Johnny Simmons

I wasn’t certain how to end this semi-retrospective month on courageous cinematic woman. I wasn’t going for the typical Erin Brockoviches and Norma Raes (great courageous women, though) – and I decided I’d end up a lighter, but just as significant note. There really is nothing “courageous” about winning an Oscar – but I like to think that experiencing deep loathing by more than a few cinephiles for her “stolen” Oscar Marisa Tomei has managed to match the greatness of her first great performances once, twice and even thrice again. She’s a consummate supporting actress, and her scene stealing Mona Lisa Vito is a perfect encapsulation of the courageous female sidekick.

My Cousin Vinny is such a forgotten gem, one of those great nineties’ comedies that manages to retain its humour on multiple viewings. The fact that Mona is tagging along with Vinny for his foray into “real” always strikes me as evident as her tenacity. Marisa is so good at characterising her I can almost imagine a scene in New York where she’s doing another monologue at Vinny convincing him that she HAS to tag alone. She’s knows full well that he’s sort of an idiot, and she knows she’s smarter than he gives her credit for. She doesn’t care, though, she’s tagging along because she knows he needs her – complete with her scoffing glares at the town. I immediately love her from the line-reading “You’re famous for your mud?”

I feel a bit bad that my favourite scene of Marisa’s isn’t notable for her courage, but as soon as she starts talking about her biological clock in that outlandish, ferocious cat suit I cannot help but give her rapt attention.
Marisa is a terribly physical actress (watch her brilliant final scene in Before the Devil Knows You’re Dead) and having her unconfined and able to pace around is a reason that scene always pops. It’s comedy, garish at times and even in broad strokes but she keeps on managing to retain that sincerity which is so elusive in pieces like this.
We’re never absolutely certain what she sees in Vinny, but the way that she defends him always impresses. Not only in the context of her being a supportive spouse, but as silly as he is Mona casts her bets on him, but more than she actively ensures that he’s able to be successful. She’s the type of supporting girlfriend who doesn’t get pithy moments of expressing love often, but in those rare softer scene she still retains her individuality and strength, most importantly she never “dumbs” herself down for him.


So, it’s as if we’re waiting for that brilliant cross-examination scene.
She’s so good with the rapid dialogue, and so brilliant against Pesci so as she literally shoots off the solution we think that even though the film is named for her man this movie is all about Mona Lisa....and that the thing about cinematic women of courage. When they appear on screen, it’s difficult to look at anyone else – least of all the men.
         
This marks the end of the Bloodstones of March who included:
Deanie Loomis in Splendor in the Grass
Margaret and Helen Schlegel in Howards End
Francine Evans in New York/New York
Shoshanna and Bridget von Hammersmark in Inglourious Basterds
Rita O’Grady, Lisa Hopkins and Barbara Castle in Made in Dagenham
Mona Lisa Vito in My Cousin Vinny
                
Am I the only one who loves Marisa's Mona Lisa?

I don’t pay the closest attentions to the mini-series and movie events that often occur on cable television. It’s hard enough finding time to get through the mire of films released a year without the addition of more. Still, the option of not seeing Todd Hayne’s adaptation of the novel Mildred Pierce was not even an option. The Joan Crawford one appears in my top 100 films, but all for richer adaptations of novel which is what makes the television format such a perfect home to novels of significant size.

    

It’s odd, but the first name in the credits that stood out for me was Ann Roth as the costume designer. Roth’s name doesn’t emerge as often as Sandy Powell or Colleen Atwood, or even Jenny Beavan but she is an Oscar winning designer and I couldn’t help but notice over the span of the first two episodes how costumes emerge as a significant part of characterisation.

I love, for example this first dress we see Melissa Leo in. The garishness of its brightness in an odd way seems to augment the simplicity and practicality of it; clothes are more than important for taking us from period to period it’s almost as if that costume transforms Melissa Leo who’s so excellent here. And Leo is quite good here. Her Lucy overflows with a sincerity which makes even her occasional lack of finesse (in light of her staunch level-headedness) strangely appealing. She is an actor with control over voice, but it’s her fluidity of expressions which wins me over here – consistently more sincere than her work in The Fighter.

