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Showing posts with label classics. Show all posts
Showing posts with label classics. Show all posts
Thursday, 26 May 2011
I was listening to Rufus Wainwright’s Carnegie Hall Judy Garland Concert last weekend. I’m not the biggest Wainwright fan, but he’s a great songwriter, he’s got a good voice but his secret weapon is his humour. He’s just hilarious in concert. The thing is, I’m not altogether infatuated with Judy, really. I like her, she’s so naturally convivial that I can’t imagine anyone not liking her. Still, as much as I love her musical oeuvre in classics like The Wizard of Oz and A Star is Born I don’t ever rush out to see a film just because she’s in it. Strangely, too, my favourite of her is the non-singing, non-dancing work she does in Stanley Kramer’s Judgment at Nuremberg, go figure.
The reason I bring up Judy is because I recently watched Easter Parade (somewhat trite, but generally enjoyable) and it got me to thinking about films of the era, well MGM musicals to be exact. I’m a somewhat reticent fan of the musical genre, but MGM musicals are one (of my many) cinematic blind spots. Of course, it’s because that whole period from the 30s to the 50s is a bit like a blind spot for me and I don’t know if it’s because of lack of chance or lack of interest. I confess that I like Fred Astaire more than Gene Kelly, but it’s a bit like deciding that I like Todd Fields more than Todd Haynes. I like them both (Field a bit more), but I don’t go crazy over either. School’s as good as out for me (one more insufferable exam to go) and I think the holidays will be as good a time as any to get acquainted with those lost years. Sure, I’ve seen almost every Katharine Hepburn film form the era, but almost everything else is fair game – well, the musicals seem “fairer” than anything else.
What do you think of the 30s-50s in cinema? Which films (or musicals) stand out?
(More on the birthday marathon.)
Monday, 23 May 2011
It's all about Cukor today in another string of random vignettes of movie memories coming from yours truly as I count down the days to my birthday.
The placement is all random, really, but I can’t have a movie blogging marathon without paying some sort of tribute to the brilliance that is George Cukor. I happened to re-watch The Philadelphia Story this past weekend. Truth be told, I’ve probably rewatched that one more times than I needed to – it’s a great option for relieving stress and it’s that same lightness in tone which George Cukor is usually remembered for. That’s a disservice to Cukor right there, though, by fêting this lone title of his eschewing all the other great work that he’s done.
I am vicariously offended, on his Cukor’s behalf, because he does not have as estimable a reputation as most of his peers. I’ll admit that in terms of being prolific William Wyler is probably at the zenith of pre-60 directors but when it comes to actually quality I’m firmly in the camp of Cukor and Kazan. Kazan gets shafted because of that “naming of names” scandal and Cukor gets shafted because he’s a woman’s director. The thing is, I’m still not sure what precisely comprises a woman’s director. I immediately recall that revelatory post Jose did after the Academy awards’ where he pointed out one of Oscar’s more disturbing trends and I suppose a “woman’s” director is one who focuses on women’s issues. If that’s what constitutes the term, there’s no shame in such a director but it seems silly to relegate Cukor’s work to just that, still. I’d be more inclined to call him a director who focuses on societal issues, not women specifically.
In terms of superficial longevity most probably remember Cukor for My Fair Lady. Incidentally, as big a fan of Cukor as I am I’m not especially fond of My Fair Lady (admittedly, I’m biased against Rex Harrison as it is). Even if I didn’t have that bias, I’m sure I’d be hard-pressed to find anyone who’d call it Cukor’s apex. Of course, that’s just the typical Oscar fashion where the best and the rewarded are not always immediately reconcilable.
My first immediate interest in Cukor was, of course, instigated by Katharine Hepburn. She devotes a number of pages to him in her biography and together they’ve done some brilliant pieces. For me the trio of The Philadelphia Story, Adam's Rub and Little Women is most prominent. It took me some time to warm up to Holiday (I’m not a fan of Barrie’s play) but those three are the height of that comedic cadence he does so well, which is buoyed by an interest in more serious issues. Still, Cukor’s talent isn’t even consigned that trinity. Just watch how he moves from breakneck pace hilarity with Tracy Lords and C. K. Dexter Haven to claustrophobic tension with Gregory Anton and Paula Alquist. There are some scenes in Gaslight that might even recall some of Hitchcock’s work. It’s an obtrusively far cry from the lighter fare that immediately comes to mind when his name is mentioned. Then, measure that against the poignant melodrama of A Star is Born or the tenacity (occasionally mired by confusion in Wild is the Wind). The man is diverse.And yet, so many have supreme tunnel vision when it comes to him. If there’s any one thing which Cukor maintains as he switches from genre to genre it’s that delightful bit of irreverence with which he marks his films. That’s probably the reason why Sylvia Scarlett seems so bathetic. It’s arbitrarily rewarding, but its strangeness is probably a bit too garish for the fainthearted. Still, I love Cukor – on his good days and his bad days, he always has something to say.
