paulwl
Joined Oct 2003
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paulwl's rating
COA=Coming of Age. It's a set and somewhat stilted genre by now, and _An American Affair_ does little to change that. Young Adam Stafford is isolated in the all-too-predictable World He Never Made: parochial school, iconic period parents cloaked in gray clothes and rote emotions, and females constantly pushing him away for no clear reason. We get the sense Adam's supposed to be Somehow Special - maybe because he's an only child, maybe because he's the big-eyed, callow, Pure Boy - but he's really just inert, a force to be acted upon by the grown-up world.
Gretchen Mol's Catherine is really the only flame of real humanity in the film, the only one not acting out a role of someone acting out a role. The actor who brought Betty Page back to life a few years ago had matured fascinatingly since her days as a pretty bauble. Now we see her without the black wig and fetish gear, and she's a real presence. Her role as Sexy Bourgeoise Bohemienne is contrived - cool jazz, drugs, and a patently silly finger-paint ballet with Adam - but she has a genuine emotional vulnerability that most of the film lacks.
The subplot of neighbor Catherine's involvement with Jack Kennedy - who apparently will talk to the CIA only through her - is not well integrated. As a result, it feels obligatory, as if it's there to beef up the COA story (and perhaps add a little commercial zing). It does provide a counter-irritant to Catherine's sensuality in Lucien and Catherine's ex Graham, the Agency men easily reduced to masculine role-icons. Lucien is so buttoned up he seems almost deliberately awkward, and Graham taking what we're supposed to believe are the only outlets from his masculine role - drinking and rage towards Catherine.
Director Olsson is, of course, working with archetypes - Cold War Washington folk - but he never lets them get beyond their icon status. Particularly telling is his handling of the JFK assassination moment - the parochial school kids left to stand pointlessly in line as all the sisters gather at the television. The news is spread only by Adam, the special boy, who whispers to the pupils - and a silent overhead shot as they scatter like birds in a Paris park. Again, a dance of roles and distance, too stylized by half.
Here's a hint, Mr. Olsson: Camelot wasn't so long ago that you have to play it as somber as a medieval allegory. (What does it say that _The Tudors_ had more men in crew cuts than your vision of 1963?) People - CIA men maybe excepted - did approach one another as people, and European directors often miss that American ease. Ironically, that same ease was what made John Fitzgerald Kennedy so irresistible - not just to his many feminine liaisons, but to his country and the world.
Gretchen Mol's Catherine is really the only flame of real humanity in the film, the only one not acting out a role of someone acting out a role. The actor who brought Betty Page back to life a few years ago had matured fascinatingly since her days as a pretty bauble. Now we see her without the black wig and fetish gear, and she's a real presence. Her role as Sexy Bourgeoise Bohemienne is contrived - cool jazz, drugs, and a patently silly finger-paint ballet with Adam - but she has a genuine emotional vulnerability that most of the film lacks.
The subplot of neighbor Catherine's involvement with Jack Kennedy - who apparently will talk to the CIA only through her - is not well integrated. As a result, it feels obligatory, as if it's there to beef up the COA story (and perhaps add a little commercial zing). It does provide a counter-irritant to Catherine's sensuality in Lucien and Catherine's ex Graham, the Agency men easily reduced to masculine role-icons. Lucien is so buttoned up he seems almost deliberately awkward, and Graham taking what we're supposed to believe are the only outlets from his masculine role - drinking and rage towards Catherine.
Director Olsson is, of course, working with archetypes - Cold War Washington folk - but he never lets them get beyond their icon status. Particularly telling is his handling of the JFK assassination moment - the parochial school kids left to stand pointlessly in line as all the sisters gather at the television. The news is spread only by Adam, the special boy, who whispers to the pupils - and a silent overhead shot as they scatter like birds in a Paris park. Again, a dance of roles and distance, too stylized by half.
