White Christmas (1954)

White Christmas (1954)

Directed by Michael Curtiz

Screenplay by Norman Krasna, Norman Panama and Melvin Frank

Runtime: 2 hr

Well, I couldn’t ignore Christmas entirely, now could I?  I originally figured that doing a month dedicated to Michael Curtiz films would be a substitute for talking about Christmas movies, because frankly I’m not a fan.  But then I discovered that Curtiz was the man in the chair for one of the biggest Christmas hits of them all, leaving me little choice but to close out the year with some holiday cheer.  Starring Bing Crosby and Danny Kaye, I present the Irving Berlin song vehicle and smash hit of 1954, White Christmas.

During the Second World War, Phil Davis (Kaye) saves the life of soldier/crooner Bob Wallace (Crosby).  The two become lifelong friends and form the hit entertainment duo of Wallace & Davis.  After their most recent production shuts down for Christmastime, the pair see a sister act—Betty and Judy (Rosemary Clooney and Vera-Ellen), who through wacky hijinks, they end up following up to Vermont to take in some snow.  Staying at an inn owned by the boys’ old commander (Dean Jagger), there’s no snow to be found and they find business is in the toilet.  Song-and-dance routines to the rescue!

Right off the bat, White Christmas fails pretty hard at being a Christmas movie.  Very little of the film has any discernible connection to Christmas.  Most of the plot centers on the romance between Bob and Betty, and the song numbers have more to do with the entertainment business than with December 25.  It’s only the first ten minutes and the last ten minutes of the film that are in any way Christmas-related; in the end it feels as if the Christmas motif was tacked on because “White Christmas” had been a massive hit previously.

Granted, the Christmas theme is not entirely ignored.  The sets are frequently dominated by reds, greens and silvers, even if the songs and dialogue have absolutely nothing to do with holiday cheer.  And this being essentially an Irving Berlin movie, I can get not having that many Christmas tunes; one can only write so many.  But even with those concessions, White Christmas only connects on a holiday level in a superficial manner, and it sort of feels cynical for including it; as the characters might say, Christmas is the movie’s angle.

It’s better to think of White Christmas as a romantic comedy that just happens to take place in December.  And in that regard, it doesn’t work, either.  The love connections here are just off.  Bob and Betty are supposed to be the main couple, but it seems as if Phil and Judy, who explicitly state that their “relationship” exists solely to give Betty tacit permission to find a man, have better chemistry.  How is it that that the two people who are just pulling strings are lovebirds, but that the central romance comes off as contrived and engineered?

Now, Bob and Betty are being engineered into a relationship, so not having chemistry would make sense.  But the film plays it as if the two were meant for each other.  I lay most of the blame on Crosby’s shoulders.  He’s got a hell of voice, but his stage presence is just awkward in his scenes with Clooney.  He’s constantly too confident in his delivery for me to buy a budding relationship, especially since his character is supposed to be perfectly content with waiting for the “one” to find him.  Clooney’s not great, but at least she doesn’t have the same character inconsistency.

The supporting cast is at least a tad more varied.  Kaye’s Phil is very young-teenager in presence; his voice cracks a lot and he will never, ever stop guilt-tripping Bob for saving his life.  Vera-Ellen is a little snarky, but doesn’t leave much of an impression.  And while Jagger has his moments as the general, especially when he just wants to watch the TV, damn it, he too is rather tedious.  This is the sort of situation that Curtiz should have stepped in and given his cast some direction; even the best players here feel more like zombies than people.

Furthermore, the plot to this movie is full of romantic comedy clichés.  You’ve got the characters who think they don’t have time in their lives for a significant other until they just happen to meet each other.  You’ve got the best friends who try playing matchmaker because they’ve evidently got nothing better to do with their time.  And, of course, you’ve got the third act misunderstanding that threatens to ruin the relationship and takes thirty minutes to fix even when just two sentences could clear things up.

I realize that White Christmas is simply some old-fashioned Christmas(y) cheer, but would it have really killed three screenwriters—all three of them—to come up with something a little less formulaic?  Or, hell, at least something that reminded me of Christmas; I could accept the overdone schmaltz if the old “true meaning of Christmas” bit was thrown into the mix.  But, alas, such is not the case.  White Christmas might not be a patently unwatchable film, but it certainly an un-rewatchable film.  A shame for a Christmas flick, since I thought that was the point.

