Through a Glass Darkly (1961, Ingmar Bergman)

At eighty-nine minutes, Through a Glass Darkly never has a chance to get tedious, which is part of the problem. Writer-director Bergman has just introduced the characters, just established the ground situation, when he tries a graceful segue into the characters and their relationships being familiar in the second act. They’re not. They’re still being established, which makes the purely expository relationship between Gunnar Björnstrand and Max von Sydow something of a time suck. A beautifully acted, beautifully directed time suck.

Glass takes place over twenty-four hours. Popular but intellectually bereft author Björnstrand has returned home to his family after finalizing the draft of his latest novel. There’s twenty-something daughter Harriet Andersson and seventeen year-old son, Lars Passgård. von Sydow is Andersson’s husband. Presumably von Sydow and Andersson have had to take care of Passgård, as Björnstrand seems a rare presence in Passgård’s life.

Andersson is recently out of a mental hospital. It’s unclear, initially, what’s going on, only it’s incurable (or likely incurable). That discussion is von Sydow and Björnstrand’s first scene together alone. Bergman plays it more for character development than exposition, which is far different from the second half of the film, when he eschews character development for exposition. He doesn’t need much character development second half because it turns out to be action packed.

Before Bergman identifies it as schizophrenia–which is made somehow less terrifying by the tranquil isolated island setting (there’s not running water, electricity maybe)–he’s got the rest of the character setup to get done. So a half hour at least because Andersson gets a scene to herself, experiencing her symptoms.

While the film never looks stagy–quite the opposite–Bergman’s script feels not just stagy, but a little too pragmatic. Like he was adjusting around actors schedules. Andersson and Passgård get paired off for scenes whenever von Sydow is busy with Björnstrand. Otherwise it’s von Sydow and Andersson. Björnstrand gets like a scene and a half alone with his kids, the full scenes coming right at the end for the emphasis. He’s a bad dad, who isn’t a particularly good writer. There’s more exposition later, but never time for Björnstrand to do anything with it as far as character development. It’s filler. It’s that time suck.

Because Bergman’s actually got some big time drama in store for the family and he’s got to pace it right.

The problem with the big time drama is it turns out to be a MacGuffin. All the action in the second and third acts turn out to be MacGuffins, since the point of Glass is Andersson and how Bergman presents her character. The film drags a little in the second act, before it’s clear just how well Bergman’s made Andersson seem reliable. The more unreliable Andersson gets–always precisely essayed, in performance and presentation–the more effective Bergman’s initial pacing becomes.

Bergman makes the boring bits essential.

Until he gets to Björnstrand’s big confession scene to von Sydow; it proves as narratively inert as it does for character development. Because then it’s action time, because Andersson’s not just shattering her reliability, she’s going to stomp it into dust.

And it works, no doubt. Bergman sells it. He’s got a great cast. Andersson, Björnstrand, von Sydow, Passgård until the third act. There’s some phenomenal acting in Glass.

Bergman’s not really interested in the characters, he’s interested in the reveals. It’s all kind of melodramatic, actually. As melodramatic as Bergman can get, actually.

This post is part of the 1961 Blogathon hosted by Steve of Movie Movie Blog Blog.

The Phantom Creeps (1939) ch01 – The Menacing Power

The Menacing Power does all right setting up the hook of The Phantom Creeps–Bela Lugosi is a mad scientist with various technological inventions he’s going to use for nefarious purposes–and even manages to gracefully segue between the expository setup and the chapter’s cliffhanger.

So far Lugosi’s made an invisibility wearable, an eight-foot plus tall robot, and discovered a new element. That new element lets him blow things up and put people in comas. Lugosi puts the positive part of the element somewhere, then puts the negative part on a spider. The spider crawls over, somehow attracted to the positive, and boom. It’s ludicrous and the pull-string spider is probably Power’s worst effect. Some of the composite shots are iffy, but the jerky movement of the spider wins. The composite shots appear to be reused footage. Spider is for Creeps.