Here again, the costumes jump out at me. It’s the style of Mildred juxtaposed with the normalcy of the waitress that emerges first, but the choice of brownness by Roth makes her seem so pallid, almost unobtrusive. Admittedly, in Part Two there are those odd moments of excess where the movement seems especially dawdling – but I can’t ever say of Haynes that he doesn’t have a purpose to his technique.

If Psycho was first imagined as a work of literature it would make for a fine Gothic novel. That probably seems like a fairly trite observation, we immediately think of Gothic in its most obvious sense of being mysterious – and when the literary style emerged in the mid 1700s it was the subtle horror found in works like Matthew Lewis’ The Monk or Horace Walpole’s The Castle of Otranto. It’s more than visceral terror that makes Psycho such a perfect concept capable of being a Gothic novel – at the heart of Psycho is the eponymous psycho himself, Norman Bates. And in Norman Bates Perkins and Hitchcock create a perfect illustration of the Gothic antihero.

I love the very first shot of his house – Norman’s Manor, if you will.

It’s sort of begging you to take a picture, so naturally I acquiesced. It’s a tenet of the Gothic protagonist, for the most part. We need a house that’s far from the bustle of the town, desolate, difficult to find and abandoned. Norman’s Manor passes the inspection with flying colours, and it’s the house (and the surrounding swamp) that emphasises his Gothic tendencies. We can imagine him pacing the empty rooms, talking to his “Mother” but unable to leave his lair.

 

It sort of makes sense that it’s Marion who leads to his discovery, because in his very conversation with her he’s disclosing too much. They’re not exactly kindred spirits, but the connection there is palpable. That continuous sequence is the only time Norman eschews his most innate Gothic characteristics. H

That smile below is not my favourite shot (it’s a close second), and it’s one of the reasons I think Perkins’ is so brilliant here.

He avoids the easiest of inclinations to make Norman insincere. Even when he’s at his most sinister, as he misleads Arbogast there’s the obvious sense of him protecting his turf. It’s not quiet heroic; he is a murderer after all. But, like the true Gothic protagonist it’s difficult to judge him because he’s so much a product of his abode. Norman’s skewed because his surroundings are.

This shot underscores it best.

The mise-en-scene there makes Norman appear like a Heathcliff of sorts (without the love story). This is a man, so in tune with the “nature” of his surroundings. Just like you’d read Wuthering Heights and visualise Heathcliff on the moors at one with the world – Norman is in accordance with the desolation of the house, the hotel and the swamp nearby. That’s why he’s so adamant to keep up his charade, and that’s why he’s so threatened by that string of visitors.

But it's this one which easily wins for my favourite shot. Skewed mind and all, there’s something chillingly logical about how Norman is intent on protecting his territory. If we think closely on it, it’s part of his madness. Why does he kill? Who knows. But he can’t leave this place, it’s like he tells Sam later.

It’s sort of the perfect encapsulation of Norman as a Gothic character (hero?). He’s indelibly linked to his house because its rich with memories, and secrets and sadness. So, he has no choice to stay there – alone – constantly looking out at the windows. 

 

Even the murders are superfluous, he’s waiting there for his mother – if he happens to happen upon someone, they die – but it’s not really at the root of his issues. Everything important is right there in that house, as it should be, that's why that final shot of him in the holding cell always makes me think. Norman (or Mother) isn't really cold - I'm sure the temperature is fine, but unlike at the Manor where he's at home with the freedom he has he can't function elsewhere. Not only does he lose control of his faculties, but he looks so terribly frail.

