America, America (1963)
A moving and magnificent film that Elia Kazan considered his personal favorite -- not surprising, since it's the tale of how his own Greek family came to America, leaving behind their lives as an oppressed minority in Turkey. The immigrant story strikes home because it's really the story of so many of our own families. The Turkish Greeks in the film are reminiscent of Eastern European Jews who fled Tsarist Russia for a better life in America. It's probably one reason why Kazan got along so well with the Jewish playwrights and directors he worked with in New York like Clifford Odets, Arthur Miller, Lee Strasberg, and countless actors.
Stavros, the young hero of the story played by newcomer Stathis Giallelis, is based on Kazan's own uncle; he's an Odyssean hero (though in The Odyssey, Odysseus is returning home whereas Stavros is seeking a new one. He allows nothing to divert him from his of reaching America, and there are plenty of diversions along the way. A lesser man would have given up and returned to his family after being swindled of everything he owns by a smooth-talking bandit he meets early in his journey; the lesser man would have settled for marriage to the wealthy merchant's homely daughter, Thomna (portrayed by Linda Marsh who's actually a rather attractive young woman, but whose make-up gives her dark eyebrows and swathes of facial hair). Could I have made the trek to America the way Stavros did? No way. Could you? Ask yourself that as you watch this compelling film.
I particularly relished Paul Mann's as Aleko Sinnikoglou, Stavros's would-be father-in-law. After the big meal when he opens his belt and tell Stavros about the life they're going to enjoy together in the years to come, getting old and wealthy and fat, the expression on Stavros's face is not unlike that of Christopher in The Sopranos after his girlfriend tells him she's been cooperating with the FBI and that the two of them can go into the Witness Protection Program, and he sees a disheveled husband and his fat wife and two kids coming out of the supermarket. It's not an appealing vision of the future. But Christopher ultimately chooses death whereas Stavros choose his life. In pursuit of his dream he has a touch of a amorality In him that I think Kazan had as well. I genuinely felt sorry for the poor girl who really loved him and lost him.
Kazan's based this film on his own novel, which was published a year before the film was released. It's revealing that he wrote the book in a style that's half-fiction, half-screenplay, the same style in which Arthur Miller wrote the book of The Misfits. I don't think that's a coincidence. Kazan was somewhat envious of Miller and Tennessee Williams because he wanted to be a writer himself during all the years he was directing their landmark plays. I think America, America, the film, is very well written, but I noticed that some of the reviews say that the writing is clunky, which may be the impression given by characters from different cultural environments attempting to communicate with one another.
In her review of the film Pauline Kael confesses that she finds the actor who plays Stavros uninteresting and unbelievable as someone with the brains and stamina to make the journey to America. She also asserts that despite some memorable scenes, there are embarrassing melodramatic touches, like the Judas figure who betrays Stavros and steals all his money, and the Christ figure at the end who gives up his life for him. I disagree with her on both points. I suspects Kael just didn't find the affirmative nature of the film hip edgy enough for her taste. Full throated affirmations always left her uneasy.
The one aspect of the film that the reviewers unanimously praised is Haskell Wexler's remarkable cinematography. This nearly three-hour epic benefits enormously from his gorgeous black-and-white photography, mostly shot on location. But Kazan doesn't linger for too long on any of the many striking compositions the way Antonioni would. Kazan is a storyteller who lets you see the image and then quickly moves on. He later said that Wexler was the most brilliant cinematographer he'd ever worked with, and also a huge pain in the ass
Kazan's based this film on his own novel, which was published a year before the film was released. It's revealing that he wrote the book in a style that's half-fiction, half-screenplay, the same style in which Arthur Miller wrote the book of The Misfits. I don't think that's a coincidence. Kazan was somewhat envious of Miller and Tennessee Williams because he wanted to be a writer himself during all the years he was directing their landmark plays. I think America, America, the film, is very well written, but I noticed that some of the reviews say that the writing is clunky, which may be the impression given by characters from different cultural environments attempting to communicate with one another.
In her review of the film Pauline Kael confesses that she finds the actor who plays Stavros uninteresting and unbelievable as someone with the brains and stamina to make the journey to America. She also asserts that despite some memorable scenes, there are embarrassing melodramatic touches, like the Judas figure who betrays Stavros and steals all his money, and the Christ figure at the end who gives up his life for him. I disagree with her on both points. I suspects Kael just didn't find the affirmative nature of the film hip edgy enough for her taste. Full throated affirmations always left her uneasy.
The one aspect of the film that the reviewers unanimously praised is Haskell Wexler's remarkable cinematography. This nearly three-hour epic benefits enormously from his gorgeous black-and-white photography, mostly shot on location. But Kazan doesn't linger for too long on any of the many striking compositions the way Antonioni would. Kazan is a storyteller who lets you see the image and then quickly moves on. He later said that Wexler was the most brilliant cinematographer he'd ever worked with, and also a huge pain in the ass
Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid (1973)
Virtually all the critics slammed it when it first came out, but their judgment was based on the version butchered and released by MGM to 103 minutes; this leisurely film is in fact immensely enjoyable and it's now-restored length of 124 minutes. (I have a hunch the bordello scene with its casual nudity was the first thing to be cut by the studio back in 1973. Nudity was hot in movies back then, but only when presented as something shocking, not natural and a matter of everyday life.) Sam Peckinpah's "revisionist westerns" are highly addictive -- he captures the grit and realism of what certainly seems like the authentic Old West so that you can almost smell the leather holsters and feel the floorboards of a bar beneath your feet. No cheap indoor sets to be found here. Critics found the film slow and even boring, yet the deliberate pacing gives you the feeling of what it must really have been like to slowly stalk an outlaw like Billy the Kid, surprisingly well portrayed by Kris Kristofferson. And of course James Coburn is unmatchable as Pat Garrett, along with countless supporting players like Slim Pickens and Barry Sullivan, who are not presented as star cameos but casually allowed to do their thing and then let the film move on.
Peckinpah knows how to fill a wide screen with endless details while subtly directing your eye to the main action. His style reminds me a bit of Robert Altman, letting you take it all in without highlighting moments or parts of the screen in the old Hollywood manner. Lots of gun fights and killings, as you would expect in a Peckinpah film (the sights and sound of men being shot off their horses soon feel as expected as characters bursting into song and dance in a musical) but they too seem entirely natural in the American West at that time. Even the odd friendship between Billy the Kid and Pat Garrett comes across as convincing, since they both started out as outlaws together in the beginning. The unlikely inclusion of Bob Dylan in a supporting role along with his music on the soundtrack gives the film a 1970s spirit at the same time you feel you're in the late 19th century. It's a crime that this film was overlooked in 1973 and that it's critical and commercial failure helped derail Peckinpah's career. Peckinpah grew up out west and knew and loved that part of the country; he had no illusions about it, though he may have retained an illusion or two about Hollywood's willingness to allow a director to pursue his personal vision in a mass medium like feature filmmaking. The failure of Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid left a bitter mark on Peckinpah, I'm the man who had directed Ride the High Country (1962) and The Wild Bunch (1969) never made another Western again.
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