Hamlet (1948) vs Hamlet (1990) vs Hamlet (1996)

I revealed in a meme some time ago that I wrote a paper on three adaptations of “Hamlet” for a writing course. I decided I’d post it, although the 17 page beast was much too much for a blog. And since while you read this I’ll actually be at school, read and enjoy a condensed version of the original paper.

        

At the height of Shakespeare’s talent (well, so most persons would say) is his 23rd play “Hamlet”. The tragedy about a Danish prince is Shakespeare’s longest play and despite not being as readily popular as his “Romeo & Juliet” it is enthusiastically accredited as his premier work. In addition to being singled out as the pinnacle of Shakespeare’s achievement, the character of Hamlet is unofficially considered to be the greatest dramatic male role – an enviable monogram. This, no doubt, accounts for the affinity that actors, directors and producers have felt in regard to the work on stage and film.

Jude Law in his Tony nominated incarnation of Hamlet

         

Since the beginning of contemporary cinema in the early 20th century great thought has been placed on the constituents to good adaptations of literature, both drama and otherwise. Oftentimes works have been given the informal title of “unadaptable” but more and more fearless writers have worked against these labels and attempted at adapting great works for the medium of the film. Regardless of their valour however, something is lost when a great literature piece is transferred to cinema. It does not matter how exemplary the adaptation may be on its own their usually is some inadequacy when correlated with the original piece. There is no doubt that something is always lost when a literary work in transferred to the screen, and with the high esteem of “Hamlet” there may be an additional pressure placed on persons intending to adapt. This paper aims at assessing three notable adaptations of the Bard’s crucial play. The three versions in question are Laurence Olivier’s 1948 version, Franco Zeffirelli’s 1990 versions and Kenneth Branagh’s 1996 version. These three adaptations do not represent the gamut of “Hamlet”’s treatment on cinema. However, they are often regarded as the most popular – if not best – of the lot.

To look at each piece for a mere few minutes would immediately unearth the obvious dissimilarities. From its beginning we notice the mysteriousness of Olivier’s piece. There is a potent sense of confinement as the screen is covered in an eerie mist. Olivier’s Hamlet is mostly psychological and as Hamlet feels emotionally confined the film visually matches that with its simultaneous sense of captivity. Zeffirelli’s Hamlet is the stark opposite. The man is Italian, and vibrancy is the main component here as this is a Hamlet that is above all else, particularly physical. The court is lived in and muddy and the clothes are heavy and used. Continuing this visual comparison Branagh’s version probably falls in the middle. The confinement of Olivier is absent but there is not as much exuberance as Zeffirelli’s production.

On the most aesthetic level there are certain expectations that come with a Shakespearean themed film. Costuming is not as much a requirement for a good film as it is a prospective component of period pieces, of which Shakespeare’s “Hamlet” is one. Branagh’s Hamlet does not deliver on the authenticity of its costuming. His Hamlet is an unaltered adaptation of the play, but the players are draped in garments more appropriate for an early 20th century piece. It is a minor quibble since propriety of technicalities does not improve the quality of a film; but as aforementioned it is a natural anticipation in films of a particular period. When it comes to the realism of the costumes Zeffirelli’s Hamlet is the superior of the three. The late 15th century encompassed some ostensibly superfluous clothing for the Danish and designer Maurizio Millenoti outdoes himself. From Queen Gertrude’s flowing gowns to King Claudius’ royal robes the reality of it all is striking. Although Olivier’s costumes are not anachronisms like Branagh’s the costumes are scaled down. Naturally, the black and white palette would deny us the chance of enjoying whatever vitality of colour we may discover in the different costumes which is where Zeffirelli is able to triumph. The characters are literally dragged down by their costumes; when Ophelia descends into madness her stained gown is more than just an excessive prop but a part of her very character.

The proficiency of the costumes in Zeffirelli’s adaptation is enhanced by the added authenticity of his production design. Olivier is at a disadvantage since his Hamlet occurs in 1948 where the likelihood of films being shot on location was not large; the sets of his Hamlet are obviously superficial. Unlike the 1990 version where the castles seem real and the sweeping grounds of Ellsinore are genuine, Olivier’s Hamlet is not as sweeping. This is, of course, in keeping with the psychological nature of his interpretation and is no detractor from the overall goodness of the film. In fact, the scaled down nature of his sets is in keeping with the Elizabethan theatre and its minimal props. Nevertheless, it cannot be denied that the sheer splendour Zeffirelli is a bit striking to some degree. Branagh’s set design is good, but what divides it from Zeffirelli is that his sets are almost spotless. This is not the Ellsinore of Zeffirelli’s mind; this is a cleaner, grander and perhaps more noble Ellsinore.

