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Post by joekiddlouischama on Mar 17, 2017 5:17:50 GMT
Yeah, I was going to say that North by Northwest strikes me as the definitive film in terms of projecting the train-riding experience to the screen. And how about the funny, poignant, and aptly titled Planes, Trains & Automobiles (John Hughes, 1987), starring John Candy and Steve Martin?
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Post by joekiddlouischama on Mar 16, 2017 9:29:35 GMT
Double Indemnity (Billy Wilder, 1944) features the haunting use of a train.
***SPOILERS*** for Double Indemnity
Walter Neff (Fred McMurray), after conspiring with Phyllis Dietrichson (Barbara Stanwyck), pushes Mrs. Dietrichson's hobbled husband off the back of a train, killing him so that he and Mrs. Dietrichson, Walter's illicit lover, can receive the life insurance money and supposedly start a life together.
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Post by joekiddlouischama on Mar 15, 2017 6:36:16 GMT
Both were equally terrible in my books. The whole last stand in the castle in Skyfall was just pathetic. Spectre was equally forgettable. And turning Blofeld into Bond's foster brother??!?!?! What is this? Star Wars??? I enjoyed Blofeld's reappearance, replete with the white cat. I felt that his presence—in a new form—constituted an intriguing homage to 007 history. I agree with you about the endless castle sequence in Skyfall, which is what I was getting at in my first post.
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Post by joekiddlouischama on Mar 15, 2017 6:19:42 GMT
I would rate them in the order of their release: I found Gravity "very good" (one of the better movies of 2013), Interstellar "pretty good" (meaning less than a full-fledged "good," yet above-average), The Martian "mediocre," and Arrival "awful." I viewed Gravity in the theater once, Interstellar three times, The Martian twice, and Arrival twice (once on an Oscar pass).
I deemed The Martian the most overrated movie of 2015 and Arrival the most overrated film of 2016—and possibly one of the most overrated movies of all time. The fact that both of them received Best Picture nominations is preposterous in my view, but at least The Martian did not take itself too seriously until much later in the film.
Interstellar may well be the most ambitious of the four and the most intriguing—part of the reason why I viewed the movie three times in the theater was to try and figure out why it did not quite fulfill its potential. I am still not necessarily sure, but there are some nonsensical plot points and Anne Hathaway is totally miscast as a brainy astronaut. But the film is compelling on a visual, emotional, and thematic basis, especially in its sense of using the spatial and temporal aspects of outer space as an allegory for human reflection, regret, longing, and memory. Gravity suggests some of these same possibilities, but in its less ambitious, more pragmatic, 1970s-style genre-oriented approach (only with a mastery of modern technology), the film is less flawed and more consistent.
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Post by joekiddlouischama on Mar 15, 2017 6:05:05 GMT
Diamonds Are Forever has never rated highly among Bond films (although it scored spectacularly at the box office, primarily, I suppose, because the movie represented Connery's much-anticipated return after skipping the previous 007 venture), and obviously it does not rate highly here. Personally, however, I consider the film one of the most fascinating and compelling of all the Bond movies—different from the traditional 007 adventures and in some ways savvier for that reason. For the sake of presenting a different perspective, I will copy what I wrote (and then saved) on IMDb back in January 2006: My favorite Bond film is From Russia with Love, the tension, austerity, and elegance of which the series soon abandoned. But while Diamonds Are Forever certainly is nowhere as taut as Connery's second 007 outing, I've always been fond of it. Yes, the film initiates the tone of light comedy and self-parody that would come to define the Roger Moore era (1973-1985), but the low, over-the-top humor is self-aware and quite effective here, particularly in the Keystone Kops car chase sequence. Moreover, the's movie's tone doesn't end with absurdly exaggerated camp. There's an elegant sense of forlorn moodiness to the film, even a hint of melancholy and reflective ambiguity that speaks to its newly minted seventies moment (after all, Bond had now entered the "gray" decade). In part, this mood is generated by the film's lushly crystalline music and unforgettable title song (perhaps one of the best in movie history), along with its silver-toned cinematography. Overall, these qualities combine to grant Diamonds Are Forever a sense of shimmering, mesmerizing quietude absent in most Bond adventures.
