Stadt der Illusionen

One thing that I've always wondered is why no one looks at Hollywood more negatively than Hollywood itself. But whatever the reason, "The Bad and the Beautiful" pulls no punches in looking at its topic. The movie portrays some people explaining how they used to be friends of producer Jonathan Shields (Kirk Douglas) but have since turned against him. There's the director whom Shields promised a directing job but betrayed him, the writer who lost his wife to Shields's actions, and the actress whom Shields drove to madness.

I thought that one of the most effective scenes in the movie was Kirk Douglas holding Lana Turner in his arms. Here he is, this overbearing, hostile character forced to almost coddle his gorgeous female star; it might be showing how he may seemingly have exalted her, but he remains in a higher position and is merely using her and sending her into insanity. And the scene of her driving the car while completely upset elaborates on this idea.

And then, there's the writer. He and his wife move from Virginia hoping to get really big in Hollywood...until tragedy strikes. It all goes to show the disaster inherent in any industry (of course, Douglas's character exacerbates any problem). But anyway, this is a formidable part of cinema history; a precursor to movies like "The Player". Also starring Dick Powell, Walter Pidgeon and Gloria Grahame (who won Best Supporting Actress).

That one line summary makes me sound like I'm calling the Bad and the Beautiful a case in 'tough love', where director Vincente Minnelli wags his finger at what happens to some people (cough, David O. Selznick, cough), while also showing too the joys of working in the business. But it's a business at its most booming time, coming out of the 40s where the producer was king, and the director had to vie for room at times to really get his vision in. Here the producer Jonathan Shields is played by Kirk Douglas as someone with big ideas at first- he even has an idea to help make a scary movie about cats even more frightening by not showing the cats (echoes of Val Lewton). Soon he rises the ranks and becomes big enough to really call the shots all he wants, but it also gets in the way of personal relationships, severs ties, and sometimes even makes him out to be monstrous (there's one shot I remember all the time where Douglas, in a big fit of anger against Lana Turner's character, seems like he's a whole foot taller with the ego almost manifested). The narrative of the film is a retelling by people who knew him, a sexy but soon disillusioned actress, a director who once worked with Shields but then got cut off from him, and a writer played by Dick Powell.

Rashomon or Citizen Kane it is not in trying to reveal more grandiose and amazing things about human nature, but rather a supreme rumination on the good times and the bad times, possibly more of the latter.

What's great about Douglas's portrayal is that through the stories from the three ex-friends and co-workers and lovers, he becomes a very well-rounded character. At the core, of course, is the producer who at the time had as more creative say than anyone else on the set. This brings some of the great scenes ever shown about movie-making, such as the moment when Amiel, the director, tries to put Jonathan in his place about how a scene should be shot, "in order to direct a picture you need humility". Another comes with the moment when Jonathan and his soon to be 'asistant to the producer' has to object out of just being stunned. But more than Douglas, it's also tremendous, memorable screen time for Lana Turner, perhaps in her most successful performance in just sheer acting terms (not necessarily just in presence or style like in other pictures), and for Dick Powell, who with this and Murder My Sweet has two defining roles outside of his usual niche.

With many sweet camera moves, a script that crackles with the kind of scenes and dialog that makes one wish for the glory times of Hollywood's Golden Age, and at least four or five really excellent performances, The Bad and the Beautiful might not be as astounding and near-perfect as 8 1/2 or as funny as Bowfinger, but it ranks up there with the best movies about movie-making, and can make for some fine entertainment even for those who aren't really interested in how movies are made.

Winning an Oscar has nothing to do with the amount of on screen time, so the shortness of Grahame's role does not bother me. However, her cartoonish interpretation of a Southern Belle is simply not worthy of an Academy Award, especially when the role is intended to be seriously dramatic. Jean Hagen most certainly deserved the Supporting Actress honor for her APPROPRIATE comedic turn as an over-the-top, unfortunately voiced silent film actress in "Singing in the Rain." And, folks, that scene with an hysterical Lana Turner driving in the rain is, well, HYSTERICAL.

VM was an excellent director, but some of his films, especially the overwrought melodramas, simply do not hold up. Yes, they always look great, but often the performances in the dramas are of the scenery-chewing variety.

In regards to another user's post, I agree that the scenario of Powell's character identifying his wife is ridiculous. The same thought immediately crossed my mind when seeing it for the first time.

My feelings towards Douglas's performance are mixed. At times he hits the mark, but at others, it is pure ham.

The film is definitely worth seeing, but it does not deserve the status of "classic." Its presentation of the industry is clichéd. As others have stated, "Sunset Boulevard" blows this film out of the water.

During this time in the early 50s there were quite a number of Hollywood pictures which scrutinised and often satirised Hollywood itself. The old studio system had been seriously weakened in the war years, the young crop of independent producers and writer-directors were gaining ever more prominence, and the dream factory as a whole had become a little more introspective, not to mention cynical. But while Sunset Boulevard, All About Eve (about the theatre, but the point carries through) and Singin' in the Rain aimed their sights at the injustice and hypocrisy of the star system, The Bad and the Beautiful takes on the thorny issue of creative control.