Note: I'll be taking a break for Christmas and New Year's; there will be no article on December 26 and no review on December 29.  Normal service will resume on January 2.  Until 2013!

The Adventures of Robin Hood (1938)

The Adventures of Robin Hood (1938)

Directed by Michael Curtiz and William Keighley

Screenplay by Norman Reilly Raine and Seton I. Miller

Runtime: 1 hr, 42 min

So far in Michael Curtiz Month, we have seen his efforts take the form of a patriotic musical and a melodramatic film noir.  But as I said last week, Curtiz’s films were varied greatly and genre, and today’s picture is no exception.  A film that was originally to be directed by William Keighley and starring a great deal of actors that I actually recognize, The Adventures of Robin Hood finds Curtiz in action-adventure mode, and of all the films I’ve covered for this month, it is easily the most enjoyable.

Starring Errol Flynn in his signature turn as Sir Robin of Locksley, The Adventures of Robin Hood finds Prince John (Claude Rains) ready to take the throne belonging to his brother, Richard the Lion-Heart, who has been taken captive while returning from the Crusades.  As the Norman taxes on and cruelty to the Saxons increase while Richard’s away, Robin Hood turns outlaw to aid the poor and challenge the oppressors, forming his band of Merry Men and gradually wooing Richard’s ward, the lovely Maid Marian (Olivia de Havilland).

Firstly, Errol Flynn’s performance is superb.  Not only does Flynn deliver his lines with a wonderful mixture of joviality, disdain and honor, but he is also nimble and does a convincing job in the acting sequences.  Yes, he does allow Robin Hood to come off as something a jerk at times, especially when recruiting his partners into the fold, but it is a reasonable portrayal.  I would expect a troublesome rebel to be hard to deal with on and off the battlefield, and one cannot deny that Flynn makes it fun to watch.

Robin Hood’s crew is motley one, and the variety of characters present is one of the film’s strongest points.  Among his eventual comrades are the skillful and sturdy Little John (Alan Hale), the tubby yet strong Friar Tuck (Eugene Pallatte), and the youthful, wisecracking Will Scarlett (Patric Knowles; there’s also a bit of Alan-a-Dale to the character).  These characters provide texture to their leader’s exploits, though it is a shame that some, especially Scarlett, don’t get enough screen time to fully flesh out their roles.

The Merry Men are all interesting, but it’s the Normans who turn in the best performances.  It would be hard to do otherwise when Melanie Hamilton, Louis Renault and Sherlock Holmes are coming to bat.  De Havilland’s performance as Maid Marian is nuanced and understated, Claude Rains is proper and prissy as Prince John, and Basil Rathbone lends dignity to his role as Sir Guy of Gisbourne.  But my favorite role of all is Melville Cooper as the Sheriff of Nottingham, secretly aware and intelligent yet completely ineffectual; one gets the feeling he’s the Norman version of Piggy.

I’ve gushed about the performances, but The Adventures of Robin Hood is intended as a spectacle, and it succeeds there as well.  The archery tournament sequence, complete with arrow-splitting feats of wonder, is tense and expertly staged.  The fight scenes between Robin Hood and whoever gets in his way are exciting; every blow he shares with Sir Guy has the potential to end everything right there.  And the Technicolor filming looks gorgeous, coming a full year before Gone with the Wind and The Wizard of Oz brought color film to the next level.

On top of the color filming, the film looks great because the world the crew constructs is lively.  Curtiz gives equal time to emotion establishing close-ups and wide-angle shots to show off the scope and grandeur of this medieval England.  The clothes of the nobles are appropriately showy, while the castle architecture is cold and basic with ample empty space.  In fact, every detail shines through, from the poverty of the oppressed Saxons to the rich food freely available to the Norman nobility.  Despite centuries of time difference, there is a clear “you-are-there” effect.

However, as appears to be a recurring theme this month, The Adventures of Robin Hood has some problems with pacing its plot properly.  Rather than follow the narrative of Robin Hood keeping Prince John from taking Richard the Lion-Heart’s throne straight through, the screenwriters opt for an anecdotal approach which gradually builds up to the central conflict.  This does allow for the characters to have their moments, but having Robin Hood and Maid Marian taken captive at different points makes the film a bit repetitive in its obstacles.