The validity of any production of Hamlet will lie in strength of the lead character. It is a role that permits each actor to do his best with. Personally I am unable to absolutely champion any of the interpretations as faultless. Certainly, perfection is an ideal; but Olivier, Gibson and Branagh each have faults – some disconcerting some less conspicuous – that detract from the positives in their performance. Branagh, who I would readily claim to be an excellent actor, boasts my least favourite of the Hamlets. With his ominous moustache and menacing movements (not to mention his obvious age) Hamlet comes across more as a disconcerting anti-hero and less of the confused prince that he is on the page. It is not that Branagh’s acting is “bad”. He is a good actor, but his entire demeanour seems unsuited for the sensitivities of our Prince of Denmark. There is a sense that he is doing much too much for a role that shouldn’t necessarily be subtle but a trifle more sympathetic. It’s more than Branagh being inadequate on his own; his relationship with Ophelia is at its worse in this production, as far as I’m concerned. The disparity in age cannot be overstressed here. Branagh is 36 and his costar Kate Winslet (playing Ophelia) is 21. It is a 17 year age difference, and one that shows. One of the softer scenes in the play, where Hamlet renounces Ophelia (“Get thee to a nunnery”) loses its profundity in the 1996 version since I am so unwilling to accept the validity of a relationship – past or present – between the two. Certainly, the two in their separate entities try but together the chemistry is just not there. Branagh is just too freakishly sinister. On it’s own as a separate entity, his performance is fair, but taking into account the character he is playing his interpretation is bewildering.

Ironically, even though I single out the 17 year gap between Branagh’s Hamlet and Opelia, Olivier’s version sports an even more disconcerting gap. At 41 Olivier is the oldest Hamlet, and at 19 Jean Simmons is the youngest Ophelia. The gap here is 22 years. Olivier is older than Hamlet should be, and it shows. But there is a svelte manner in Olivier – an eternal showman, and he looks ten years younger than he is. He would still be too old for Hamlet at 31. But old as he is, I do not doubt the romance there. His Hamlet is undoubtedly too studied, and too (psychologically) mature and though he plays the moodiness of his character effectively it’s not completely as perfect as it could be. From reading, the conflict of Hamlet is his immaturity; this is why he cannot make up his mind. Olivier’s major crutch is that his Hamlet, though broody is far from immature. The ten year gap between Mel Gibson and Helena Bonham Carter in Ziffreli’s 1990 version is the least alarming, and on a purely physical level their romance seems truest. We never are privy to Ophelia and Hamlet’s relationship in good times, but when Hamlet denounces Ophelia there is a definite spark there and I believe – completely – that there was a significant relationship between the two. Gibson is an unlikely Hamlet. He is much more physical and boisterous than either of his peers; it’s not difficult to believe that he has not studied Shakespeare like his counterparts. To his credence, when he speaks Hamlet’s lines though – they are not just mellifluous words of Shakespeare but real words of a real man. However, Gibson lacks that vital emotional connection that such a tragic character demands, and competent as he is I am never completely moved by him. Even though he suggests the youth and boisterousness of Hamlet, he fails to bring any legitimate sense of seriousness and glumness that “Hamlet” demands. Hamlet’s first appearance in the play advocate his distemper; akin to Romeo at the beginning or “Romeo & Juliet”. Olivier triumphs in highlighting this broodiness. Despite his ostensible faults I would champion Olivier as the superior Hamlet. Yes, he is too mature but from a general level taking into account the ranges of the actors Olivier is clearly the one who is closest to Shakespeare’s incarnation, and to the common reader’s perspective on Hamlet.

Whereas Olivier triumphs when it comes to the Hamlets, his Ophelia played by Jean Simmons in an Academy Award nominated role is my least favourite of the Ophelias. I will not deny that Simmons is exceedingly beautiful has moments of charm; her early scenes with Terence Morgan (playing Laertes) are a good showing of filial love. However, she seems so amateurish here she turns Ophelia – already an ostensibly weak character on the page – into a mere trifle. I am never invested in her Ophelia and though she tries hard in those final scenes when Ophelia goes mad I don’t really care. It’s strange when you consider these words of Anderson:

“Jean Simmons makes a wonderful Ophelia (she was also nominated for an Oscar), and outdoes the other three (Helena Bonham Carter, Kate Winslet, and Julia Stiles). For one thing, she’s absolutely stunning. For another, her “mad” Ophelia comes across as glassy-eyed, singsongy and muttering, rather than the screaming, crying interpretations of the recent films. It’s much more tolerable and moving. And her death scene, floating on a stream on a bed of flowers, is both simple and stunning.”