Here's a hint, Mr. Olsson: Camelot wasn't so long ago that you have to play it as somber as a medieval allegory. (What does it say that _The Tudors_ had more men in crew cuts than your vision of 1963?) People - CIA men maybe excepted - did approach one another as people, and European directors often miss that American ease. Ironically, that same ease was what made John Fitzgerald Kennedy so irresistible - not just to his many feminine liaisons, but to his country and the world.
THE FABULOUS DORSEYS is not fabulous - a B feature with a C-minus script and D-plus dialogue - but the music at least is enjoyable, as I'd expect from a picture starring not one but two big bandleaders.
Laying aside the rickety wooden dialogue and nonexistent love duo, the story is compressed but basically true: poor Irish mining family produces two talented musicians who don't get along, but rise quickly through the band business, start their own outfit, then inevitably break up. As a band nut I'd have liked to see mention of some of the name orchestras of the 20s including the Dorseys - Jean Goldkette? Freddie Rich? - or of Joe Haymes, a forgotten talent who sold Tommy his first band. But that's just me.
Janet Blair (like the brothers a Pennsylvania girl, and one-time vocalist with Hal Kemp's band) just lights up the screen every time we see and hear her, leading us to wonder just what she sees in a stuffed-shouldered cluck like William Lundigan. Other vocal highlights come from ex-JD singers Bob Eberly and Helen O'Connell and TD's then current crooner, Stuart Foster. Instrumental stars Art Tatum, Ray Bauduc and Charlie Barnet add heart to a jam session sequence. Paul Whiteman, gruff, fast-talking and positive, obviously liked playing Paul Whiteman, liaison between fiction and musical reality.
TD and JD are actually OK on screen - they weren't actors but one should not expect them to be. The fault there is with the mawkishly written dialogue that flops out of everyone's mouths. Their real personalities are visible, though toned down: Tommy's natural side-of-the-mouth cockiness, Jimmy's salty dignity of the veteran trouper. (In reality Tommy was profane and given to physical violence; Jimmy was quiet, decent but more than a little bitter, and both had long love-hate relationships with John Barleycorn.)
The real-life Dorseys - their music, their problems, their era - still await a full-dress Hollywood treatment before their names totally fade from the culture. It's easy to imagine, say, Ben Affleck and Ed Burns in the roles of TD and JD, complete with booze, broads, cuss words, flying chairs, and original orchestrations.
(PS: Those commenting about how over-the-top Mom and Pop Dorsey's Irish brogues were should understand that the actors playing them actually were Irish.)
Laying aside the rickety wooden dialogue and nonexistent love duo, the story is compressed but basically true: poor Irish mining family produces two talented musicians who don't get along, but rise quickly through the band business, start their own outfit, then inevitably break up. As a band nut I'd have liked to see mention of some of the name orchestras of the 20s including the Dorseys - Jean Goldkette? Freddie Rich? - or of Joe Haymes, a forgotten talent who sold Tommy his first band. But that's just me.
Janet Blair (like the brothers a Pennsylvania girl, and one-time vocalist with Hal Kemp's band) just lights up the screen every time we see and hear her, leading us to wonder just what she sees in a stuffed-shouldered cluck like William Lundigan. Other vocal highlights come from ex-JD singers Bob Eberly and Helen O'Connell and TD's then current crooner, Stuart Foster. Instrumental stars Art Tatum, Ray Bauduc and Charlie Barnet add heart to a jam session sequence. Paul Whiteman, gruff, fast-talking and positive, obviously liked playing Paul Whiteman, liaison between fiction and musical reality.
TD and JD are actually OK on screen - they weren't actors but one should not expect them to be. The fault there is with the mawkishly written dialogue that flops out of everyone's mouths. Their real personalities are visible, though toned down: Tommy's natural side-of-the-mouth cockiness, Jimmy's salty dignity of the veteran trouper. (In reality Tommy was profane and given to physical violence; Jimmy was quiet, decent but more than a little bitter, and both had long love-hate relationships with John Barleycorn.)