Diamonds Are Forever also features perhaps the most powerful and biting geopolitical commentary found in any of the 007 movies, along with some incisive reflections on the nuclear arms race (which was a hot topic at the time in light of the S.A.L.T. agreements). Indeed, Blofeld's comment about the world's paralyzed nuclear powers "flexing their muscles like so many impotent beach boys" is arguably the most politically astute line to emerge from a Bond film.
As for Connery's performance, people have criticized him for appearing much older and heavier than in his previous outing, You Only Live Twice, four years earlier. Indeed, I've read where one fan said that Connery returned at 40 and instead looked 50. It's true that Connery is starting to gray here, and he is heavier than before, but he remains robust and perhaps more physically powerful and aggressive than ever. It's as if the actor came back older, bigger, stronger, and angrier than ever, taking Bond's ruthlessness and flippant belligerence to an even scarier extreme. At the beginning of the film, Bond is brutalizing everyone and everything in sight, almost as if Connery was intent on reasserting himself as the "real" cinematic 007, following the soft boyishness of George Lazenby. Indeed, the scene where he tells Denise Perrier's lounging, bikini-clad temptress, "There is something I've been meaning to get off your chest," and then rips off her top and chokes her with it in one fell swoop, is Bond at his most erotically dangerous and misogynistic. Overall, Bond stalks supreme over this postmodern, Las Vegas desert landscape. Instead of being caught in the plot, he towers over it, with Connery elevating him to a level of pure mythos. Some may see him as being overly detached here, but I view his god-like self-assurance as a sign of liberation. And because he definitely seemed to be playing Bond for the final time, there's also a certain abstract pathos to his character which is then reflected in the film's forlorn sensibility.
Overall, it's that combination of pathos, mythos, and elegant moodiness that makes Diamonds Are Forever a unique Bond film. It's different from Connery's previous 007 outings, but also distinct from Roger Moore's future efforts, which would retain the tones of light comedy and self-parody but lose the meditative mythos and haunting grace. Diamonds Are Forever isn't a brilliant film, but it's the one that cemented James Bond's legendary iconography. From here on out, all Bond films, no matter how enjoyable they appeared, would prove rather perfunctory in their existence. With Connery taking Bond to the realm of surreal myth, what exactly was left for anyone else? By the way, the S.A.L.T. agreements actually came later in the decade, the first in 1972. My point was that the nuclear arms race that led to the S.A.L.T. agreements constituted a significant topic at the time.
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Post by joekiddlouischama on Mar 15, 2017 5:47:16 GMT
I believe that I have only seen each film once and not for eleven years, but I much preferred The Living Daylights to License to Kill among the two Timothy Dalton outings. The Living Daylights offered more of a traditional romantic sweep that I found refreshing.
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Post by joekiddlouischama on Mar 15, 2017 5:33:17 GMT
Diamonds Are Forever has never rated highly among Bond films (although it scored spectacularly at the box office, primarily, I suppose, because the movie represented Connery's much-anticipated return after skipping the previous 007 venture), and obviously it does not rate highly here. Personally, however, I consider the film one of the most fascinating and compelling of all the Bond movies—different from the traditional 007 adventures and in some ways savvier for that reason. For the sake of presenting a different perspective, I will copy what I wrote (and then saved) on IMDb back in January 2006:
My favorite Bond film is From Russia with Love, the tension, austerity, and elegance of which the series soon abandoned. But while Diamonds Are Forever certainly is nowhere as taut as Connery's second 007 outing, I've always been fond of it. Yes, the film initiates the tone of light comedy and self-parody that would come to define the Roger Moore era (1973-1985), but the low, over-the-top humor is self-aware and quite effective here, particularly in the Keystone Kops car chase sequence. Moreover, the's movie's tone doesn't end with absurdly exaggerated camp. There's an elegant sense of forlorn moodiness to the film, even a hint of melancholy and reflective ambiguity that speaks to its newly minted seventies moment (after all, Bond had now entered the "gray" decade). In part, this mood is generated by the film's lushly crystalline music and unforgettable title song (perhaps one of the best in movie history), along with its silver-toned cinematography. Overall, these qualities combine to grant Diamonds Are Forever a sense of shimmering, mesmerizing quietude absent in most Bond adventures.
Diamonds Are Forever also features perhaps the most powerful and biting geopolitical commentary found in any of the 007 movies, along with some incisive reflections on the nuclear arms race (which was a hot topic at the time in light of the S.A.L.T. agreements). Indeed, Blofeld's comment about the world's paralyzed nuclear powers "flexing their muscles like so many impotent beach boys" is arguably the most politically astute line to emerge from a Bond film.