The Bad and the Beautiful is referenced extensively in auteurist Martin Scorsese's 1995 documentary on American movies, as an explanation of the antagonism between a producer's commercial drive and a director's artistic one. However it is far from a validation of auteur theory, for while it emphasises the importance of the director's role, it also points out (quite correctly) the equally crucial contributions of the writer and the producer himself. Incidentally the actual producer of The Bad and the Beautiful is John Houseman, primarily an actor who really only dabbled (albeit quite successfully) in production, and thus someone who could perhaps afford to snipe from the sidelines. Oddly enough screenwriter Charles Schnee would also turn to producing soon after this. He certainly shows extensive insider knowledge of the industry.

The director of The Bad and The Beautiful is Vincente Minnelli, a man whose flowing and extravagant style was put to best use in the musical genre, and although he was certainly competent in drama he does tend to overdo things a little for the form. One typically impressive Minnelli manoeuvre is the lengthy tracking shot at the party about fifteen minutes in, in which the camera is "carried" from one character to the next, while the careful arrangement of extras draws our eyes from one point of focus to another, a woman singing beautifully yet unnoticed in one corner, while a gossipy starlet is surrounded by a gaggle of admirers in another. Minnelli's tendency to keep all the characters in shot together during dialogue scenes means there is no need for back-and-forth editing. When there is a cut it is a meaningful jump, such as the close-up when Sullivan is told he won't be directing Shield's first big picture. Ultimately though the elaborate nature of Minnelli's direction is disproportionate to the needs of the picture, and a more stripped-down approach could have intensified the drama.

Another lesson The Bad and the Beautiful teaches us, both through its plot and its own example, is the importance of the right actors in a production. The majority of players in this large ensemble cast tend towards a uniform competence. People like Walter Pidgeon, Barry Sullivan and Vanessa Brown give steady, solid performances, not outstanding but apt to their characters. Dick Powell has a neat writer-ish cynicism to him, and it is only him and the vivacious Gloria Grahame that threaten to steal the show. A gratingly melodramatic Lana Turner is the only conspicuously bad player. However at the heart of The Bad and the Beautiful lies the powerful turn by Kirk Douglas. Douglas plays Shields with the mix of realism and exaggeration of a larger-than-life character, capturing the producer's boyish enthusiasm and exposing his inner fragility in a way that draws attention and lingers in the mind.

And it is here that we can see the picture's real worth. It is all very well making an accurate and incisive behind-the-scenes study of Hollywood's methods and morals, but to have any point the picture should also be an engaging and entertaining piece of storytelling. The Bad and the Beautiful is not especially romantic or funny or suspenseful, and yet it was a big hit, being the second-highest grossing picture of 1952. It seems the best thing this picture has going for it is the very character of Shields himself, who as written by Schnee and played by Douglas is both a fascinating and, yes, sympathetic individual. And the overriding message seems to be that, while producers tend to be a rather dysfunctional lot, it is their drive and efficiency that is behind many of the best things in movies. The picture's original title Tribute to a Bad Man is eminently better than the one it got saddled with. Jonathon Shields is clearly not a nice person, but through its compelling portrayal The Bad and the Beautiful salutes him.

My tribute to the great Hollywood film composer, David Raksin, is long overdue. I only discovered the other day that he died a couple of summers ago at the considerable age of 92. I suppose I had thought that like most of those figures who reached their peak in the middle of the last century he had passed away many years ago. A re-seeing of "The Bad and the Beautiful" fairly recently reminded me of just how outstanding was his contribution to movies of all shades of quality. I first became aware of the uniqueness of the Raksin 'sound' on my original viewing of Wyler's "Carrie" in 1952. It is impossible to define, other than to say that it owes nothing to central European romanticism, the sound of almost all the in-house studio composers such as Newman, Stothart and Steiner, or to the tradition of 20th century symphonists such as Copland and Diamond which fed the imagination of film composers as diverse as Elmer Bernstein and David Amram. Raksin had a sound all his own as did Bernard Herrmann and Miklos Rozsa, as instantly recognisable as theirs but I feel his range is wider. He seldom repeated himself as did Rozsa who composed in the same style regardless of genre. ("Double Idemnity", "Ben-Hur" and "Madame Bovary" have nothing common apart from their same sort of watered down Kodaly-like music.) His style is intensely lyrical, conceived with a verve and passion that always transcended the most trivial movies and made them, if not worth watching, always worth listening to. Unlike many of his colleagues he seldom hit the jackpot by working on films of great quality. I think it only happened twice, with Abraham Polonsky's B movie "Force of Evil" which has become recognised as a marvellous example of film noir and of course William Wyler's "Carrie" where he was just one of many outstanding contributors to what I have long argued is possibly the greatest work of art to have ever emerged from the Hollywood studio system. Although it has its passionate advocates, I cannot share their enthusiasm for Vincente Minnelli's "The Bad and the Beautiful". It is certainly very professional in the way it slickly dissects an unsympathetic character through the flashback reminiscences of those he mistreated, but it had all been done before and considerably better in "Citizen Kane" and "All About Eve". However the film is worth watching if only to wallow in Raksin's gorgeous score. And there is plenty of it, particularly in accompanying all those voice-off narrations. And then just as one is beginning to wonder if the marvellous opening credit theme is about to be heard once too often, the composer introduces something entirely new for the Dick Powell narrative, a jaunty section based on a four-note motif (a falling perfect fifth, rising up a major sixth, then down a major seventh). The way this is subsequently developed is truly symphonic. Incidentally if you want to discover a film score that has the length and complexity of a symphony just close your eyes (you won't be missing much) and listen to "Forever Amber". Raksin in excelsis!