Yet whereas the poor structure of Yankee Doodle Dandy ultimately sank the film, the pure spectacle of The Adventures of Robin Hood is enough to rise above the plot difficulties.  Indeed, the episodic nature of the film almost aids it, highlighting the mythic nature of the Robin Hood tales.  Triumphing as a series of performances and as an action-adventure, The Adventures of Robin Hood is great fun, pure and simple, and when well executed, that’s all that one really needs out of this sort of movie.

"It's Christmas All Over Again": On the Myriad Renditions of Christmas Songs

We once again find ourselves in the middle of December, and in the United States, that can only mean one thing: a never ending barrage of Christmas music.  Set one foot out in public all month and you are liable to get hit with a tactical campaign of Nat King Cole, Bing Crosby and children's choirs.  If my own family is representative of the population, then I can safely say that the annual influx of hymns, chestnuts and novelty records is cherished tradition, something to look forward to the moment that the weather precludes going down the shore.

You know who else loves Christmas music?  The music industry.  In the oft-talked about era of declining record sales, Christmas music remains a fairly reliable source of revenue.  Bing Crosby's rendition of "White Christmas" has been the best selling single of all time for over five decades, and the lucrative nature of holiday tunes continues on.  The individual songs may not be rocketing up the Billboard charts, but the albums are consistently push units.  Case in point: Josh Groban's Noël became the best-selling album of 2007, despite being out for less than three months at the time.

Looking over the Billboard 200 for the week of December 8, 2012, seven of the top 40 selling albums were Christmas records, ranging from Rod Stewart's Merry Christmas, Baby (#6) to Trans-Siberian Orchestra's Dreams of Fireflies (On a Christmas Night) (#37).  Taking the entire chart into account, nearly 1/4 of the best-selling albums that week were Christmas albums.  And keep in mind, that "December 8" is the issue date, corresponding to the tracking period of November 19-25.  We'd just barely entered Christmas season by this point.

Yet the success of Christmas records has always kind of baffled me.  It's not that I don't get why people listen to Christmas music; that's not a particularly shocking phenomenon.  No, what I want to know is why people keep purchasing Christmas music.

There are three reasons for my confusion.  First off all, in relation to the calendar, Christmas music has a short shelf-life; even with the holiday season bleeding out of December, at most we're talking a ten-week period of relevancy.  No one is going to be spinning "Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree" in April without irony.  Secondly, during this brief period of relevancy, it's not as if Christmas music is difficult to come by.  Even if (or especially if) you're from a rural town like I am, you can probably find a radio station that switched to an all-Christmas format around Thanksgiving.

But I can come up with counterpoints to those arguments.  For one thing, even though non-seasonal albums can be enjoyed year-round, who actually listens to any given record that often?  It sort of makes sense to buy a Christmas record and let it gather dust in-between plays.  And while it probably makes more economic sense to just tune in to the local Clear Channel station, to do so makes it impossible to listen to whatever carol it is you want on demand.  Especially in the Internet era of instnat gratification, a personally-owned record seems like a good investment.

Here's the thing (and my third point), though: holiday music is a pretty static genre; it's not as if there is a steady stream of holiday classics coming out.  When we think "Christmas music", we're thinking the standards that have been put on record countless times by countless artists.  There's very little variety in terms of content, just in presentation.  It's this reason that trips me up.  There should be no rush to get new Christmas music because, when you get right down to it, there are only so many ways one can record "Jingle Bells", right?

Well, all this thinking got me thinking: why don't I put that notion to the test?  For this post, I decided to listen to a whole bunch of Christmas albums, from the mega-sellers to the obscurities, and see whether or not I can find some reason, some clue, as to why these things keep selling after all these years.  Maybe the end product is a cynical cash-in used to fill contractual obligations, but it could well be the case that such-and-such's performance of a holiday favorite does justify an album purchase.  Grab a carton of eggnog and stoke up the fire, because here we go!