The real-life Dorseys - their music, their problems, their era - still await a full-dress Hollywood treatment before their names totally fade from the culture. It's easy to imagine, say, Ben Affleck and Ed Burns in the roles of TD and JD, complete with booze, broads, cuss words, flying chairs, and original orchestrations.
(PS: Those commenting about how over-the-top Mom and Pop Dorsey's Irish brogues were should understand that the actors playing them actually were Irish.)
A previous viewer commented that there isn't anything "Pre-Code" about "Symphony of Six Million." Ohhhh, yes there is - the frank and loving embrace of Jews and Jewishness, especially the familial bonds of aspiration, hope and love so strong and heart-rending that conflict and guilt are its inevitable by-products.
Such an overtly Jewish photo play wouldn't have been acceptable in the Hollywood of just a few years later. No one would come right out and say so, but the likely reason was the sensibilities of the newly militant Catholic audience, then being stirred up by the likes of Father Charles Coughlin's anti-Semitic radio talks. Also to be catered to were the quieter prejudices of Middle Western Protestants, for whom Will Hays stood in as proxy on the Code committee.
The story being pretty boilerplate, the charm of this film is all in the atmosphere, which is laid on pretty thickly. Crucial to this are able supporting players, especially Gregory Ratoff and Anna Appel as Papa and Mama Klauber. Ricardo Cortez is a bit stiff as the conflicted, noble Felix, but his swarthy, polished earnestness hits just the right note for the well-to-do My-Son-The-Park-Avenue-Doctor, 1932 edition. Irene Dunne as Jessica, Felix's crippled love interest, is lovable mostly for being Irene Dunne, whose refined features and diction don't gibe at all with her role as a ghetto girl. It says a lot about the men who once ran the movies that an obviously Jewish romantic female lead was something they couldn't, or wouldn't, portray. Authentic Jewish womanhood was still inseparable from the family matriarch, played with affecting melodrama by Appel.
TCM's Robert Osborne pointed out that "Symphony" was one of the first talkies with a full original score. At David Selznick's behest, Max Steiner wrote nearly continuous music for the film. It's heavy going at times: Felix's inner drama is too often greeted by heroic heralds of brass, and the lugubrious harmonic-minor strings accompanying Irene Dunne's entrances are like a nice glass Schmalz poured over a sumptuous Sunday chicken dinner.
Such an overtly Jewish photo play wouldn't have been acceptable in the Hollywood of just a few years later. No one would come right out and say so, but the likely reason was the sensibilities of the newly militant Catholic audience, then being stirred up by the likes of Father Charles Coughlin's anti-Semitic radio talks. Also to be catered to were the quieter prejudices of Middle Western Protestants, for whom Will Hays stood in as proxy on the Code committee.
The story being pretty boilerplate, the charm of this film is all in the atmosphere, which is laid on pretty thickly. Crucial to this are able supporting players, especially Gregory Ratoff and Anna Appel as Papa and Mama Klauber. Ricardo Cortez is a bit stiff as the conflicted, noble Felix, but his swarthy, polished earnestness hits just the right note for the well-to-do My-Son-The-Park-Avenue-Doctor, 1932 edition. Irene Dunne as Jessica, Felix's crippled love interest, is lovable mostly for being Irene Dunne, whose refined features and diction don't gibe at all with her role as a ghetto girl. It says a lot about the men who once ran the movies that an obviously Jewish romantic female lead was something they couldn't, or wouldn't, portray. Authentic Jewish womanhood was still inseparable from the family matriarch, played with affecting melodrama by Appel.
TCM's Robert Osborne pointed out that "Symphony" was one of the first talkies with a full original score. At David Selznick's behest, Max Steiner wrote nearly continuous music for the film. It's heavy going at times: Felix's inner drama is too often greeted by heroic heralds of brass, and the lugubrious harmonic-minor strings accompanying Irene Dunne's entrances are like a nice glass Schmalz poured over a sumptuous Sunday chicken dinner.