Lugosi’s kind of terrible but only until the other cast members get more to do. Leading man Robert Kent is fairly atrocious, ditto leading lady Dorothy Arnold. He’s an Army captain out to get Lugosi’s technology for the U.S.A. (Lugosi wants to sell to a foreign power because money) and Arnold is a reporter. Undoubtedly some sparks will fly later on.

This chapter also introduces Edwin Stanley as Lugosi’s former science partner, Dora Clement as Lugosi’s suffering wife, and Jack C. Smith as his monosyllabic sidekick and lab assistant. Directors Beebe and Goodkind don’t seem like they spend much time on actors’ performances; both Stanley and Clement disappoint, but Smith’s solid. He finds Lugosi obnoxious. It makes him immediately sympathetic.

Phantom Creeps isn’t off to a great start, but it’s also not off to an intolerable one. The title refers to Lugosi. When invisible, he calls himself the Phantom.

Batman and Robin (1949, Spencer Gordon Bennet)

Batman and Robin is fifteen chapters; all together, it’s just under four and a half hours. It is not a rewarding four and a half hours. Not at all.

Of the fourteen credited actors, one gives a good performance. Don C. Harvey. He gets to be chief henchman for a while. But not even half of the serial. After Harvey, uncredited Lee Roberts becomes chief henchman; Roberts is terrible. Though he’s less awful once he becomes lab assistant to the mysterious, masked serial villain, The Wizard. The Wizard is stealing technology to remote control moving objects and, eventually, turn himself invisible. The invisible thing is a lot more amusing. Shame it’s only in the last few chapters.

Besides Harvey, the best performances are from George Offerman Jr. and Eric Wilton, both uncredited. They both have rather significant parts–Offerman is leading lady (and literally only lady in Batman and Robin) Jane Adams’s good-for-nothing crook brother while Wilton is faithful butler Alfred. Wilton gets some decent comic relief, Offerman actually has subtext in his performance; they’re all-stars in Batman and Robin.

Because besides those three, the acting in the serial is quite bad. Leads Lowery and Duncan are terrible. The perverse thrill of watching Lowery try to steal scenes while he’s in costume–chirping the thin, exposition-heavy dialogue–runs out somewhere around the halfway point. It’s a very, very, very long fifteen chapters. Most of the chapters’ “plots” relate to the Wizard and his gang wanting to steal something and Lowery and Duncan trying to stop them or something involving discovering the Wizard’s identity. Lowery and Duncan always screw something up–or just get beat up–and then Lowery bosses everyone around like he shouldn’t have egg on his face.

When Lowery’s not in costume, he’s much worse. For a while, Lowery–as Bruce Wayne, millionaire playboy and fop–is advising police commissioner Lyle Tablot (who’s usually tolerable) on important matters. Most of these scenes happen in the first half of the serial, when Adams is still in it more regularly; she spends most of her scenes complaining about Lowery being such a lazy good-for-nothing. Who apparently is a police consultant, which she never notices. Because her character is terribly written. As her brother, Offerman gets more to do–unbilled and in a handful of chapters–than Adams ever does. It’s not like there’s any chemistry between Adams and Lowery. He seems stuck up and she seems to loathe him.

Duncan probably ought to loathe Lowery too since Duncan basically just spends his days in the Batcave trying to science things but being too stupid and having to wait for Lowery. But Lowery’s too busy teasing Adams about something. Batman and Robin’s first chapter does most of the Batman setup–the Batcave, stately Wayne Manor (or just a suburban house), the Batmobile (Lowery and Duncan just drive around Bruce Wayne’s car, telling people they have permission). It starts dumb. It starts a train wreck. Then it just keeps going and going and going and going.

When Harvey’s still lead thug, there’s a certain fun to the serial. The bad guys all walk around in sync; it’s visually amusing. Of course, they’re usually walking around the same handful of locations–Batman and Robin has at least two lengthy chase sequences in the same office building hallway sets, maybe three. But Harvey makes it seem fun.