Despite having no part in either of the recent versions I cannot help taking offence to Anderson who seems to have misread the entire character of Ophelia. Certainly he’s accurate in claiming that Simmons is “stunning”. She is. Ophelia, I suppose, should be beautiful. However, he implicitly says that Bonham Carter and Winslet are facially inadequate for the role. Firstly, the proficiency of any actresses’ is more than their looks and Anderson seems to be unfairly prone to conventional beauty of Simmons, who is not definitely the most beautiful of the three. Secondly, and more importantly, what inflections does a mad person make? Certainly, dramatic license may be made since each actress will interpret Ophelia in her own rite, but even as I single out Simmons’s latter scenes as at least capable I cannot completely believe that she has descended completely into craziness. Of course, I am unaware as to the realism of any truly insane person, just as Anderson is. Neither of us can explicitly vow for how Ophelia should behave when she loses her sense, however Simmons at her best seems to be feigning (capably, albeit) her madness. Even though I believe this, I do not doubt that some may be charmed her turn, since like any character interpretation it is all subjective, and unlike Hamlet it is difficult to surmise from the play what her character is explicitly like.

Simmons’ weak Ophelia is in stark contrast to Bonham Carter’s Ophelia. With her expressive eyes Bonham Carter’s Ophelia is charming, even if not as malleable as one would expect. Her Ophelia is the obedient daughter Shakespeare demanded, but she is no simpleton. Those scenes from Act IV Scene 5 play out incredibly well on screen with her, even though they are distributed unevenly. Ophelia’s soliloquies are even more disconcerting when measured against what we have seen of her earlier. Kate Winslet’s downward spirals into madness are the most horrific though. Perhaps, due to the unabridged nature of the piece the weight of Ophelia’s destruction is even more horrific. I must consider Anderson’s disgust with the “screaming” and “crying” of the recent Ophelia’s. He is probably referring explicitly to Winslet’s Ophelia, who in the latter scenes are perpetually teary eyed. Not only is this tear-stained characterisation appropriate for her interpretation of the character – but it also lends to a fuller appreciation of the character across the interpretations. Prima facie, Winslet seems to be the best of the Ophelias, but Bonham Carter’s is my personal choice. She’s now learning her talents, but she outshines every incarnation. Whereas Kate shines when Ophelia has her important lines, Bonham Carter is more magical when she has less to say making extensive use of her face and eyes.

We may surmise that Ophelia is the female lead of Hamlet owing to her title as Hamlet’s girlfriend, but Queen Gertrude represents the central female in the play. Actually, it is Gertrude’s illicit (according to Hamlet) marriage to her dead husband’s brother that directly leads to his downward spiral into insanity. In his production Olivier secured a 27 year unknown Eileen Herlie to represent the formidable figure of Queen Gertrude. It is a casting decision that seems absurd to me. Olivier’s defenders have identified the prospective incestuous relationship between Hamlet and the Queen as added reason for highlighting a potential physical attraction between the two. Firstly, I’m sure that any son – whether he be having an unlawful relationship with her mother or not – would be despaired by her marriage to her dead husband’s brother three months hence. Olivier’s take on the plot point bears close resemblance to the Oedipus complex, but regardless of whether that interpretation is valid (or accurate) I do not find it as sufficient to warrant Herlie being fourteen years the junior of her purported son. Obviously he is attempting to imbue Gertrude with as much sexuality and sensuality as possible, but are his attempts justified? Herlie’s performance is competent, and regardless of how much she tries – her youth is highlighted, not downplayed – the realism of her fathering Hamlet seems ludicrous. Interestingly enough in the 1990 adaptation Glenn Close at 43 plays mother to Mel Gibson’s 34 year old Hamlet. It is still a strange disparity in age, but not as wide a conceit as Olivier. At 43 Close is 16 years the senior of Herlie, however Murray opines “Close brings…sexuality…to Gertrude…”. Obviously, Close’s age doesn’t detract from her ability to portray Gertrude as a figure of sensuality. The running theme of the Oedipus complex are not as overt here, but in the 1990 version the evidence of Gertrude’s (physical) love for Claudius is evident. Even if we don’t quite agree, we realise that her hasty marriage is not (just?) a calculated political movement. In addition, Herlie’s age could not have been the only way of turning Gertrude into a legitimate object of affection for the men in Hamlet. It is iniquitous to criticise the vision of the play that Olivier intended, but on a scholastic level his motives for casting such a young Gertrude seem uninspired.

Interestingly, though Branagh’s Hamlet and Kate Winslet’s Ophelia share a large age disparity, strangely enough Julie Christie – playing his mother – is age appropriate for Gertrude; not for Shakespeare’s Gertrude (who judging by Hamlet’s actual age would be in her early forties), but for Branagh’s 36 year old Hamlet. Of the three Gertrudes she’s the only one who could have actually borne their Hamlet. So with a 27 year old, a 41 year old and a 54 year old playing the Queen Gertrude the question arises as to which is superior. As with Jean Simmons’ Ophelia, Olivier’s production boasts the weakest Gertrude. It’s not that her performance is glaringly bad; it is actually quite competent in the film but measuring against the more inspired interpretation of Close and Christie, it pales. There is a particular scene where Close’s Gertrude stands out. An enraged Hamlet has (mistakenly) killed Polonius and he and his mother have a fierce battle of words. Close not only outshines her co-star (Gibson), but the layers she adds to the performance and the realism of it all is astonishing. Gertrude is a completely real woman, throughout, not the steely Queen that Herlie is. Of course, this could all be attributed to Zeffirelli’s passionate take on the story. Nonetheless, Julie Christie – though not the best – is an admirable pillar for Shakespeare’s Gertrude to hang upon. In her 54 years she is completely resplendent, and though not as uninhibited as Close she still brings a strange girlishness to her character. Whereas Close shines in that pivotal aforementioned scene, Christie’s shining moments for me come when she sees the degradation of Ophelia. Her lines are slight, but Christie is a talented facial actress and her interpretation of this scene is splendid. Nevertheless, despite Herlie not being as extraordinary as her older counterparts the Gertrudes of each adaptation seems to be competently handled.