As for Connery's performance, people have criticized him for appearing much older and heavier than in his previous outing, You Only Live Twice, four years earlier. Indeed, I've read where one fan said that Connery returned at 40 and instead looked 50. It's true that Connery is starting to gray here, and he is heavier than before, but he remains robust and perhaps more physically powerful and aggressive than ever. It's as if the actor came back older, bigger, stronger, and angrier than ever, taking Bond's ruthlessness and flippant belligerence to an even scarier extreme. At the beginning of the film, Bond is brutalizing everyone and everything in sight, almost as if Connery was intent on reasserting himself as the "real" cinematic 007, following the soft boyishness of George Lazenby. Indeed, the scene where he tells Denise Perrier's lounging, bikini-clad temptress, "There is something I've been meaning to get off your chest," and then rips off her top and chokes her with it in one fell swoop, is Bond at his most erotically dangerous and misogynistic. Overall, Bond stalks supreme over this postmodern, Las Vegas desert landscape. Instead of being caught in the plot, he towers over it, with Connery elevating him to a level of pure mythos. Some may see him as being overly detached here, but I view his god-like self-assurance as a sign of liberation. And because he definitely seemed to be playing Bond for the final time, there's also a certain abstract pathos to his character which is then reflected in the film's forlorn sensibility.
Overall, it's that combination of pathos, mythos, and elegant moodiness that makes Diamonds Are Forever a unique Bond film. It's different from Connery's previous 007 outings, but also distinct from Roger Moore's future efforts, which would retain the tones of light comedy and self-parody but lose the meditative mythos and haunting grace. Diamonds Are Forever isn't a brilliant film, but it's the one that cemented James Bond's legendary iconography. From here on out, all Bond films, no matter how enjoyable they appeared, would prove rather perfunctory in their existence. With Connery taking Bond to the realm of surreal myth, what exactly was left for anyone else?
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Post by joekiddlouischama on Mar 15, 2017 5:23:10 GMT
... Spectre by far; I saw it twice in the theater and would probably consider it one of the best post-Connery 007 films (in other words, a good movie). It is visually stylish and classically graceful, and the movie tickles some humanity out of Daniel Craig.
Skyfall, conversely, struck me as more of a bloated modern action movie whose protagonist happened to be named "James Bond." Outside of the occasional homage and an intriguing yet underdeveloped idea, the film seemed motivated by the concept that needlessly prolonging the running time would equate with a greater box office gross. Some shots were impressive, but overall I deemed the film excessive and empty, with little to offer outside of Adele's stirring theme song.
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Post by joekiddlouischama on Mar 15, 2017 5:16:17 GMT
I viewed The Passion of the Christ in the theater in 2015 and found it decrepit, pretentious, and pretty much abysmal—an exercise in unadulterated sado-masochism that may work for Christian zealots or some deeply faithful folks yet otherwise makes for a dreary experience. Some people praise the film technically, but outside of a shot here or there, I did not find it impressive on a visual basis, either.
Conversely, I felt that director Mel Gibson delivered one of the best movies of 2016 in Hacksaw Ridge.
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Post by joekiddlouischama on Mar 15, 2017 4:58:04 GMT
Shots of trains may not be especially memorable in High Noon (Fred Zinnemann, 1952), but the fact that so much of the film functions relative to the anticipated arrival of three villains by train causes me to forever connect that Western to trains.
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Post by joekiddlouischama on Mar 14, 2017 10:12:17 GMT
The Good, the Bad and the Ugly (Sergio Leone, 1966) features an amazing train sequence.
***SPOILERS for The Good, the Bad and the Ugly***
After having been taken prisoner by the Union army and sent to a military prison camp, along with his tenuous partner Blondie (Clint Eastwood), Tuco Ramirez (Eli Wallach) is brutally beaten by the sadistic bounty hunter Angel Eyes (Lee Van Cleef), who is posing as a Union sergeant, and his henchman, Wallace (Mario Brega), who is posing as a Union corporal.