Since it’s a serial with a masked, mysterious villain, there are a bunch of suspects. There’s radio newscaster Rick Vallin. He broadcasts out of his living room, presumably in a house down the street from Batman’s. Michael Whalen is a private investigator who never really figures in but the script talks about all the time for a few chapters. William Fawcett’s mad scientist, who’s wheelchair-bound but zaps himself in a special chair to walk. Fawcett’s the prime suspect. For most of the serial, whenever he has a scene secretly zapping himself, it cuts to the Wizard entering his cave lair. His cave lair, incidentally, is much cooler than Lowery and Duncan’s. Probably because it’s a converted suburban basement.

The serial doesn’t do much with the suspects. They’re just suspicious as needed, particularly Vallin. While Fawcett’s certainly acting suspiciously, no one ever finds out about the walking zapping, so he’s only a suspect for the audience. In fact, Fawcett’s walking is such a nonstarter the serial eventually just drops the wheelchair. Instead, Fawcett walks around with no one acknowledging a difference. It’s not even a fun stupid, it’s just stupid.

Technically, the serial doesn’t impress much. It does a little–Ira H. Morgan, so long as there’s not much action, shoots day-for-night rather well. It gives some character to the otherwise boring backlot-shot city scenes. It’s not like director Bennet brings anything to them. He’s thoroughly competent but never interested in anything. It might be contempt. Contempt for Batman and Robin is, frankly, a perfectly good excuse for not doing your job on it. Why bother.

There are some okay special effects; they usually come off better when Mischa Bakaleinikoff’s picked some good music for them. There’s no original music for Batman and Robin, but musical director Bakaleinikoff utilizes some more than adequate stock music themes. Certainly more adequate selections than the serial deserves (or needs).

The costumes are bad. Batman and Robin’s anyway. The Wizard’s costume ends up looking all right in the exterior action scenes. Not so much Batman or Robin. Sometimes Duncan has an obvious stunt double for Robin. Lowery at least has the mask, which doesn’t fit right so he’s always peering down his nose, head tilted back. Combined with the way Lowery folds his forearms (does he think bats hold things like squirrels or something), it leads to some silly visuals. Especially when Lowery tries to be authoritative. He’s not, the dialogue’s not just bad but factually ludicrous, and he looks like a jackass. He’s a bore.

But neither Lowery or Duncan are ever good. They’re terrible. Duncan’s a bad actor. Lowery’s a bad actor. Lowery’s a little more unlikable because he teases Adams whenever he gets the chance, costumed or not. It’s obnoxious. Even if Adams isn’t any good.

I’m sure Batman and Robin could be worse–I’m sure someone involved actually improved what the cast and crew were doing (I mean, probably they did)–but I can’t imagine how it could be any more boring. Somehow the chapters manage to move well–the plots are stupid but the pacing is competent–while still being exasperatingly insipid and dull.

It doesn’t help the opening titles for each chapter have Lowery and Duncan, in costume, running around in front of black backdrop and getting confused. Of course they’re confused, they’re jackasses. Each chapter starts with a threat of their inevitable stupidity.

Actually, wait, I did think of a way to improve Batman and Robin. A laugh track.

Batman and Robin (1949) ch15 – Batman Victorious

For a few minutes in Batman Victorious, which is mostly a chase sequence–the invisible (though only temporarily) Wizard is on the run from Batman and the cops. There are some questionable (but more ambitious than anything else in the serial) invisible man special effects and a more lively feel to things.

Or maybe it just feels more lively because last chapter means Batman and Robin is almost, finally over.

There’s some Batman and Robin running around outside, which is good. Robert Lowery and Johnny Duncan (unless its one of his many stand-ins) are always exuberant when they get to play outside in their costumes.

It’s a dumb reveal on the Wizard, but Batman and Robin has always been pretty dumb.