Without uncertainty I would sincerely recommend each adaptation of Hamlet. What makes each production priceless in its own right is that they are each separate and autonomous onto themselves. This is both a positive and a negative, each production goes wrong in some entities but each also goes right in many ways. On a purely populist level Zeffirelli’s 1990 production is estimable. It’s the simplest version for someone unacquainted with Shakespeare. This is obviously owing to the dramatic licences taken, lines are abridged and characters are condensed. But the realistic nature of the piece and its excellent aesthetics make it worthy, not just for its populist appeal for its performances. Glenn Close and Helena Bonham Carter were previously mentioned as particularly exceptional, and Mel Gibson though not the best Hamlet is still good. Although not one of the main characters Ian Holm’s Polonius is excellent, he is by far the best Polonius of the three adaptations. When he coaches his son Laertes with the time worn saying “To thine own self be true” he is not just saying a line, but speaking words as if they were authentically his. The Zeffirelli version however, from a purely scholastic level, is also the one diverting most from Shakespeare. The most glaring change is the placement of the pivotal “Get thee to a nunnery” speech that Hamlet delivers to Ophelia in Act III Scene One. Zeffirelli’s version retains Polonius, Claudius and Gertrude’s plan to forge an engagement between Hamlet and Ophelia, but the aforementioned speech is moved to after the play-within-a-play. This is obviously for dramatic effect, since Hamlet’s departure, his caustic remarks and Polonius’ death could easily be regarded as a logical reason for her subsequent madness. It’s not Shakespeare’s intention, though it does work within the context of the interpretation.

Branagh’s Hamlet is fortunate because it’s an unabridged account of Shakespeare’s work. The play within a play is relegated to a mere dumb show in both previous incarnations, but in this version it is a complete spoken word piece. Charlton Heston shines as the King within the play, and from this angle we are able to more appreciate the (prospective) guilt of Claudius. I was not as enamoured with Branagh’s Hamlet though Winslet as Ophelia and Christie as Gertude were good. I previously glossed over the visual capabilities of Branagh’s version, since compared to Zeffirelli they are second, but in all its spotlessness the film is a visual treat. Something I find interesting of this incarnation is the use of the flashback technique by Branagh, it’s an inspired notion. Though the film is an unabridged version of the play, but Branagh makes use of (voiceless) flashbacks as we see happier times in Ellsinore with Claudius seeming to lurk in the shadows, all the while plotting. These scenes are especially profound and are a nice addition to the narrative, and despite the seemingly tedious length of the film already (nearing four hours) it is never superfluous. We even see Claudius murder his brother as the ghost speaks which unlike the other two incarnations is more startling. Though I do say that I do not find Branagh’s interpretation appropriate for the role and his chemistry with Winslet to be feigned, the scene where he acknowledges her in the coffin is done so tastefully that I will single that particular moment out as handled the best of the three.                

In the end though, I must single out Olivier’s 1948 production as the best of the lot. It’s ironic because I am not fond of Jean Simmons Ophelia or particularly besotted with Herlie’s Gertrude, but it seems that Agee is correct when he asserts “Any production of Hamlet stands or falls, in the long run, by the quality of its leading actor.” Olivier is the best of the Hamlets – even though he is not faultless. The thing about it is that Olivier’s Hamlet is not a true representation of Shakespeare’s play. Lines are cut, and the subplot of Fortinbras (who is plotting to overthrow Denmark) is eviscerated. Purists will call foul, but even though his is not the four hour epic that Branagh is it exists as a fulfilling incarnation of Shakespeare. A moment I appreciate greatly in his incarnation is the meeting of the ghost. In 1948 little special effects are available, but as the ghost appears in a mist and his face is almost obliterated by a helmet it is appropriately haunting and seems like such an apt way for a ghost to exist. Olivier’s talent makes up for some shortcomings in his pivotal scenes with Simmons and its possible that the mystique of the black and white palette make the film even more artistic, but as a film the talents of cinematography, and editing is utilised so effectively and despite condensation of lines, it’s still particularly profound. It is not Shakespeare’s “Hamlet” complete, but more of a compact Hamlet. Nevertheless, I feel it exists as the best of the lot, even though each is significant in their own rite.