Exhibit A: Barenaked for the Holidays - Barenaked Ladies (2004)

Well, we might as well start with a bit of the old hypocrisy, because I listen to this record every December (and because I need to start this piece somewhere).  Tie it in with the impulse to experience Christmas music on one's own terms, I suppose.  I absolutely love Barenaked Ladies, but they're not the sort of act that screams, "Christmas album!"  Even at 12 years-old, I doubt that I was clamoring for BNL to hit the studio and record their variation on "Jingle Bells", complete with the "Batman smells" lyrics thrown in for good measure.

Yet, it kind of works.  I know, I've got my own biases, but the arrangements the band gives the material keeps it fresh.  Okay, sometimes the results don't sound remotely Christmas-y ("I Saw Three Ships"), but more often than not, they evoke the proper spirit.  The vibraphone driven "Carol of the Bells" sounds like an impending ice storm, while "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen / We Three Kings" captures the feeling of company surrounding a roaring fire on a cold winter's night, aided by Sarah McLachlan's airy vocals.

Further, I've always respected the high proportion of original tracks, and while some are dead-weight (the dour "Snowman" or the overly-goofy "Christmas Pics"), on the whole they give the album the band's signature humorous touch.  "Elf's Lament" always sticks out in my mind; I just love the image of Santa's elves trying to organize a strike, working through a dead end job "making crappy little gizmos".  And, for the longest time, I did not realize that Michael Bublé was a featured vocalist on it.  Speaking of which...

Exhibit B: Christmas - Michael Bublé (2011)

Staying in Canada but transitioning from goofy to classy, we move on to the living anachronism, Michael Bublé.  A Michael Bublé Christmas LP is such a no-brainer as a concept that I'm still shocked it took so long for one to materialize.  As the one of the few performers in the Frank Sinatra/Tony Bennett tradition of vocal jazz with mainstream recognition, a Christmas album was an inevitability, and a lucrative one at that.  Only Adele's 21 moved more units in 2011 than Christmas (though it was by quite a wide margin).

Bublé's set only shares one song with Barenaked for the Holidays, which would be the ubiquitous "Jingle Bells".  Yet I find they share a sense of humor, though Bublé's is far less overt.  Well, okay, there's his rendition of "Santa Baby", which is hilarious by nature, but mostly I find the humor derives from the vocal deliver.  It may just be me, but it sounds like Bublé is trying to stifle a laugh on the upbeat tracks.  Here's clearly having a good time.  And I am perfectly cool with that, since what is Christmas time if not a good time?

Further, the arrangements on Christmas are quite varied in tone.  Some choices are obvious, such as the requisite reverence paid to "Silent Night", but others genuinely surprised me, especially the melancholic take on "All I Want for Christmas Is You".  Oddly, though I normally love big, hot brassy arrangements, songs which feature prominent horn sections, notably "Santa Claus Is Coming to Town" and "Blue Christmas", don't quite work for me; I guess that particular sound doesn't quite fit the Christmas mood.  But at least there's effort in that.

Overall, Bublé's interpretations are rather traditional, but that 1950s sound is a solid one for the occasion.  It's as if Bublé was made to sing Christmas carols.

Exhibit C: Christmas in the Heart - Bob Dylan (2009)

Bob Dylan, on the other hand, was not made to sing Christmas carols.  Now, don't get me wrong: I adore Dylan voice.  No, really.  I've long felt that his loud, nasal singing voice was an asset rather than a liability.  Even as it's disintegrated over the decades, it remains a powerful vehicle for his lyrics.  But gravel and sandpaper are not the sounds one associates with Christmas songs.  On top of that, a large portion of Dylan's work consists of songs which may be summarized as, "You suck!"  Really, he is just about the last person I'd expect to hear singing of peace on earth and good will towards men.

Yet, when I thought about it: of course Bob Dylan would record a Christmas album.  After all, he made his name in the folk revival scene of the early 1960s, and has built a career of recording and appropriating folk music ever since.  The vast majority of Christmas songs we hear are passed down and recast through the various cultural institutions to the point that the originators are historical footnotes.  In other words, Christmas carols may be considered a (very lucrative) subset of modern folk music.  Why wouldn't America's leading folk artist get involved?