Jane Adams gets more to do than usual–including being a damsel in distress for the first time in a while. Of course, Lowery (as Batman) does leave her tied up in the driver’s seat teetering on a cliff but whatever, she’s not going to fall. She still never reacts to her brother being murdered. And William Fawcett’s walking goes unaddressed.

Lowery, elbows bent so he looks like a squirrel holding a nut (it’s so prevalent it’s almost like he thinks it’s a “bat” gesture), has an exposition dump at the end to wrap up loose threads. They make no sense. Because it’s just terrible.

But it’s finally over. Finally.

Batman and Robin (1949) ch14 – Batman vs. Wizard!

Okay, I’m not wrong–wheelchair-bound, ornery scientist William Fawcett really does just walk around in front of everyone and no one reacts. He’s been zapping himself with electricity to regain use of his legs, making him a suspect for being masked, supercriminal the Wizard. Except only to the audience because no one knows he can walk.

Except in Batman vs. Wizard!, everyone knows he can walk.

There are probably cut scenes from Batman and Robin, which is a terrifying proposition.

After Batman, Robin, and the cops chase an invisible Wizard in the opening, the chapter just concerns itself with winnowing down the Wizard suspect pool. There’s even costumed Wizard in action–after the invisibility ray wears off. The Wizard costume plays much better on screen than Batman or Robin’s costumes, which is kind of funny. Maybe if he’d been a more physically active villain, the serial would have more memorable action scenes.

The Wizard eventually threatens Lyle Talbot, leading to the good guys setting a trap but forgetting to put a man on the roof. Because they’re all idiots. The Wizard, face-covered and voice-disguised, is probably the most likable character in Batman and Robin. Sorry. Talbot’s usually fine but he starts grating here. Ditto newscaster Rick Vallin. Some of it might be the dialogue, but they’re still annoying.

The cliffhanger’s kind of fun just because it showcases the good guys’ aforementioned stupidity. Batman and Robin glamourizes crime; the only actors whose performances don’t end up unbearable are the crooks.

Batman and Robin (1949) ch13 – The Wizard’s Challenge!

If the Wizard has any challenge in The Wizard’s Challenge!, it’s outsmarting Batman and Robin. It doesn’t take much as it turns out. Especially not with Robin (Johnny Duncan) playing with a toy truck when he’s supposed to be on guard duty.

See, the Wizard has stolen all the scientific equipment he needs to unleash his master plan–he’s going to turn himself invisible and steal things, which would’ve been a far more interesting turn of events in chapter two of Batman and Robin, not chapter thirteen. Sweet, sweet chapter thirteen… only two more after this one.

The chapter has, no surprise, a tepid cliffhanger resolution at the beginning and a weak cliffhanger at the end. Jane Adams gets her scene–with some dialogue–as she again tries to get photographs of reclusive scientist William Fawcett. Then she disappears. Still unclear if she knows her brother has died.

Duncan and Robert Lowery, in costume, get into a fistfight with three bad guys–including exceptionally bad actor Lee Roberts–getting things to a draw, which is better than usual for Batman and Robin. Usually they just get beat up.

Well, Duncan does get beat up. But anyway.

The best scene is the Wizard blathering on about his awesome invisibility invention. It’s at least a fun silly as opposed to a dumb silly. Even if Roberts is in the scene to drag it down.

Batman and Robin (1949) ch12 – Robin Rides the Wind

The chapter title, Robin Rides the Wind, got me hoping Robin would jump out of a plane or something. Without a chute. Sad spoiler: he doesn’t.

The chapter does clear one of the Wizard suspects, which would probably be more effective if the character–played by Michael Whalen–appeared more often. He doesn’t appear often. He appears three times. Including this chapter.

So it’s not him. But radio broadcaster Rick Vallin is still a suspect (sort of). He’s revealing secret police information over his radio show again. Out of his living room broadcast studio.

The chapter does have Robert Lowery and Johnny Duncan running around a big house’s grounds in costume. They run rather amusingly. And there’s not a lot of action so Ira H. Morgan’s night-for-day photography is fine.