A little later, we find Tuco chained to Wallace on a freight train, presumably to be executed in some distant locale. Tuco tells Wallace that he needs to urinate, and the rotund Wallace says something like, "You smell like a pig already, try not to make it any worse." So they get up from where they were sitting, open the boxcar door, and stand on the edge to allow Tuco to relieve himself onto the onrushing desert. In one of this mythic film's sublimely realistic moments and lines, Tuco tells Wallace, "I can't while you're watching me," so the obese faux corporal turns his head. At that point, Tuco manages to use his free arm to shove Wallace out of the boxcar, as the two chained men go tumbling off the train together. Tuco leverages his surprise maneuver to kill Wallace by yanking and pummeling the burly man's head against the stony earth repeatedly. Then he tries to break the chain that cuffs them together, using the butt of Wallace's pistol and then a nearby rock, yet to no avail. His eyes search around, seeking a solution.
In the next shot, director Sergio Leone shows us the solution. His camera slowly pans across the arid desert, with gray mountains resting in background, until it finds Tuco's head, in a closeup, tucked just outside of the tracks, with Wallace on the tracks and the chain tightly draped across the rail. Soon, we hear the sound of the next oncoming train. Tuco peaks up, checks to make sure that the chain is as tight against the rail as possible, and then again compresses his head against the desert earth. Soon, the distant train is upon us, barreling over Wallace's dead body and snapping the chain, thus freeing Tuco, who eventually bounds up and hitches a ride on the caboose as Ennio Morricone's famously haunting "coyote howl" score plays in its eeriest and most darkly comic iteration.
The irony, dark humor and gritty violence, dialogue, editing, compositions, sound mixing, and score of that whole sequence are memorable and make brilliantly dramatic use of trains and train tracks.
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Post by joekiddlouischama on Mar 14, 2017 6:29:55 GMT
Bad Day at Black Rock (John Sturges, 1955), a great and underrated film starring Spencer Tracy, opens and closes with memorable and foreboding shots of a speeding black train snaking across the forbidding Southwestern desert. Enhancing those shots is the film's aspect ratio of 2.55:1.00, amounting to "extreme wide screen" and thus showcasing the length of the train as it moves across the frame.
That film constitutes a modern Western, set just after World War II.
***SPOILERS for Joe Kidd***
Another John Sturges-directed Western, Joe Kidd (1972), (nearly) ends with Clint Eastwood's eponymous and ambiguous character literally taking control of a locomotive and driving it off the main tracks and into a saloon, where he surprises and kills a congregation of villains. That movie is good in virtually every area, but unlike Bad Day at Black Rock, it is not especially memorable. Its most memorable aspect is probably its climactic use of the train.
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Post by joekiddlouischama on Mar 14, 2017 5:13:47 GMT
... Unforgiven or Schindler's List.
While some of the others are good, they all sort of strike me as "typical Hollywood."
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Post by joekiddlouischama on Mar 14, 2017 5:09:54 GMT
Kevin Costner's Golden Globe winning performance as "Devil" Anse Hatfield in the terrific 2012 History Channel series HATFIELD & MCCOYS lead to his recent career surge. He has also chosen his roles well, taking solid parts in quality pictures like BLACK OR WHITE, McFARLAND USA and the recent smash hit HIDDEN FIGURES (for which he was unlucky not to receive an Oscar nod in the category of Best Supporting Actor). He will next be seen opposite Jessica Chastain and Idris Elba in Oscar-winning screenwriter Aaron Sorkin's directorial debut, MOLLY's GAME. The charismatic Costner is a class act, and the talent pool in Hollywood is hardly infinite, so a screen legend like him is always going to find work. I think he's incredibly cool and never miss a movie with him in it. I BELIEVE www.youtube.com/watch?v=DKO8pmzU1Lk ... good calls here. I viewed all of those projects, some multiple times, and Costner has indeed been selecting his material well. Over the last three years, I have seen five of his films in the theater, some more than once, and he has been consistently good and sometimes outstanding—in movies that have ranged from decent to very good.
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Post by joekiddlouischama on Mar 14, 2017 5:00:27 GMT
Did anyone see Criminal from last year? I thought that Costner delivered one of the best performances of the year, but of course his performance received virtually no acclaim because it took place in a springtime action movie.
But he was fearless in that film—shades of Humphrey Bogart and James Cagney in that sense—and in later years, he seems unburdened by the "throwback" American mythos that he seemed to carry in the 1990s. He is not looking to appeal to anyone any longer; he just plays the character and plays him as tough as he needs to play him. Either way, he may have always been underrated, as in such 1990s films as A Perfect World (especially) and Wyatt Earp.
