Category: 1953

Return to Glennascaul (1953, Hilton Edwards)

Orson Welles stars in Return to Glennascaul as himself. He’s acting as a combination presenter and narrator. Amusing, he says he’s not going to be around for long, he’s busy making Othello after all. But then when star Michael Laurence starts telling Welles his story, Welles can’t let someone else do the narrating, so he takes over.

It’s far from a seamless overlay. Welles has to jabber to keep up with the action.

Welles comes across Laurence on a rainy Irish night. Laurence’s car has broken down, does Laurence want a ride, is Welles “you know who,” where do you live, guess what happened the last time I was at that intersection. Enter the ghost story, Laurence’s short-lived narration, and flashback.

At the same intersection, Laurence picks up a similarly stranded mother and daughter, played by Shelah Richards and Helena Hughes, respectfully. Things aren’t what they seem and Laurence has to figure out what’s going on.

Writer-director Edwards has more strength on the latter. The script starts getting long just after halfway through, as Laurence’s investigation kicks off. Laurence is okay, but he doesn’t command at all. Maybe Welles’s narration throws the emphasis off Laurence; it’s fine since Welles sort of saves the day at the end.

And, really, Edwards directs Laurence as a subject, even when the film’s from his point of view. Edwards uses Laurence’s flashlight beam to reveal just a little bit of each frame, with encroaching, unknown black all around. Hans Gunther Stumpf’s creepy music plays, Georg Fleischmann’s photography is great with the whites and blacks. It’s very effective.

The script isn’t as effective. At least not until Welles gets back and then Glennascaul wraps up fine.

2/3Recommended

CREDITS

Written and directed by Hilton Edwards; director of photography, Georg Fleischmann; edited by Joseph Sterling; music by Hans Gunther Stumpf; produced by Edwards and Micheál MacLiammóir; released by Arthur Mayer-Edward Kingsley.

Starring Michael Laurence (Sean Merriman), Shelah Richards (Mrs. Campbell), Helena Hughes (Miss Campbell), John Dunne (Daly), and Orson Welles (Orson Welles).

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Mr. Hulot’s Holiday (1953, Jacques Tati)

A certain amount of Mr. Hulot’s Holiday is pure slapstick. Except it’s slapstick through director Tati’s decidedly careful lensing. Tati holds the shot on the slapstick punchline a beat too long, giving the viewer time to consider the joke, the punchline, and his or her amusement. Far from condemning slapstick, Tati shows how it would function in “real life.”

Without Tati’s Hulot moving through the film, set in a small beachfront vacation town (principally the adventures of one hotel’s tourists, along with some renting a house nearby), the world would lack anything fantastical. But with Tati bumbling about? Regardless of whether the guests appreciate it, he makes their visit far more memorable.

From the guest perspective–Tati, as director, mostly follows Nathalie Pascaud’s attractive young woman who gets attention from all the fellows but finds Tati a calmer companion–Holiday is about social mores laid atop this beautiful getaway location. The cost of modern tranquility. The guests aware of these constraints–Pascaud, Valentine Camax’s Englishwoman (who thinks Tati’s a hoot), René Lacourt’s patient husband character–slowly become the core supporting cast. There are a lot of memorable characters, but Tati concentrates on the ones who can see the seams on their social agreements.

Besides some bigger set pieces, Tati also has some great small ones. Almost everything at the hotel is standout, with Tati gleefully introducing chaos into an otherwise controlled setting. His success juxtaposing Pascaud with his own character is breathtaking.

Gorgeous score from Alain Romans.

Holiday is divine.

This post is part of the Beach Party Blogathon hosted by Ruth Of Silver Screenings and Kristina Of Speakeasy.

I Confess (1953, Alfred Hitchcock)

I Confess is unwieldy.

Director Hitchcock is extremely precise in his composition, the same goes for Robert Burks' photography (especially the photography) and Rudi Fehr's editing (which changes in harshness based on the story's tone); sure, Dimitri Tiomkin's music is all over the place and intrusive, but it fits the script. George Tabori and William Archibald's ties together three very different stories–Confess is from a play, which explains some of the problems–but the end result is a disservice to the fine production values and some wonderful acting.

Besides the disjointed nature of the narrative, which keeps a big secret from the audience for the first fifteen minutes for a pointless surprise. The film never recovers from it, right up until the last scene.

Hitchock just has too many MacGuffins–is Confess about priest Montgomery Clift's struggle to cope with evil rectory worker O.E. Hasse's confession, is it about Clift's struggle to figure things out with pre-vows love Anne Baxter, is it about Clift trying to evade bulldog (but inept) police inspector Karl Malden's investigation? No, it's about all three and none at all.

Clift is phenomenal in the film, even though he only has a handful of full scenes. Hitchcock seems more comfortable having him silently react to events; Clift's great at such reactions, he's just capable of a lot more.

Instead, Hitchcock gives Baxter some big dialogue scenes and she nails them.