The finale of this chapter is enough like the finale of last chapter it’s getting hard to keep track. Very little happens in between the cliffhanger resolve and the new cliffhanger–after Whalen and Vallin are done with their appearances; it’s just Lowery and Duncan showing how inept they are at successfully entrapping suspects.

It’s so close to being over and it’s still so far away.

Batman and Robin (1949) ch11 – Robin’s Ruse

So when Robin (Johnny Duncan) is alone in the Batcave, he doesn’t use the changing room. He puts on his tights in the public area. Off-screen, sure, but Robin’s Ruse confirms it.

The titular Ruse isn’t particularly exciting. It’s fairly predictable, especially after the cliffhanger reveal at the beginning, with one adequate surprise. But for Batman and Robin, adequacy might as well be excellence.

And before the ruse, there’s even a scene with almost okay delivery from “lead” Robert Lowery–opposite William Fawcett. Once the scene’s over, Lowery’s back to his usual unbearable self.

Some good day-for-night photography from Ira H. Morgan.

Unfortunately, much of the episode is bad guy Lee Roberts barking orders at the other bad guys. Roberts is terrible. His character’s poorly written–bad ideas as expository fodder–but every one of Roberts’s deliveries is bad. The bad guy scenes, which are the serial’s main type of scene, suffer greatly.

It’s a strange sensation–Duncan and Lowery not giving the serial’s worst performances.

Batman and Robin (1949) ch10 – Batman’s Last Chance!

The chapter title, Batman’s Last Chance!, must refer to Batman’s last chance to run around in this particular drab office building. I don’t think it’s supposed to be the same one they used earlier, but it definitely appears to be the same set. The last third–maybe less but it feels like a third–of the chapter is Robert Lowery running around this office building’s corridors trying to avoid the bad guys.

Until Lowery suits up for the finale, Last Chance is one of the better chapters. It passes time with less annoyance than a usual Batman and Robin chapter. Probably because most of it is Jane Adams and her crook brother, George Offerman Jr. Everyone acts real dumb–Offerman not noticing Adams following him, the crooks locking Adams up with a live telephone, Adams calling Bruce Wayne for help instead of the cops; the list of dumb, as always, is way too long.

There’s one pleasant surprise when the possible cliffhanger device–an electrified door–doesn’t turn out to be that device. It’s a misdirection device, but not a drawn out one. Works better in the chapter. Provides something like drama.

If only Lowery were able to convey such a thing with his acting. He and Robin Johnny Duncan could care less about their failed superhero outings endangering the general public.

Batman and Robin (1949) ch09 – The Wizard Strikes Back!

There’s some family drama for Jane Adams this chapter of Batman and Robin, as George Offerman Jr. returns to provide the main story for The Wizard Strikes Back! Otherwise, it’s just Robert Lowery and Johnny Duncan goofing off and being lousy superheroes.

Besides watching Lowery’s Batman cape flail as he tries to flag down a car (the mysterious Wizard has remotely disabled his car), the most amusing moment is when Lowery gets he and Duncan’s costumes from the file cabinet drawer. Duncan waits for Lowery to get his own out. Because they have to be together when they change, because Duncan–especially in this chapter–is just Lowery’s sidekick. There are a couple moments where Duncan gets to trouble first then just hangs back for Lowery to catch up. It really drags things down.

Still, the Wizard stuff is fine. Offerman’s better than the regular cast members.

Another dumb logic moment comes when police commissioner Lyle Talbot visits Lowery for crime-fighting advice. Not Lowery as Batman, but Lowery as Bruce Wayne. He and Adams are sitting around the suburban homestead, waiting for their lunch. Why Adams never wonders why layabout Lowery is always so involved… it gives her an impossible part.

Other cast members don’t get impossible roles, they just flub the ones they get. But the writing on Adams’s part is dreadful.

Batman and Robin itself isn’t dreadful. It’s just bad. And endlessly repetitive (but without a lot of repeat footage, it’s just the same serial set pieces, over and over, in different locations).