One thing that sticks out about Christmas in the Heart compared to the Bublé and BNL efforts is the higher proportion of religious songs.  And it's on these tracks where the concept of a Dylan Christmas album really shines.  Yes, he sounds absolutely wretched on the ballads such as "Hark! The Herald Angels Sing", but I truly believe his inarticulate growl provides for a fresh interpretation of the time-honored tunes.  Rather than the soft, angelic, hopeful renditions I'm used to hearing, Dylan casts himself as man long in the darkness which Christ's birth was to illuminate, particularly on "Do You Hear What I Hear?"

And on a side note: the video for "Must Be Santa" is just hilarious.  I mean, just look at that wig.

Exhibit D: Elivs' Christmas Album - Elvis Presley (1957)

Moving from one American icon to another: the King.  All these decades later, Elvis still holds a prominent position in popular culture.  From the glamour of the Vegas years to the indelible vocal stylings, every element of the Elvis persona permeates the cultural landscape.  The man left his mark not only on the then-emerging genre of rock music, but also gospel, country and blues as well.  So it should come as no surprise to learn that, according to the Recording Industry Association of America, his first Christmas album is the best-selling holiday record of all time.

Elvis' Christmas Album is a split LP: the first side consists of secular Christmas tunes, the second side religious ones.  The two are a study in contrast.  On side one, Elvis' delivery is just dripping with sexuality.  This is, of course, best demonstrated on the definitive take on "Blue Christmas", but it blankets the entire first half.  There is just something righteous about the energy of "Santa Claus in Back in Town", in which the vocals combine with the classic blues lyric pattern to create an irresistible treat.  Even if the thought of Santa Claus is not at all sexy.

The gospel tracks of side two, however, suffer as a result.  The style is not my thing to begin with, but after hearing a similar vocal delivery on the love-laden tracks of side one, I become incapable of hearing it in a nonsexual context.  I realize that Elvis is going for a reverential tone here, and had I listened to say, "Silent Night" or "I Believe" first, I could probably appreciate the whole record.  Alas, given the image of Elvis which has been built in the collective memory over the years, I can't imagine that the sincere religious tunes would hold up very well.  Curse you, sexy Elvis!

Exhibit E: Miracles: The Holiday Album - Kenny G (1994)

Elvis' Christmas Album may be the best selling holiday collection as per the RIAA, but the top spot in the Nielsen SoundScan era (1991-present) goes to Kenny G.  I've always found it rather amusing that an artist as mellow as Kenny G is among the most loathed musicians, period.  Granted, under normal circumstances I would never consciously choose to put on smooth jazz--and I was hoping against reason that I would find a previously unreleased Bill Evans Christmas album--but, really, it's all harmless elevator music.  Boring as all hell, by harmless.

In fact, if there is one context where I can appreciate Kenny G's brand of musak, it's probably Christmas.  The whole mood of Miracles: The Holiday Album is burnt out.  I can just imagine walking into the living room after shoveling the driveway on a late December night, then plopping down in an easy chair beside the fire and falling asleep to Kenny G's warbling sax on "Winter Wonderland".  (And then Norman Rockwell could step in and paint a portrait for the Saturday Evening Post).

Yes, it's all wonderful background music.  And it fades into the background incredibly, blessedly quickly.  Perhaps too well, actually: the whole record comes off as a nonentity.  Still, if you need something to make your eyelids heavy on a cold winter's eve, it's hard to beat Kenny G.  The other 364 days of the year, though, just give me that John Coltrane.

Exhibit F: A Charlie Brown Christmas - Vince Guaraldi (1965)

Actually, let's stick with jazz for a bit.  I take it that all of you--at least you in America, I don't know about elsewhere--know and love A Charlie Brown Christmas.  The sad-sack protagonist, the aluminum trees, Linus' recitation from Luke: so much of this little special has become forever lodged in our collective Christmas consciousness.  Yet perhaps no element of the special has had as great an impact as the score.  Case in point: when I went on to Rhapsody to put on the album, I saw that Vince Guaraldi was listed among the 10 most played artists at the time.  I can think of no other reason why that would be the case.