            

Note: “Hamlet” is nowhere near my favourite Shakespeare play Twelfth Night, The Taming of the Shrew, Romeo & Juliet and Othello all rank above.

In the battle of Hamlet vs Hamlet vs Hamlet 

It goes thus:

Hamlet (1996) B

Hamlet (1990) B+

Hamlet (1948) B+

Literature Review

Wuthering Heights is such a depressing novel, I wonder why I keep rereading. Of course it will be compulsory on my reading list, so it doesn’t hurt to get reacquainted with it. It’s still the only Brontë novel I like (neither Jane Eyre or Agnes Grey, et al do move me). I used to consider the possibility of Joaquin Phoenix and Kate Winslet reteaming for a film (or TV) adaptation of it – but I suppose they’re too old. I’m still not sure that the “current” version ever will be made. 

               

I’ve lazily reached an impasse with Wicked: The Life & Times of the Wicked Witch of the East. I should restart it soon, Jose says it’s a blast (as have many others). It doesn’t help that I’m being distracted by David Sedaris’ hilarious Me Talk Pretty One Day (which reinforces the possible fact that gay writers are funnier than us straight folks). Honestly, though, Sedaris may be one of the best nonfiction writers ever – although nonfiction sounds like the wrong word to describe something so irreverent.

    

(I should be blogging more.)

         

What have you been reading lately?

Decade in Review, Revisited: The Worst

According to my count I’ve seen 650 films from the last decade, which is more or less an accurate count. I was particularly anxious to cover the “worst of” list, because looking at the worst is even more subjective than looking at the best. I have a feeling I may step on some toes, but it’s all done in good faith.
             
Of the films I remember seeing (yes, I tabulated a list) I’ve given 45 Fs. I’m unsure if that’s too much or too little. Here they are, alphabetically…
              
Big Momma’s House (2000) / Anger Management (2003) / Are We There Yet (2005) / Around the World in 80 Days (2004) / Big Fat Liar (2002) / Big Momma’s House II (2006) / Blades of Glory (2007) / Boat Trip (2003) / Cats & Dogs (2001) / Cinderella Story (2004) / Daredevil (2003) / Dukes of Hazzard (2005) / Duplex (2003) / Elektra (2005) / Fred Claus (2007) / Garfield: A Tale of Two Kitties (2006) / High Crimes (2002) / House of Wax (2005) / I Love You Beth Cooper (2009) / John Q (2002) / Josie & the Pussycats (2001) / Kangaroo Jack (2003) / Like Mike (2002) / The Lizzie MaGuire Movie (2003) / Love Don’t Cost A Thing (2003) / Mad Money (2008) / Marley & Me (2008) / Material Girls (2006) / Men In Black II (2002) / Nacho Libre (2006) / Next (2007) / Norbit (2007) / Not Another Teen Movie (2001) / Rat Race (2001) / The Ring (2002) / Scary Movie II (2001) / Scary Movie III (2003) / Scooby Doo (2002) / Seven Pounds (2008) / Shallow Hal (2001) / Stuart Little II (2002) / Stuck On You (2003) / Swing Vote (2008) / Wild Hogs (2007) / XXX (2002)
         
The above 45 films are those eligible for my own personal awards of “Worst”. The biggest offender was 2002 with a whopping ten titles emerging from it. 2000 and 2009 (the book ends) only got one a piece.
            
The Worst Performances
Runners Up (Paris Hilton in House of Wax, Fred Willard in Scooby Doo, Ben Stiller in Blades of Glory, Ben Stiller in Duplex, Jack Black in Shallow Hal)


#10: Ben Affleck in Daredevil

A performance so monotonous that I can’t believe this is the same man who played the electric Ned in Shakespeare in Love. Perhaps, he’s only good in small doses.
        
#9: Jack Black in Nacho Libre
I’ve covered this before – let’s just leave it at bad, bad, bad.
        
#8: Eddie Murphey in Norbit
An atrocity, and probably the lowest point in his career (and there have been other low points); so disgusting it fails to be humorous and just becomes sad.

           
#7: Martin Lawrence in Big Momma’s House

It’s strange how this managed a sequel, but then it seems sequels have nothing to do with the predecessor being good. What’s more it has the feel of being improvisation: horrible improvisation.
         
#6: Jerry O’Connell in Kangaroo Jack
O'Connell seemed to show at least an average amount of competence in Crossing Jordan. Thus, I wonder if he's really that talent-less or just not talented enough to make this drivel work. It's painful to watch at times, and I think he knows.      


#5: Hayley Duff in Material Girls
Sure, she'll never be as big as her sister (and by big I mean terrible), but she does give her a run for her money in the shrill acting department.

#4: Hayden Panetirre in I Love You, Beth Cooper
Perhaps it's unfair to single her out as the film's worse offender, but then again - no. 

      
# 3: Hilary Duff in Material Girls
It's one of the oddest performance I've seen. She manages to overact and underact at the same time, and still manages to annoy me with her shrill platitudes (the script's fault as much) on life. What a bore.
       