I’ve been sort of splotchy in my TV viewing lately, and even worse with the reviewing but I just have to single out a few recent episodes....(even though I'm way behind...I'll catch up soon, maybe)

I’ve been on and off in my Private Practice viewing, though I’m finally up to speed, sort of. I’m currently one episode behind – most recently seeing Addison’s return and the threat of Naomi’s departure. I feel like a Judas because even though I adore Audra McDonald I hope for her to leave the show so I can have another cast recording with her lovely voice on it. I sort of hope she’s not gone for good. Watching Walsh and McDonald will always be fine, and even the episode does not sizzle it retains that placid coolness that marks the show – sometimes better than Grey’s Anatomy in its interest in characters (which I still have to catch up on).

Episode: “Love and Lies” (Mar. 17) [B/B+]

        

I’m even behind on Thursday comedy which I think is awful, and boy oh boy Community is continuing its awesome string of good episodes which makes me so happy. It’s nice when shows return to form. Oddly, Annie wasn’t a big part of this episode – Britta sort of went front and centre and Senor Chang and yet it worked. Crazily, ridiculously but most importantly HILARIOUSLY. Gillian so often gets terrible material to work with, but seeing her and Abed and Troy having a friendship is nice and that final bit with them all and their “gadgets” was fun. So what if I’m way behind.

Episode: “Custody Law and Eastern European Diplomacy” (Mar. 17) [B+]

And Parks & Recreation returns from the fun of the Harvest Festival to go camping to find some more great ideas. Perfectly sequenced, excellent ideas to ensure everyone gets a chance and then Ron saving the day by making sure Leslie gets to was just absolute genius. But, it was The Office that still has me smiling back. It’s such a perfect way for Michael, the hopeless romantic, to leave the show. Carrell and Ryan are just perfect together and the entire episode is a piece of brilliant, it’s possibly my favourite episode of what’s surprisingly turned out to be a great season.

Episode: “Camping Trip” (Mar 24) [A-]

Episode: “Garage Sale” (Mar 24) [A]

But the real reason for this post is Big Love. Perhaps, later, when I have the time to give them the farewell they deserve, but I do know the writers offered up an episode worthy of our love. The writer was beautifully placid like the best of episodes, but it was the superb direction – the circle coming to an end, the actors being so cohesive everything emerging so smoothly that was most impressed. I’ll admit, I did shed a tear at that closing – not just for the characters, or even the show but the fact that a trio of strong females might never get such great roles again, or worse, not even get recognised for the great work they’ve put in. An kudos to Paxton, for doing fine work in his curtain call.

SERIES FINALE: A, Season Grade: A-

The Office A+

Parks & Recreation A

Big Love A-

Bill Paxton in Big Love: A

Steve Carrell in The Office: A

Amy Poehler in Parks & Recreation: B+/A-

Chloe Sevigny in Big Love: B+/A-

Jeanne Tripplehorn in Big Love: B+/A-

Audra McDonald in Private Practice: B+

            

Made in Dagenham reminds me most of movies like The Women or Stage Door - not because it’s a slice of classic life, but because in its wide foray of females I almost don’t want to single out any one of them as best in show. Almost. I’m both surprised and heartened that despite picking up zero awards’ tractions Rosamund Pike was being so constantly fêted as a potential spoiler in the supporting actress race way back when. To say that the role is paper thin might be a little too harsh. The thing is, the role manages to be paper thin and hopelessly predictable at the same time but Rosamund sells it. She’s always so good opposite fellow actresses (perfect opposite Keira and Carey) and truth be told – one of my favourite moments of the film is the throwaway moment in the car when Lisa and Rita both band together to bring down a chauvinistic teacher at their sons’ school. It reads as a bit insular that this “small” act is indicative of their female bravery...but whatever.

Not that Sally isn’t good herself, I was no big fan of her in Happy-Go-Lucky but she’s so charismatic here constantly besting the material she’s given. She’s sort of brilliant opposite everyone in her sedateness, in contrast to Miranda who finds her brilliance by being explosive. My appreciation for Miranda flip-flops. She seems to be having too much fun playing Barbara that sometimes you can just see her being over-the-top for its very own sake. She knows when to rein it in, though. What Barbara does for the cause is no small feat, and that moment where she has her way with her boorish assistants is brilliant.