It's not just nostalgia filters which makes A Charlie Brown Christmas such as delight.  It's just all around great music.  I especially dig the bass solo featured on "O Tannenbaum"; it's the same sort of experience I get listening to Sunday at the Village Vanguard, which is a quite a feat.  And maybe it's because the special is so engrained in my memory, but the drastic tonal shifts make perfect sense.  Of course "Linus and Lucy" gives way to two different versions of the downbeat "Christmastime Is Here".  It's a collection that gets the highest highs and lowest lows of late December.

Of everything here, A Charlie Brown Christmas is the least directly tied to Christmas traditions.  Many pieces are Guaraldi originals, and they don't have the immediate warmth that the chestnuts that Kenny G offers have.  Yet I feel the performances do tie in nicely with the more meditative outings from Bublé, Dylan and Presley.  But instead of communing with the religious or romantic aspects of Christmas, Guaraldi occasionally delves into straight depression--which is just perfect for a Peanuts special, now that I think on it.

Exhibit F: The Beach Boys' Christmas Album - The Beach Boys (1964)

And now for something completely different.  I've never been much of a Beach Boys fan; that surf-y, beach music sound holds very little appeal for me.  Still, there's a certain charm to hearing "Little Saint Nick" every year in December: short and sweet and not in the least bit Christmas-y.  That "Little Saint Nick" steadfastly remains in holiday rotation is another surprise.  How is it that a group called "the Beach Boys" recorded such a winter-time classic?  The name alone should disqualify them, let alone the sound of the track.

Yes, yes, this is a very Northern perspective on Christmas, but there are some styles which just clash with my conception of Christmas.  The sunshiny music of the Beach Boys is definitely one of them.  This is less a problem with the traditional numbers than with the original compositions.  The combination of happy vocal harmonies surf-rock guitar and goofy lyics simply don't mesh with Santa songs.  Not that I can't imagine it working.  Perhaps if they wrote about Christmas in the surf culture, there'd be a place for it.

The traditional tunea and covers are a bit more interesting, in that they seem to be experiments I'm not quite getting.  Between the overblown strings and rather low vocals, "We Three Kings of Orient Are" sounds more morose than I'd expect, while the flute work on "Blue Christmas" gives the recording an underlying happiness.  Neither is a choice that I really agree with, but it at least demonstrates that these well-worn tunes are rather robust.  It doesn't take a drastic move to put a new spin on them, even if that spin doesn't make a whole lot of sense.

Conclusion:

I think seven albums are more than enough to make some tentative conclusions:

1) Is Christmas music a stagnant genre?

Yes and no.  It's stagnant in the sense that, in my investigations, a similar set of songs were present on most of the albums, while none of the original songs got rerecorded by another act.  Granted, seven records representing less than five hours of music is an extremely small data set, but I feel that patterns emerge rather quickly here.

On the other hand, if we treat Christmas music as a sort of folk tradition, then the reuse of chestnuts is not a problem.  In fact, the fresh interpretations I heard throughout were more than enough justification for me to say that it's alive.  Folk music is all about reinterpreting and recontextualizing the past, and it's a area where Christmas music can succeed.

2) Is there a reason to purchase Christmas music?

Even after all these albums have been spun and given me varying degrees of joy, I still say no.  Most of the marquee tracks from each record were singles, which makes them easy to access on the radio.  Even if that were not the case, the presence of the Internet makes laying down however-much-a-CD-goes-for seem like an odd decision.  Even in the case of A Charlie Brown Christmas, by far my favorite, I wouldn't think it vital to have a physical copy for the experience.

3) Why do people keep purchasing Christmas music anyway?

Here, I admit I don't know.  For all I know, a new Christmas album might be a salvage gift.  Don't know what to get someone for Christmas?  Then pick Christmas music!  I kid, but for all I know that could be true.  But, as I said, I don't know.  Maybe my readers do--that's right, all two of you.  If you have any ideas, let me know.

Until next time, Happy Holidays from Cinema Saturdays!

Oh, and one more:

Mildred Pierce (1945)

Mildred Pierce (1945)

Directed by Michael Curtiz

Screenplay by Ranald MacDougall, based on the novel by James M. Cain

Runtime: 1 hr, 51 min

 

In looking through Michael Curtiz’s filmography, the least that I could say about the guy is that he was versatile.  Curtiz was in the director’s chair for movies ranging from romances to action epics to musicals.  I don’t know if he was a jack-of-all-trades or a studio’s hired gun, but he was certainly willing to give all sorts of films his personal touch.  Today’s film finds Curtiz helming a movie of yet another genre, the melodramatic film noir Mildred Pierce, one of the classic era films noir in the National Film Registry.