More recently, Costner was especially effective in McFarland, USA, which I thought was a very good film from 2015, one of the year's best. In that movie and in the popular yet lesser Hidden Figures, he plays the "Middle American" almost expertly—the weary, quotidian pragmatist who is hardly a do-gooder or civil rights crusader yet instinctively believes in basic fairness and justice and responds when confronted with a challenge or the sheer inefficiency of injustice. Now over sixty, Costner is perhaps developing Spencer Tracy-type gravitas.
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Post by joekiddlouischama on Mar 14, 2017 4:45:55 GMT
... a wild and riveting film, probably one of Hitchcock's most underrated, and one of the greatest movies ever in terms of stalking.
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Post by joekiddlouischama on Mar 12, 2017 4:21:32 GMT
3) THE MISSOURI BREAKS (1976) - I haven't seen a Western like this one. Brando takes on Nicholson and gang who are horse thieves. Bit of a weird Western. I viewed The Missouri Breaks when I was twenty-one, just as I was graduating college, and thought that it was incredible—tense, creepy, carnal, and psychologically thrilling in a way that utilized physical Western landscapes to enhance the psychological drama. I viewed The Missouri Breaks again five years later, at twenty-six, and thought that it was (or became) ridiculous—contrived and obvious with some absolutely absurd writing. Make what you will of that change in response; I will have to view the film again at some point, but I doubt that I will return to my original assessment.
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Post by joekiddlouischama on Mar 12, 2017 4:06:07 GMT
I am not a fan of the auteur theory...but don't think the French are laughing about this. I remember an old account I ran into almost 50 years ago about how John Huston was looking for a chance to direct and Jack Warner told him if he found an interesting property he might let him direct it. The studio owned the rights to the Maltese Falcon and in this account Huston gave a copy of the book to his secretary and told her to beak it down into scenes and dialogue like a script. As the story went Jack Warner somehow got hold of this direct translation of the book and told Huston to film it as written. Then the account says that Huston re-wrote it for the screen. Yes, but from what I remember he basically just changed words that would not pass code. I don't believe I have ever encountered a film that sticks as close to the original source material, including most of the famous lines. I would argue that Dashiell Hammett is the main author of the film if one must concentrate of a principal "mover"... The Treasure of the Sierra Madre is fairly faithful to the book as well. I think in general that screenwriters are not given enough credit. Yeah, my notion of the auteur theory, rightly or wrongly, is less literal. Otherwise, a director could never be an auteur if he did not actually write his own material. Since film constitutes such a collaborative medium, my sense of an auteur is a director with a defined and idiosyncratic perspective, voice, or worldview, with a common sense of themes, concerns, moods, and aesthetic motifs that reemerge throughout his filmography. That is not to say that all his films should be similar or that they should all be marked by certain stylistic flourishes (or gimmicks), but that on average, a John Huston-directed movie, say, will mean something different from a John Ford-directed movie and that meaning will not be random or generic or paint-by-numbers in its essence. And in my view, an auteur can partly be defined by the type of material that he chooses to direct, regardless of whether or not he wrote or originated that material. Clint Eastwood has stated that he sees directing as an "interpretive art," whereas writing represents "the creative art." Perhaps the auteur theory would be more coherent and useful if we used the French word for "interpreter" ... Today, so many of noir's moods, themes, and narrative conventions have filtered into films of all kinds that I would hardly classify anything as even a neo- noir. The visual nature of noir is indispensable to me; a movie has to possess certain visual characteristics to classify as noir or neo- noir in my view, which is why such 2016 films as A Bigger Splash and The Salesman, while bordering or merging into neo- noir at times, would not constitute full-fledged neo -noir in my view. I did feel that the very good Nightcrawler, from 2014, indeed amounted to neo- noir. I viewed Taxi Driver twice in the theater in October, and the thought that it may constitute neo- noir just occurred to me—mainly because the film's screenwriter, Paul Schrader, wrote a famous essay on film noir. And Taxi Driver may well be a neo- noir, but the thought never occurred to me previously because Martin Scorsese's visual style in the movie is generally flatter (not in a bad way).