I love Tennessee Williams. It’s so strange, because he encapsulates most of the things I find exasperating in contemporary playwrights – hysterical characters, overwrought scenes, a consistency in themes from decade to decade bordering on monotony – but I do love him. Aside from Shakespeare, he’s my favourite playwright. What I find odder, though, is that despite an ostensible theatricality to Williams’ his plays make for such brilliant films, moreover – brilliant performances, so I'm celebrating his birthday by celebrating the performances he gave us.

    

I’ve seen seven film adaptations of Tennessee’s work *Cat On A Hot Tin Roof (1958), Night of the Iguana(1964), The Rose Tattoo (1955), A Streetcar Named Desire (1951), Suddenly, Last Summer (1959), Sweet Bird of Youth (1962), This Property Is Condemned (1966) (Baby Doll doesn't count - it's an original screenplay of his.)

                  

Six of these appear on the list below as I make a special top ten, featuring eight actors who owe thanks to Tennessee for eliciting some of their greatest performances: 3 of them leading to Oscars, 6 leading to nominations and one ridiculously snubbed, but still brilliant.

I often used to wonder why Elizabeth seemed so “flittery”, and I won’t deny I’m simultaneously awestruck and confused by what Mankiewicz does with the adaptation (more than the play, even). Katharine Hepburn noted in one of her biographies how professional Elizabeth was, and she really does emanate – sort of throwing herself into the role with an endearing way that seems (rightfully) out of place with all the ludicrousness in the plot.

I have a latent appreciation for Karl Malden, he’s – for the most part – a consistently good actor and it’s a shame that my two favourite performances of his often get thwarted in memory by their proximity to my two favourite Brando performances. In the wake of the hysteria happening in A Streetcar Named Desire the flash of gentility from [ ] is much appreciated. Malden already has that natural cadence that makes him perfect for the role, and he’s such a supporting actor. It’s easy to write him off, but it’s an Oscar well deserved.

I often feel a little conflicted about Cat On A Hot Tin Roof, I love it for all its deviations and issues and Elizabeth is a significant part of that. From a literary perspective, I don’t see Maggie the Cat as iconic a character as most Tennessee lovers. Yet, Liz – more than the words on the page, I’d wager – turns it into that incessantly emotive, emotional, explicit and sensual woman that demands our attention.

The casting of Richard Burton as the defrocked minister who may, or may not, be a drunkard is rich with irony. The performance is something brilliant. As fine as he is in Becket, the fact that Burton neither earned a win nor nomination for this fine performance is just one in a long line of Oscar injustices. Tonally, Night of the Iguana represents a departure from Tennessee at his most impetuous and Burton – who is so naturally conflicted, symbolises that latent unease perfectly. It’s, oddly, not as remembered as you’d think but that doesn’t mitigate its brilliance.

I’ll admit, I’ve actively prayed for Pedro Almodóvar to make an adaptation of this with Penelope Cruz and Javier Bardem, but that isn’t any suggestion that Anna Magnani isn’t powerful. I’ve never seen Magnani in an all Spanish production (I heard she’s masterful in her own language), but if this is her giving an average performance I’m floored. The Rose Tattoo – for me, is Tennessee’s forgotten classic**, and it’s unfortunate that the boorish, mis-casted Reynolds presents a potential blight to Magnani. She doesn’t allow that, though, delivering with intensity – a performance so raw I can’t bear to grudge her for beating out the competition. Ferocious.

 

I contemplated the logistics of a Tennessee Williams’ top ten without Newman’s work in Cat On a Hot Tin Roof – but as interesting a performance as his Brick is, I’m much more enamoured with his Chance. Chance manages to come off as one of Williams’ brutes who's not really that brutish and it's because Sweet Bird of Youth is - at its heart - not about human nature at its most violent, but at its most romantic. Romanticism seems to emerge naturally, even in the sordidness of that hotel room and a lot of that has to do with how much Newman seems made for the role of Chance Wayne.

