky (narrator), Arseny Tarkovsky (narrator poetry),

Tarkovsky’s most personal meditation, Mirror is undoubtedly one of the greatest cinematic poems put on celluloid, as well as one of the most beautiful.  It’s a film that undoubtedly will infuriate as many as it will captivate, but I guarantee that anyone who watches it once in a state of rapture will continue to do so in later life.  Like the dreams and remembrances of its protagonist, its memories haunt you for years to come.

            A perfect example of this is in the first shot in which we see Terekhova.  She is sitting, back to the camera, atop a wooden fence looking out over a meadow at dusk.  In the distance we see a man approaching.  Then the camera cuts into Terekhova’s face as she smokes a cigarette.  Ever since I first saw that shot it has troubled me, haunting me every time I see it.  As if recalling a memory locked deep in the subconscious that I cannot summon to the conscious.  And the conscious and the subconscious play a large factor here, as there is undoubtedly a dreamlike quality to Mirror.  It’s a film that does not lend itself to a plot synopsis, but does lend itself to unprecedented interpretation.  Just as Terekhova on that fence to me represents that which is lost in time, she could signify something totally different to someone else.  It’s this dreamlike quality, intensified by Rerberg’s gorgeous photography (cutting back and forth from the golden bathed colour into which Terekhova’s hair seems to meld to sepia tinted monochrome) in the infamous magic hour that gives the film its soul.  But a soul in itself needs an expression and Tarkovsky is that mouthpiece.  Mingling together contrasting images of his own childhood and archival footage of the wars and revolutions of the 20^th century, he manages to capture the very essence of his nation’s soul in its most turbulent century.