The film begins with the murder of Monte Beragon (Zachary Scott), a playboy from old money.  Several people are brought to the station for questioning, including Monte’s wife, Mildred Pierce (Joan Crawford).  The police believe that Mildred’s ex-husband Bert (Bruce Bennett) is the killer, but Mildred won’t let him take the fall.  Instead, Mildred tells the police how things ended up this way, a tale involving a cast of characters ranging from the perpetual charmer Wally Fay (Jack Carson) to Pierce’s cold-blooded older daughter, Veda (Ann Blyth).

The story of Mildred Pierce is essentially driven by one relationship, the one between Mildred and Veda.  As a mother, Mildred is from the get-go overly attentive, striving to give her children the best life possible even when the money is tight.  However, whether it’s redecorating the house to make it seem more upscale or buying Veda new dresses, Mildred only aims for the material goods for that purpose, effectively buying their love.  She fails as a mother to inculcate Veda with the proper values to function in society.

Veda, for her part, is pure evil.  Obsessed with money and status, Veda looks down on her mother for working in restaurant to earn her money, longing for the life style of old money folks such as Monte.  She is more than willing to manipulate people and situations to her advantage, and she’ll gleefully laugh while she does it to boot.  But because Mildred is so devoted to making her happy, she continually gets away with it.  I must give major props to Ann Blyth, who expressions and tone project the highest malice possible; if Jason Compson were a teenage girl, he’d be Veda Pierce.

Mildred’s inability to see or do anything about her daughter’s ways is ultimately what leads to Monte’s murder.  Going so far as to marry Monte—for whom she does show a little genuine affection—in order to impress Veda, Mildred lets her entire life get away from her to chase one unattainable goal.  She should not have to do this; she’s the owner of a successful restaurant chain and lifted herself up after throwing Bert out for infidelity.  Yet because of her tunnel vision, made all the more evident by Crawford’s manner, that doesn’t matter in the slightest to her.

The anti-chemistry between Crawford and Blyth is so strong that the rest of film feels a tad underwhelming by comparison.  The men in their lives, for instance, are not the greatest cast of characters.  Jack Carson’s Wally is not interesting enough as the charming real estate tycoon to warrant that much screen time, and Monte, while strong as plot point, is lacking as an actual character.  Bruce Bennett appears to be a in coma throughout the film; one would think that with all he’d gone through, he’d show some emotion once in a while, but dead Lord is the man stoic.

Detrimentally, while these characters are window dressing to the story of Mildred Pierce, they are integral to the plot.  They come into play to drive the events forward: Mildred’s divorce from Bert, Veda’s obvious affection for Monte, Mildred’s business relationship with Wally, etc.  This isn’t necessarily bad; in fact, it sets up numerous possibilities for who would want to off Monte.  However, it takes time away from the Mildred-Veda tension, and since that’s the meat of the movie, this represents a problem.

Curtiz does manage to recuperate some the momentum lost in the plot with the noir styling.  A standout scene is towards the end, in which Veda and Monte are laughing together: their bodies in the light, but their heads are entirely silhouetted.  Yet Curtiz and cinematographer Ernest Haller (who also did work on Rebel Without a Cause) mix the noir elements with the bright sunshine of Southern California, especially during the bright times of Mildred’s life.  This makes the dark, stylish later sequences all the more striking.

In the end, Mildred Pierce is a fun little slice of cinema, but it’s one which suffers from one extra powerful element.  Given the power of Blyth’s evil turns as Veda and Crawford’s frustration as Mildred, it’s a shame that the film doesn’t focus more on that connection than it already does.  Still, there’s some built up speed for the solution to the mystery, and there is great satisfaction in discovering who the killer is.  Mildred Pierce is a good movie, but it could just as easily have ben a great one.