        

Hepburn admitted to feeling the slightest discomfort at the macabre nature of character, and perhaps it’s this occasionally tentative characterisation of hers that makes me much more interested in Mrs. Venable on screen than I do on paper. Suddenly, Last Summer is such an odd film, I can only imagine how odd it must have seemed to the audience at the time. It’s should function as a trio of Monty/Elizabeth/Kate but it’s really Kate/Elizabeth...still, when Kate tackles those monologues – it’s just Kate (which is why I love the first half more than the second).

        

I’m an unapologetic Brando fan – even if I’m not that vociferous about it and though he doesn’t top the list, he is my favourite male performance from Tennessee. Forgive, but I’ll never think of Tennessee in tandem with men – his most interesting male remains Tom Wingfield, and I’ve yet to see a cinematic version of The Glass Menagerie. A Streetcar Named Desire is a puzzling piece, not least because it could have so many interpretations – sometimes Brando plays Stanley less as the ogre that some care to see him as, and more as a man trying to tend to the worn illusions of his own family.

        

Someone once pointed out the irony of the very British Leigh representing two of the most iconic Southern-Belles, but it’s all part of the brilliance of acting. More than any of the players in the film, I’d say she gets better and better with age – I do wonder what Tandy did with the role, but it’s difficult imagining anyone else here – Vivien is so perfect. Yes, there's a slight inch preventing me from loving the performance uninhibitedly, but love/like it's a tour-de-force performance. Blanche may not have a strong grip on reality, but Vivien has a strong grip on Blanche and from her most lucid moments to her most heady Vivien delivers beautifully.

       

I’d like to think my citation of this performance here as an apology for so often forgetting Page’s work here. I so often forget about the film, actually, even if I consider it to be severely underrated (the film and the play). With her own set of neuroses, the Princess often gets forgotten when considered against the likes of Blanche, Amanda or Mrs. Venable but Page – so beautiful here – is just captivating. I hate she didn't win, but not as much as I’d like to (that 1962 line-up was pure brilliance). Most notably, though, Page avoids the most theatrical pitfalls that could occur in putting the Princess to screen. She’s just captivating to watch.

                          

It takes more than a great role on paper to make a great performance, but there’s no doubt that each of these performances manages to be so brilliant because of their source material. Tennessee may not have written the screenplay for each film but the connection to his original plays is irrevocable. I like to think that his literature will always endure, I’m a literature student after all – and they’re all classics. I’d like to think that these ten performances will (continue to) endure, too. They’re classics as well.

     

* I’ve also seen two TV adaptations, the Jessica Lange version of A Streetcar Named Desire (an enchanting performance in its odd way) and the Arthur Kennedy version The Glass Menagerie. Unfortunately, I haven’t the version of the latter with our lady Kate the Great.

       

** When it comes to readability, I’d pick up The Rose Tattoo or Sweet Bird of Youth first. The former is one of the oddballs in Tennessee’s portfolio, not the least bit Southern, but it’s so quick and rewarding. On the issue of best, I’d debate between A Streetcar Named Desire, The Glass Menagerie and Night of the Iguana, though Sweet Bird of Youth retains a sentimental hold on me, but I’m never certain if it’s brilliant or if I love it too much.

                

This post is quite a mouthful, but as I said – I love Tennessee. Which of these performances inspired his genius endures most for you? Which inclusions surprise you? Do any of his plays emerge as a favourite of yours?

               

His trump card will always be his attention to detail. His directors of photography almost always did brilliant work; just look at that beautiful shot from Doctor Zhivago below.

I didn't even know he worked as his own editor on A Passage to India. I still haven't seen either of his Dickens adaptations or a few others of his significant ones, but I love these three the best - and these three performances, each of them so very timeless. Yes, I'd have Oscar-ed them all.

Ultimately, I'd remember David by heading back to Summertime - it's unnaturally low-key for him, but I think it's remarkable (and he reportedly loved it most of his films). How would you celebrate his birthday?