Thanks to the script, I Confess wastes its potential (Clift, Baxter, the gorgeous Canadian locations and everything else).

2/4★★

CREDITS

Directed by Alfred Hitchcock; screenplay by George Tabori and William Archibald, based on a play by Paul Anthelme; director of photography, Robert Burks; edited by Rudi Fehr; music by Dimitri Tiomkin; produced by Sidney Bernstein and Hitchcock; released by Warner Bros.

Starring Montgomery Clift (Father Michael Logan), Anne Baxter (Ruth Grandfort), Karl Malden (Inspector Larrue), Brian Aherne (Willy Robertson), O.E. Hasse (Otto Keller), Roger Dann (Pierre Grandfort), Dolly Haas (Alma Keller) and Charles Andre (Father Millars).

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THIS POST IS PART OF THE O CANADA BLOGATHON HOSTED BY RUTH OF SILVER SCREENINGS and KRISTINA OF SPEAKEASY

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The Bigamist (1953, Ida Lupino)

With a sensational title like The Bigamist, one might expect something lurid and exploitative from the film. Definitely from the titular lead, Edmond O’Brien. But, no, poor O’Brien is just a married traveling salesman with a barren, work-oriented wife (Joan Fontaine) so who can blame him for stepping out. And he only did it once; he’s not a bad guy, he’s tragic hero.

Nearly all of O’Brien’s story comes out in a flashback–screenwriter Collier Young’s use of layered narrative is the film’s biggest problem–when he reveals all to kindly Edmund Gwenn, who has just discovered him.

The flashback portions are exceptionally insensitive to both Fontaine and Ida Lupino (which is surprising, as she directed the film after all) but the present action scenes with them are better. The film does cheat Lupino out of any great emotive moments, while Fontaine gets a couple.

As the lead–but fourth-billed–O’Brien has trouble with the impossible role. After spending fifteen minutes making him a suspect, Young’s script spends the rest turning him into a hero. Except O’Brien can’t seem to get behind playing the role heroic, which causes a bit of a disconnect… not to mention a general disinterest in how the story turns out. I had been hoping they went for the cheap, obvious ending, which would have resulted in less melodrama (but robbed Kenneth Tobey of a great scene).

Lupino’s direction is somewhat stilted at times, but generally okay. Except the Los Angeles exteriors; they’re way too lifeless.

Just like the movie.

1/4★

CREDITS

Directed by Ida Lupino; screenplay by Collier Young, based on a story by Lawrence B. Marcus and Lou Schor; director of photography, George E. Diskant; edited by Stanford Tischler; music by Leith Stevens; produced by Young; released by Filmmakers Releasing Organization.

Starring Edmond O’Brien (Harry Graham), Joan Fontaine (Eve Graham), Ida Lupino (Phyllis Martin), Edmund Gwenn (Mr. Jordan), Kenneth Tobey (Tom Morgan), Jane Darwell (Mrs. Connelley), Peggy Maley (Phone Operator), Lillian Fontaine (Miss Higgins), Matt Dennis (Singer) and John Maxwell (Judge).

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Invaders from Mars (1953, William Cameron Menzies)

About halfway through Invaders from Mars, the army mobilizes to come to the aid of the protagonists (who have discovered an alien invasion). These mobilization scenes are all stock footage–later tank footage is stock too–but director Menzies uses it for a long time, like an actual scene. While dragging down the midsection of the picture, it does neatly split the film.

When Mars starts, it’s all about a kid discovering the aliens have landed and started brainwashing people. His father to start. Besides a brief introduction to the family–Mom Hillary Brooke gives a lousy performance, but Leif Erickson is great as Dad–the first twenty minutes are Jimmy Hunt (the kid) running around town trying to get help. He keeps discovering strangeness and more brainwashed humans. Mars really moves.

Then he teams up with Helena Carter, playing a doctor who believes the story (no one really questions Hunt’s story), and Mars starts to slow down. Arthur Franz comes in as an astronomer and erstwhile love interest for Carter. Then the army gets involved, then there’s the lengthy stock footage sequence.

The conclusion, with the alien spaceship, is exciting. Menzies directs the first twenty minutes with aplomb. The set design is brilliant; Mars feels special for those sequences. Sadly, most of the second half takes place either on an outdoor set or at various locations. Its personality evaporates.

While Mars drags, Hunt, Carter and Morris Ankrum’s army colonel are quite good. Menzies does wonders with a small budget.

2/4★★

CREDITS

Directed by William Cameron Menzies; screenplay by Richard Blake, based on a story by John Tucker Battle; director of photography, John F. Seitz; music by Raoul Kraushaar; production designer, Menzies; released by 20th Century Fox.

Starring Jimmy Hunt (David MacLean), Leif Erickson (Mr. George MacLean), Hillary Brooke (Mrs. Mary MacLean), Helena Carter (Dr. Pat Blake), Arthur Franz (Dr. Stuart Kelston), Morris Ankrum (Col. Fielding), Max Wagner (Sgt. Rinaldi), William Phipps (Sgt. Baker), Milburn Stone (Capt. Roth) and Janine Perreau (Kathy Wilson).