Yankee Doodle Dandy (1942)

Yankee Doodle Dandy (1942)

Directed by Michael Curtiz

Screenplay by Robert Buckner and Edmund Joseph

Runtime: 2 hr, 6 min

Well, now we’re in the thick of December, and when December comes, that can only mean one thing.  That’s right; I’m dedicating the remainder of the month to reviewing films directed by Michael Curtiz, who was born this month in 1886.  Curtiz was born in Hungary, but moved to the States and became a ridiculously prolific director, perhaps best known for Casablanca.  I’d like to start by belatedly celebrating Fourth-of-July-in-December with one of his musical efforts, Yankee Doodle Dandy.

A very loose biopic of American composer George M. Cohan, the films finds James Cagney as its hero.  He recounts his life story to FDR, who has called him into his office for a meeting.  Cohan was born on the Fourth of July into a vaudeville family, with whom George quickly becomes a star.  Once he strikes out on his own, he teams up with Sam Harris (Richard Whorf) to produce a string of Broadway hits and American standards, while falling in love with fellow actress-singer Mary (Joan Leslie).  All with musical numbers galore!

Okay, I need to get this out of the way immediately: Yankee Doodle Dandy is a rather poorly structured film.  The problem is that the film follows the entirety of Cohan’s life; this is a problem because as a result there is no central conflict.  Sure, Cohan faces several conflicts during his life, but they are at best loosely interconnected and are solved almost instantaneously.  Whether it’s breaking through in the world of theater or trying to woo the critics, there is potential for a central struggle, but that doesn’t develop.

This is not to say that the miniature conflicts are not interesting, or that their quick resolutions are unsatisfactory.  That happens to be the case for quite a few of them, but not all.  For example, that as child actor Cohan is clearly too big for his tap shoes foreshadows his later bravado, which makes building business relations difficult, and getting himself blacklisted from theatrical productions for his attitude presents a struggle to break into the scene.  In fact, had Yankee Doodle Dandy just focused on his early life, I could see it working spectacularly.

Unfortunately, where I would end the movie is not even the halfway point.  About 55 minutes in, Cohan and Harris’ Little Johnny Jones premieres, and given its length, the staging and the presence of “The Yankee Doodle Boy”, it’s no wonder that it feels climactic, especially after Cohan’s struggles to get through the front door of Broadway.  But there’s still over an hour of film to go, and while other events happen and songs are written, it feels as if Yankee Doodle Dandy stops moving forward as a movie.

A shame, really, because Cagney puts his all into the performance.  He sings with emotion but without bombast and his dancing is lively.  On top of that, despite the fact that Cohan comes across as a bit of jerk, Cagney manages to imbue a lot of likeability into the character; this is most true regarding his resourcefulness, as he improvises his way into a play by going up to Harris’ table cold and pretending to have music and a deal with another production team.   After all, it’s that gusto and wit that you want representing America in the Second World War, right?

Speaking of America and the war, what surprised me the most was that, in this day and age, I did not find the ridiculously patriotic tone of the film to be annoying.  In fact, it’s rather charming to see songs such as “You’re a Grand Old Flag” and “Over There” sung with such energy and conviction.  Sure, the sheer amount of flag-waving gets a bit grating, and the more blatantly propagandistic elements of the production are uncomfortable, but overall the red, white and blue music festival is very easy to enjoy if that sort of thing is not an instant deal-breaker for you.

The other aspects of the film are take-it-or-leave-it affairs (except the blackface act; that can exit stage left).  Neither Joan Leslie nor Richard Whorf turn in bad performances, but neither does much to elevate their characters beyond merely supporting parts in Cohan’s life.  Though appropriate for the subject matter, the staging of the musical numbers is a bit too stagey, and Curtiz’s direction becomes predictable.  And though the script does get some good jokes in here and then, it also lays several eggs.  So much of Yankee Doodle Dandy is merely competent.

Keep in mind, I saw this move on Independence Day, so I was in about as patriotic a mood as I could muster.  And Yankee Doodle Dandy is not that bad as a musical, certainly better than others I’ve seen for this project.  But as a movie, its poor structure prevents any steam building up behind the plot, and though Cagney is on top of the world as Cohan, ultimately not even he can elevate the material enough to earn it a passing grade.  I say just skip the movie and sing along to the tunes; methinks you already know the words.