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Post by joekiddlouischama on Mar 7, 2017 1:05:06 GMT
I do not see The Treasure of the Sierra Madre as a Western. To be sure, there are some "modern Western" elements, in the sense that it entails a gold-mining expedition in the mountains of Mexico, but the fatalism and sense of Depression-era economic scarcity lend it a more modernistic feel. I do not see the movie as noir, either, although there are clearly some dark psychological elements. For me it has always been the time it was set in. I have some trouble accepting films set in the 20th Century as westerns. The other film on my list that I have at times pondered about due to this is The Professionals which also is set in the early 20th Century. But that one for almost all intents and purposes is a western. Treasure has some fatalistic moments but it hardly ends in a downer mood, and would be set before the Depression as the novel was published in 1927 and the setting not altered in the film. For me film noir has lost much of its meaning through definitions that have evolved with time. Decades ago it seemed that to be included a film had to be post-WW II with an urban setting. I sort of hold to that general idea. I also see almost any detective movie filmed in B&W included by many as such with The Maltese Falcon called the first of kind. It is far too playful for me to be included, from Sam Spade's attitude to the music cues by Max Steiner. Spade is never really in much peril. The Treasure of the Sierra Madre is far closer to being a western than The Maltese Falcon being noir I do not possess a problem with the idea of a true Western being set in the early twentieth century (I do see The Professionals as a Western), but the 1920s are really stretching the matter for me, especially since that decade is so associated with the rise of modernity: the aftermath of World War I, growing urbanization, suffrage, the rise of mass culture, consumerism, cosmetics, jazz, and radio, and Hollywood's ascendancy. But since the setting is Mexico, could we be turning back the clock, so to speak? Perhaps—in American culture and movies, Mexico or Latin America long held that appeal, including in such iconic Westerns as The Wild Bunch and Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. Thanks for the note about the novel and its publication date, although just from viewing the film and knowing that it was a 1948 release (in order words, less than a decade after the Great Depression had ended), one might assume that the setting came after October 1929—obliquely, the film sort of functions that way, although the Mexican location suggests almost anything. I feel secure in the idea of The Maltese Falcon functioning as a noir. In terms of the genre belonging to the postwar era, the heart and peak of the genre surely emerged after World War II, but there have to be antecedents, right? If noirs can only exist after the war ended, then Double Indemnity (1944) would not constitute a noir, either. The Maltese Falcon established the noir template in many ways: the sardonic, largely amoral, fallible, world-weary urban anti-hero whose code of honor is threatened by his own avarice and lust; the treacherous, murderous seductress; the greed that attracts a slew of divergent yet murky figures; the portentous shadows; the Venetian blinds and cramped quarters suggesting claustrophobia; the urban labyrinth; and the constant duplicity and sense of distortion. You describe the film as "too playful" to fit the genre, but although I understand what you mean, I see the movie as much more sardonic than "playful." I have viewed The Maltese Falcon about five times in total, but the last time was last year in the theater, and I recently described that experience in another thread (which you may or may not have seen): One could sort of view The Maltese Falcon as a transitional film, one that evoked movies of the 1920s and 1930s yet also established the foundation for something new, which would turn into a fully mature and distinct genre in the years ahead. And The Maltese Falcon certainly suggests a sense of pervasive seediness and the ugly underbelly of society, themes that would become staple noir notions. Back to The Treasure of the Sierra Madre, you write that the film "hardly ends in a downer mood," but while your statement seems correct, I would argue that the denouement is fatalistic just the same. Again, I do not see the film as a noir, but I can understand why some would draw certain allusions in that area. In a sense, The Treasure of the Sierra Madre is The Maltese Falcon transferred to a different setting—not surprising given that John Huston directed both films with Humphrey Bogart in the leading role both times. Years ago on IMDb, I argued that Huston was indeed an "auteur." Another poster basically mocked me, suggesting that I was being absurd, but when one considers the parallels between The Treasure of the Sierra Madre and The Maltese Falcon, I feel that my argument holds up even better. Huston's films often offered similar concerns, motifs, and alignments that transcended wildly disparate settings and genres.
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Post by joekiddlouischama on Mar 6, 2017 21:07:27 GMT
I do not see The Treasure of the Sierra Madre as a Western. To be sure, there are some "modern Western" elements, in the sense that it entails a gold-mining expedition in the mountains of Mexico, but the fatalism and sense of Depression-era economic scarcity lend it a more modernistic feel. I do not see the movie as noir, either, although there are clearly some dark psychological elements.
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