Glenn Heath Jr.
Fritz Lang levels his crosshairs at British appeasement in Man Hunt, a tensely plotted thriller set weeks before Germany’s invasion of Poland. In the Expressionist opening sequence, Lang introduces a cavalier big game hunter named Thorndike (Walter Pidgeon) as he stalks through a thick and shadowy forest, finally reaching a perch overlooking Hitler’s Eagle’s Nest. Thorndike takes aim with Hitler dead in his sights, pulls the trigger, and “click”. He laughs to himself having completed a personal victory – it is possible to stalk the world’s most dangerous man. However, this theoretical experiment makes for a dark moment of historical revisionism, pushing Thorndike down a perilous path of murder, guilt, and finally national responsibility, as he’s captured by the S.S., tortured, and pursued back to England by heinous German agents.
When Man Hunt reaches London, Lang reveals his most damning argument against the British upper class’s indifference toward the German advancement. Throndike’s ambassador brother is a squirmy rationalizing bureaucrat of Chamberlain’s ilk, stressing to the high heavens the Nazi’s wouldn’t dare start WWII. Even Throndike himself, after seeing the true audaciousness of the S.S., casually struts through the London harbor commenting on how the “fresh British air” comforts him while completely missing the German spies who’ve been waiting in the shadows. Western arrogance only leads to destruction, and Lang constructs Thorndike as an analogy for all of Britain. The aggressive and vengeful nature of the ending is alarming, and not completely unexpected considering Thorndike’s path. But ultimately, Lang’s masterful use of cinematic space feeds into his main goal – to bring the true evil of the Third Reich out from the shadows and into the forefront for the world to understand and combat against.
What to say about this pictorial, breath-taking call to arms that hasn’t already been said? Tom Joad’s penchant for brutal violence stands out more than anything else after this most recent viewing, and the evolution of his physicality, beginning with the meaningless drunken brawl/murder that gets him imprisoned, which transitions to his meaningful lethal blow in defense of Casey, seems to be a key point. The sudden violence first stems from Joad’s weakness to liquor, then his own realization about the injustices of unfair wages and labor tactics, a different kind of Kool Aid that produces just as fiery an outcome. As Joad escapes in the final scene, Ford shows his hero in extreme-long shot, a faceless shadow framed by an endless mountainside, a semi-religious icon of perseverance and morality striving forward to preach the gospel of leftist politics. Too bad he’s had to kill twice to find the lord. It’s an interesting dichotomy that complicates Joad’s role as a pure hero of the working man.
Both films are interesting for different reasons. Detective Story hinges on Kirk Douglas’ enraged lead performance while Mrs Miniver evolves based on a changing collective ideology. However, Wyler establishes a specific, uneasy space for his characters to traverse in both films. This includes the intricately cramped theatrical space of the Detective’s Bureau in Detective Story and the spacious, foreboding English countryside in Mrs. Miniver. These tonally different works both use space to reveal the impending dangers threatening specific individuals and communities.
Heralded by many as Preminger’s best film, but I’m not buying it on first glance. As a Melodrama, Daisy Kenyon is almost completely contained and dependent on its shifting love triangle (between the great Joan Crawford, Dana Andrews, and Henry Fonda), a critical problem considering how benign the entire affair becomes. Maybe I prefer my Melodrama with some sort of subtext, something Daisy Kenyon skirts around, even during its final scene where Daisy must decide between the two suitors. Ultimately, her feeble decision only undermines the very idea of female individuality Preminger seems to be obsessed with.
I prefer The Palm Beach Story as the penultimate Screwball Comedy, but The Lady Eve produces equally brilliant and zany set pieces, mixing slapstick with flawless zinger dialogue to create an altogether seamless world of innuendo and charm. As the wheeling and dealing con artist Jean Harrington, Barbara Stanwyck personifies the perfect Sturges heroine: smart, conniving, sexy, and completely vulnerable. This just gets better with age.
I never thought I’d enjoy a story framed by a professional ballet troupe after seeing Robert Altman’s awful film The Company, but leave it up to masters Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger to prove me wrong. Their technicolor infused melodrama entitled The Red Shoes takes two rising talents, composer Julian Crastor (Marius Goring) and dancer Victoria Page (Norma Shearer), and shows their respective ascents to stardom thanks to the razor sharp support of infamous producer Boris Lermontov (Anton Walbrook). It’s a classic love triangle, but one tightened by the push pull relationship of love and sacrifice on the grand artistic vision at stake. The Red Shoes floats along at a whimsical pace, reveling in crisp hues of red, blue, and black, the colorful environment of the ballet enabling multiple hypnotic performances to parallel the emotion occurring behind the scenes. Fluff you say? Yes, but what beautiful and classy fluff it is.