It's not her most revered performance, and it's not the one that we immediately turn to as an encapsulation of her legend. But, when I think of Elizabeth Taylor I immediately think of the shrewish Kate from Shakespeare's The Taming of the Shrew. It's not my favourite performance of hers, but I think of I still think of it as her peak, she's never been more beautiful, more tenacious and more fiery. And, I can't help but think of her eternally opposite Burton - who she stars with here.

The fact that I’ve never contributed to Nathaniel’s Hit Me With Your Best Shot series is not indicative of my lack of interest in the films he’s covered thus far, but evidence of my natural indecisiveness. The idea of choosing a single shot to represent my love for a film is so difficult – and even A Streetcar Named Desire which I love for the writing and acting (at least, ostensibly) ends up confusing me. One of the great things about actually having Tennessee adapt his own play was that A Streetcar Named Desire didn’t undergo superfluous “opening up”. It’s a play about trapped people, so it makes sense that even in its cinematic version the action occurs mostly in that apartment at Elysian Fields. But, I do love that the film opens not with Blanche on the sidewalk approaching Stella’s home (like in the play) but now preparing to board that fateful Streetcar named Desire. Maybe it’s because I’m reading Great Expectations which is all about secrets shrouded by mist, but I love that the very first image of Blanche occurs through mist. For, Blanche is like the mist, no? Beautiful, mysterious – and most importantly so fragile and easily dissipated.

But, you see, I’m already in a quandary of sorts because as much as I love Blanche’s entrance it would hardly suffice as my favourite shot. The film, like all works emanating from Tennessee, is so rich that I’m always undecided as to which theme to hang my hat upon. Case in point: Stella Kowalski/Kim Hunter. I’m inclined, too often, to think of A Streetcar Named Desire in accordance with another foursome (Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?. Right now, I’d give more credit to the latter and whereas as with Nichols’ piece I’m indecisive about who’s best in show Hunter is easily my least favourite of the foursome in Streetcar. I like her more this time around, though…

One of the enduring themes of the play/film is Blanche’s more overt disillusionment against the practicality of Stella (who it turns out, isn’t all that practical). I have a soft spot for cinematic sisters, even if they’re as odd as this pair. It’s not a superfluous shot, there’s something important to be gleaned just from their expressions. Doesn’t Stanley’s Stella seem almost overexcited with desirous pride watching her man there? And poor Blanche is looking at her wondering, “Can this be Stella DuBois?” Well, she better believe it. One thing you have to appreciate about the narrative is its fluidity, and that first look that we Stella giving him there is leading up that moment when they have their tussle on Poker Night. Blanche, Stella and Eunice are all upstairs; naturally, though, Stella can't stand to me apart from her man and she comes down the stairs with that look on her face to the right.

Blanche is the Dubois sister credited with denying reality, but in the same way that Blanche is disillusioned Stella, too, ignores the danger that comes with Stanley deciding instead to grasp at his visceral sexuality. Like the next morning when Blanche comes in, she's not the image of an abused woman - this is how the Kowalskis get off - disillusionment, indeed. Stella talks about how he went about “smashing” things on their wedding night., and you only have to imagine. Smashing things? Yeah, sure he did…

It’s why the subsequent conversation with the two sisters is so important.

That’s about all you need to glean the most important bits of A Streetcar Named Desire. It’s such a precise moment, without being a bit on the nose. Blanche and Stella both have that innate thirst for desire, the only difference is that Stella’s lucky enough (well, depending on how you look at it) to have found it with one man.  Leigh gets blamed for theatrical, but she's much more organic an actor than people give her credit for. This makes her such a perfect figure to encapsulate the subtlety that becomes Blanche,  pitting her against the literal nature of Hunter's performance. It's moments like these that make it possible for us to peruse the sisters (and the actors) opposite each other. Blanche may be the one hopping on and off board onto that brutal streetcar, but they're all riding it…
            
(I'm proud of myself, an entire post on A Streetcar Named Desire and I don't bring up Marlon Brando.)
             
What do you think about the juxtaposition of the two sisters in A Streetcar Named Desire? Which is more disillusioned?