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Working for Peanuts (1953, Jack Hannah)

As if Donald Duck couldn’t get weirder, he’s apparently got the hots for a female elephant in Working for Peanuts. But it’s not actually a Donald cartoon, it’s a Chip and Dale cartoon. The boys are after the peanuts–a delicacy they’ve just discovered–and the zoo has them.

Donald’s the zookeeper, the elephant’s got the peanuts. Chaos ensues.

Director Hannah and his animators must have either been on a tight deadline or completely disinterested, because Peanuts is terrible work. The animation on Donald and the chipmunks is fine, but on the elephant and the other zoo animals it’s awful. There’s one shot of a group of people standing around with the same face and expression. The zoo itself has no personality (or cages).

As for the gags… they’re tepid. The final one’s kind of funny, but the dumb elephant’s in the scene; she ruins it.

These Peanuts are stale.

1/3Not Recommended

CREDITS

Directed by Jack Hannah; written by Nick George and Roy Williams; animated by Volus Jones, Bill Justice and George Kreisl; music by Oliver Wallace; produced by Walt Disney; released by RKO Radio Pictures.

Starring Dessie Flynn (Dale), James MacDonald (Chip) and Clarence Nash (Donald Duck).

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The Seafarers (1953, Stanley Kubrick)

Only half of The Seafarers really feels like Kubrick. While he handled photography and editing on the entire film, the second half moves out of his comfort zone (or interest level). The film’s a promotional for the Seafarers International Union; the second half has most of that promoting.

Kubrick stays interested during the first half, where he’s composing his shots like still photographs, only with motion. There’s a tour of the Union hall and its activities, which Kubrick’s able to do wonders with. He goes for the iconic shot every time, especially of a secretary on a ladder in front of a huge card catalog.

But the second half, dealing with member benefits and recruitment, Kubrick zones out. His shots of members listening to speeches show these disinterested, unsure faces. At that point, one wonders more about the film’s making than its content.

The Seafarers is problematic, but still worthwhile.

2/3Recommended

CREDITS

Photographed, edited and directed by Stanley Kubrick; written by Will Chasen; produced by Lester Cooper; released by the Seafarers International Union.

Narrated by Don Hollenbeck.

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Duck Amuck (1953, Chuck Jones)

Duck Amuck is either very memorable or very predictable. If I have ever seen it, it was fifteen plus years ago. Yet I could guess a bunch of the plot twists, including the final one.

That final reveal, which might make Amuck memorable, also undoes a lot of the neat stuff the cartoon does otherwise.

The premise is simple–Daffy Duck battles a mischievous animator, losing his voice, his body, the backgrounds, the foregrounds and so on. The cartoon’s best when Jones is playing with how sound works in animation and it puts Amuck ahead.

There’s also the secondary thread–how cartoons abuse their characters. Here, Daffy gets to voice (to the animator and the audience) some of that outrage and indignity.

But then the final reveal comes along and undoes all that work. It’s just a gag, think about.

Blanc does great voice work here.

It should’ve been better.

1/3Not Recommended

CREDITS

Directed by Chuck Jones; written by Michael Maltese; animated by Ken Harris, Lloyd Vaughan and Ben Washam; edited by Treg Brown; music by Carl W. Stalling; produced by Edward Selzer; released by Warner Bros.

Starring Mel Blanc (Daffy Duck / The Animator).

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Jetta (1952) #7

J3

Jetta goes out with a whimper. DeCarlo’s art is iffy on the first and third stories, with only the second really being up to par with what he’s previously done on the title.

Also problematic is the writing. While the first story, though it has nothing to do with Jetta, is rather charming, the third story in this issue borrows a plot point (sabotage) from the second. And the second story ends with a completely nonsensical ending.

At least DeCarlo doesn’t go out of his way to make Jetta’s love interest, Arky, a complete jerk this issue. And her nemesis, Hilaria, returns to that status after the affected friendship DeCarlo gives them in the first story.

DeCarlo seems to enjoy setting the stories up, getting the antics going… then he has no idea what to do. This problem plagues the second two stories.

But it’s still a very likable book.

Jetta (1952) #6

J2

The second issue of Jetta is something of a disappointment. There’s very good art for two-thirds of the issue (if I forget to mention it later, the third story’s artwork is surprisingly weak, like DeCarlo was in a real hurry), but the charm is lost. The stories aren’t really about Jetta the space age teenage girl, rather about Jetta and her supporting cast–something the first issue basically ignored.

Clearly, DeCarlo thought he had more than three issues. He keeps introducing (presumably) recurring supporting characters here. I really have no idea how this era’s teen comics for girls developed narratively; maybe it’s normal.

Still, Jetta only takes a main role in the second story–and even then shares it with her female nemesis from the first story.

One thing is clear though–Jetta’s primary love interest, Arky, is a heel. At one point, he picks a sandwich over Jetta.