#2: Will Ferrell in Blades of Glory
There has been one occasion where I have not loathed Will Ferrell, in Stranger than Fiction. Other than not, his talent eludes me. but this is just too horrible for words.
         
#1: Anthony Anderson in Kangaroo Jack

I can't speak of this objectively because its very existence offends me. Suffice to say, it's not very good.
              
The Worst Worst
Runners Up: (Big Momma’s House, Daredevil, Nacho Libre, Shallow Hal, Stuart Little II)

#10: Blades of Glory
I’ve permanently been standoffish about Will Ferrell and Ben Stiller since. This is the sort of contemptible imaginings that just make me sigh at the state of “comedy” in this day and age. What a chore.

#9: Scary Movie III
Dare I continue? Anna Farris shows burst of talent at times, but it’s never in this franchise. It just gets worse and worse and this third incarnation is just vile. To add to its badness they decide to spoof every single movie they can think of. Epic fail. Epic.

#8: Garfield: A Tale of Two Kitties
I can’t explain what prompted me to see this. I missed the original (with good reason apparently). I like the comics, but the sight of this disgusting cat makes me want to hurl and with a story that beats as much as a punctured heart I curse the day that the filmmakers realised the money to be made in anamorphic characters.

#7: I Love You, Beth Cooper

It's a distasteful “coming of age” film that reinforces all the stereotypes present in countless other teen romantic comedies – but worse. From it’s unbearably clichéd ruses to its pointless plot points and wooden acting I’m glad few people (I know) mention it.

#6: Men In Black II
I remember being mildly charmed by the original; the sequel? Not so much. Will Smith aggravates me most of the time, and though I don’t despise Tommy Lee Jones I’m not a big fan of his. With this unfortunate sequel I though at least they’d stop with the pairing; I was wrong

#5: Elektra

Though I do like Jennifer Garner (a well deserved Emmy winner for Alias) I can’t fathom what made her think that we wanted to see this movie. Daredevil was bad, but this was even worse because we didn’t get a chance to see Collin Farrell ham it up. Ugh.

#4: Norbit
I didn’t want Murphy to win the Oscar for Dreamgirls, and if this is what prevented it – I’m fine. That doesn’t make it any better, though. Eddie Murphy has talent, but the offensiveness horribleness of this “film” is unnerving. What a travesty.

#3: Big Momma’s House II
What’s worse than the original? The sequel. I suppose once upon a time the crossdressing thing held some appeal (Robin Williams, Dustin Hoffman, Jack Lemmon all did it with genuine comedic ability) but this tired film is such a chore I cringe that this is what black comedy has turned. I cringe that this is what ANY sort of comedy has turned to.

#2: Material Girls
Perhaps, there’s just the slightest bit of folly in expecting this to be good; but I’m not one to harshly judge all teenage fodder. In the case of Material Girls, all the hate is justified. Uninspired, ridiculous and so horribly acting I can’t believe that Anjelica Huston has reached this level.

#1: Kangaroo Jack

I get a headache thinking about the horror of this film. A film about two idiots who lose thousands of dollars in a jacket when the put it on a kangaroo who is not dead. The film is so abysmal I’m at a loss to how it’s not been rated 0 on all the media outlets. Its very existence seems like an abominations to me, and I never want to see it again. Ever.
            
Is there any film above that you’d be willing to defend? Make your arguments. 
        
An F is more than just a bad movie; an F is a film I wish would disappear completely. What were your Fs last decade?

“When I was your age we lived in a Duplex!”

Too lazy for an actualy Scene on A Sunday today, so a few shots of Mrs. Warren Beatty will suffice.

 

A Few Notes on Greenberg

Baumbach is not an easy director. His Margot at the Wedding was so uncomfortable, I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s the reason that so few care to remember it (despite Nicole Kidman’s excellent performance). Greenberg is not as obviously prickly but it’s not an easy comedy either. The eponymous Greenberg (Ben Stiller) has recently been released from a mental institution and other than his somewhat dormant career as a carpenter his life seems dedicated to wasting time and making everyone around him feel terrible.

Stiller is an odd one for me, I’ve never found myself particularly impressed by him and watching Greenberg there’s something that tells me that tells me that someone else could have done the role better justice. That said, it’s arguably one of Stiller’s strongest performances and though he occasionally comes off as too perfunctory with his lines he does a good job of carrying the film on his shoulders. His Greenberg seems to be a disgusting man-child, but Stiller manages (somehow) to make him into something more accessible to the audience. Sometimes it's difficult to forget we're watching Stiller, but more often than not Stiller manages to drown in his character and that's when the film is strongest - when Stiller really acts and let the great screenplay shine through.

Oddly, despite Baumbach’s apparent intention to make this a film about Stiller Greta Gerwig and Rhys Ifana contribute too excellent supporting performances. The latter in particular takes a potential stock role of the wronged friend and turns it into something bathetic and real. This is my first outing with Greta Gerwig, but she plays well as a potential love interest for the misanthropic Greenberg. Greenberg shouldn’t come off as such an easy watch – the characters (most of them) are unfeeling and cold, but Baumbach knows how to work with these type of flawed beings and even though it’s not pleasant per se, it is pleasing to watch.

B

Happy Birthday to a Little Diva

Today the lovely Kristin Chenoweth turns 42.

“My Husband Makes Movies”…My Never-Ending Review of Nine

Since it earned only two votes less than Up (which I've reviewed), I decided I'd review Nine nonetheless.

       

Nine, along with The Lovely Bones and Chéri from the unholy trinity of films from 2009 that I liked much more than the most.

    

I don’t find anything inherently dubious in the fact that I liked all three. However, my unreserved love of Nine makes me occasionally question my objectivity, the film was the one I was most excited to see last year in a way I wonder if I willed myself to like it. I’d seen 8 ½ once and my memory of it was not expansive. (like Alvodomar and Bergman, my knowledge of Fellini and other non-English directors is unfortunately sparse). I anticipated Nine because I’d had the Broadway Recording with the delectable Jane Krakowski on repeat ever since I ever found out that there was someone called Maury Yeston and read the book of the musical. From an adaptation perspective (using the musical and not Fellini’s film as the base) Nine is almost blasphemous. The bulk of the score remains (although key numbers are excised) but the screenplay bear little resemblance to the musical’s book. It is such that Nine (the film) most daringly inventive aspect is also its most exasperating.

It’s difficult to parlay my thoughts on Nine into a succinct or comprehensible review without sounding esoteric, supercilious or confused (hence this post). It’s understandable, Nine was notably panned by the majority or “important” people. Not since Le Divorce have I been so dismayed at the critical response to a film (that includes The Lovely Bones, Running with Scissors and Chéri) – incidentally that was another Kate Hudson piece with a cast to salivate over (Naomi Watts, Glenn Close, Leslie Carron, Stockhard Channing, Bebe Neuwirth). Apologies, I’ve digressed. Yes, Nine’s concept is so outlandish that it really is more abstract than realist, I’d even go as far as to approve its intentions and execution as something of an intricate piece of artwork…

Before I continue, though, I must express the slightest bit of confusion. It happened with Burton’s Alice in Wonderland and it happened with Marshall and Nine. Why are directors held accountable for the (perceived) flaws in a screenplay? With Nine the lines are admittedly more blurred. The quasi-reality of Guido’s musical consciousness becomes an enigma – one I’m not sure is the work of Marshall, Tolkin or Minghella (who’s dead and cant’ speak for himself). Perhaps, it’s some odd hybrid of all three. Though structurally Nine is only a distant relative of its stage incarnation (complete with Yeston’s approval, though) one of the things that some forget is that musical wise it’s difficult to make Lilli’s rapturous ode to French coalesce with the pseudo European pop beats of the dancing whores or the delightfully wordy and very Broadway opening number of Guido. In many ways, I expect the stage is kinder – we’d be more willing to accept the disparity in themes there.  Cinema is different. Each song almost exist on different parts of the spectrum and ignoring the exception to the rule – consistency in musical forms is essential to a musical. Nine’s solution (a tentative word choice) lies blatant in the script – ten scenes in the life of a man. With the bulk of the original significance in the actual number 9 out of the film and with the eponymous number oddly absent, it’s any question that the film just wasn’t called Ten. add the eight principal vocalists together with Guido’s younger self and Dante and we’ve acquired the ten most important faces of the film. The bulk of the film occurs in the ten days leading up to the making of it, ten numbers are song: “Ten sequences, each one set in a different period”…

This amidst its supposed cheer (so very deliberate). Nine is not about Guido’s demise but Guido’s eventual epiphany in ten numbers. There is no thread to bind the ten episodes, but the man himself. One of the final shots of Nine is a picture of the actual film’s title card, only this time Guido is making it. Nine (the one we’re watching) is the actual Nine that Guido’s trying to create. Am I being naïve in seeing the film as a literal creation / therapy session for our protagonist? Up until the epilogue with him and Lilli precisely the sort of slightly incongruous, oddly charming, delightfully schizophrenic thing that the “new” Guido would create. Remember, all he can make now is a film about a man trying to win back his wife. Pity may not always lead to love, but it’s close enough and it’s just the sort of thing that Guido would make for Luisa.

Nine is so obviously NOT rooted in reality. Marshall not-so-subtly tells us from the inception. Isn’t it odd that Stephanie – a Vogue reporter that Guido has yet to meet (chronologically at least) appears in the overture which celebrates the women in Guido’s life? The prologue acts as a beginning of our relationship with Nine but it’s all happened before – we’re now getting to see it. Measure it against the second appearance of the ensemble (sans Luisa) and the significance of the roll-call becomes more obvious.

I had a greater respect for seeing Nine this time around. Before it was just thrilling to watch and such, but I found even more method in Marshall’s ostensible madness, amidst the original fun – well as fun as a morose rumination on talent wasted can be. It is such that Daniel Day Lewis’ first impassioned (misguided) plea for world dominance is final look at the completely decadent Guido that is only hinted at. Though it’s still not my favourite actual number (look to Fergie) or my favourite song (look to Nicole); I feel great fondness for that first song. The more I see Nine (and I’ve seen it many times now) the more I come to appreciate his performance. His sensibility is precisely the type we need for Marshall’s concept. It also makes me appreciate the placing of this number as the first song in the musical – we can almost group the songs chronologically. We move from the present – Guido’s “wanting” of appreciation, his “wanting” of pleasure with Carla (which is reciprocated) and Lilli’s “wanting” of the music, the life and the laughter. Lilli yearns for fun in the moment, but she casts the narrative backward. She explicitly warns him not to do that, “That’s death.”, but he’s not known for listening. He’s looking back to Saraghina – already past. Incidentally, Luisa is looking back too, living in Guido’s past (just as Stephanie is, oddly). Guido is a bit like a hollow, albeit affable man. There is nothing to him but his movies. “My husband makes movies.” That’s it. Stephanie is not enticed by Contini, she’s enticed by Contini’s Cinema Italiano. What happens when the talent fades? Even Saraghina’s passionate urging to Be Italian doesn’t tell us much. what is it to be Italian? I don’t think Guido knows either. He isn’t helped by the fact that his mother wonders, “Do you think that so many will love you like I do?” She doesn’t answer, but she thinks no – Guido thinks so too, that’s his problem – he can’t give all of himself because there’s nothing to give.

As we head into the final trio of numbers (the three that resonate the most, despite – or because of – their bleakness) Claudia seems to be looking back but she’s moving forward really. Kidman’s “I’d rather be the man” just might be the most layered line reading of the entire film (in retrospect, her Claudia is the film’s biggest enigma). It’s this time around I notice – for the first time – the potential play on words in “Unusual Way” . Guido has made her whole by making a “hole” in her. An unusual way? Definitely – that’s why she’s moving forward without him, like Luisa. Like Guido too, actually. Guido, the man, is leaving Guido, the artist. He thinks he’s reached the epiphany – he’s wrong. The movie’s not the problem. He is. He’s such a mess of conflicting emotions that he doesn’t realise that he can make this movie – everything he needs is around him. He needs to realise that by making Nine (the movie within the movie) – a bit of catharsis, really. Notice how in that final roll call he looks not once at his supporting cast. He only has eyes for himself (well, the younger incarnation of himself). He’s not necessarily a “better” man – but he has the ability to become a more focused “artist”.

I am curious, though; does Luisa take him back when the film is complete? She’s masochistic enough, probably. The thing is, everyone wants Guido to give them more – they want all of him. What they don’t realise is that he’s giving all that he has to give. Nine came off to many as cloying, turgid, uninspired and [insert negative adjective]. I’m the opposite. For me it’s difficult to separate Nine from its protagonist. I love it for that. Am I the only one?

If Linkin’ You Is Wrong…

I don’t know about you, but this month has been particularly slow for me – I’m feeling out of it. It’s probably just me, though. Everyone else has been writing up good stuff.

It’s Emmy season and you’ll remember in my Dream Ballot I didn’t feature Mad Men too prominently. Rich Keller of TV Squad writes a great article on why he doesn’t love the show. No bashing, and I’m with him for the most part.

I'm still salivating waiting for the chance for me to see The Bening in The Kids Are All Right and Tom's review more than whets my appetite. I can't resist reading every review of this I can get my hands eyes on, so unlike me...

Because I'm similarly neurotic on occasion (i.e. always) Tim's list of inconsistencies in otherwise excellent films amuses me, especially the Beauty & the Beast one which ranks at the top of the list of egregious film errors.

I'll always have an affinity for the nineties, even though I was a babe for much of it. Luke takes a look at the Leading Ladies of the nineties (Oscar wise) - there truly were some great performances back then.

Ruben is nothing if not original and he's set up a grudge match pitting two sexagenarians - Blythe Danner and Helen Mirren - against each other. It's running until next week and he'd love to have some contributions from you.

Speaking of which, Movie Mania is interested in taking the baton up from Stinky Lulu. He's hosting a Smackdown for the Supporting Actresses of 2000.

Chris' piece is an oldie, but it's so nice to see people loving Marisa Tomei in My Cousin Vinny one of the three excellent  female performances of the year that were not in Howards End (Pfeiffer's Catwoman and Sarandon in Lorenzo's Oil being the others).

I promised myself I woud not be featuring any Inception buzz (no false sentiment, and I haven't seen it) but this week old article from Nick is just too excellent not to link. I went off ranting on an entirely different tangent in the comments' section (shocker), but it raises some good points....

      

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