What I’ve Seen of Him
Adam's Rib A/A-
A Bill of Divorcement B
Born Yesterday B+
Holiday B+
Gaslight A-
Pat & Mike B/B+
The Philadelphia Story A
A Star is Born A-
Sylvia Scarlett B
My Fair Lady B/B+
What Price Hollywood? B
Wild is the Wind B
The Women B+
Is there any love lost between you and Cukor?
Saturday, 23 April 2011
Friday, 8 April 2011
I’m doing a journalism writing course this semester at University, and on Wednesday our lecturer made us watch Pakula’s 1976 All the President’s Men. It’s a fine example of journalists at work since the adaptation is so devoid of the most obvious Hollywood-ization that most true-stories have today – sometimes, I must admit, to my exasperation.
Hoffman and Redford are two of the most conventionally “seventies” actors and the idea of them working each other is spirited. The thing, the best thing about All the President’s Men is also the worst thing about it. In its staunch upholding of the truth it seems to be devoid of characters, which is – incidentally – what makes me such an admirer of Hoffman and Redford here. They have little to work with, but they make it work excellently. I like Redford, but even at his best I always like him with reservations. And, he’s not at his best here – but he’s good.
The two manage to make simple interviews come off as well acted arcs; the best of which occurs opposite Jane Alexander in a head-scratcher supporting actress nomination. She’s much better than the role, but it’s still one of the oddest acting nominations I can recall. Oddly, Robards, with a similarly small role manages to carve something much more indelible. No, not worthy of that Oscar, but oftentimes one of the highpoints of the film reminding you that these are real people and not just the means to an end in bringing down a government.Like so many films that retain that quintessential feeling of Americana I often wonder how much more I’d like All the President’s Men if I was an actual American. To its credit, though, what emerges loudest from the narrative is not a pride that is nationalistic but journalistic – garishly, at times. Just like many would say that Saving Private Ryan offers a ferociously authentic look at war All the President’s Men does the same for journalism – although not ferociously. It’s content with showing the unglamorous nature of the job.
This is perhaps what makes the film itself sort of paradoxical for me. It doesn’t maintain the major tenets of the cinema, it’s palpably a non-fiction piece but yet its cinematic aspects are excellently done, its cinematography and score for example – though unobtrusive in both cases – is excellent. But, remember that adage about things not being as good as the sum of their parts? I get that distinctive feeling with All the President’s Men. It’s a fine example of filmmaking that is immediately admirable, both for its cinematic attributes and for the way it pushes boundaries with the form of storytelling – the screenplay is a beauty. But, there’s something distinctly cold about it, soulless even – but I still won’t deny that it’s a fine film.
What do you think of Pakula's film?
Tuesday, 5 April 2011
Some weeks are lucky to have one legend born in them, but not just this week – this day – marks the birth of three Oscar winning legends of the cinema: Bette Davis, Gregory Peck and Spencer Tracy. Because I’m such a devout follower of Kate Hepburn, it’s difficult for me not to think of Tracy in conjunction with her. He, obviously, has worth outside of his tempestuous liaison with the First Lady of Cinema. Tracy was the first man to win consecutive Oscars. Davis, was the second woman to win two Best Actress statues and I’m sure if I looked hard enough I’d find some Oscar record that Gregory Peck was a part of.
Of the three, I know the least of Peck – he reminds me of James Cagney in the sense that he’s obviously revered as an archetype of his time, but his name doesn’t endure like Brando or even Gable. I know that Paolo is a unremitting fan of Davis, another actor I can’t help but thinking in conjunction with Kate. When Kate won her third Oscar for The Lion in Winter Bette famously quipped that she’d never accept “half” an Oscar, which I find hilarious. I also think of her in conjunction with Kate because she was 1/3 of a flawless Best Actress trio in 1940 (other two being Hepburn and Fontaine) – naturally, none of them won, but I digress. 
I can’t confess unmitigated love for all three – but I won’t deny that they’re each irreplaceable as far as classic cinema goes. Which three films of theirs would you remember them most for? My three: All About Eve, Woman of the Year, To Kill A MockingbirdWhat Ever Happened to Baby Jane?, Inherit the Wind, To Kill A Mockingbird.Which three films of theirs are your favourites? Which of their performances do you prefer?
Wednesday, 30 March 2011
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.
“This place? This place happens to be my only world. I grew up in that house up there; I had a very happy childhood. My mother and I were more than happy.”
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.
Head on over to Nathaniel, who's the inspiration for this post with his Hit Me With Your Best Shot Series.
Wednesday, 23 March 2011
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.
Blanche: “What you are talking about is desire – just brutal Desire. The name of that rattle-trap streetcar that bangs through the Quarter, up one narrow street and down another”
Stella: “Haven’t you ever ridden on that streetcar?”
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?
(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?
Friday, 25 February 2011
Thanks to Walter for tacitly encouraging me to revisit Airport with his Casting Coup dedicated to recasting the 1970 blockbuster (Tilda, Rosamund and Melissa Leo casted to perfection – that’s a remake I’d be on board with). I’ve heard more than a few people call out the ridiculousness of an Academy where something as trifling as Airport earned 12 nominations, but you have to admit that it’s not exactly devoid of technical innovation and it’s important to examine these multiple nominees in context of the offerings of films that year. It’s often so deprecatingly referred to as the “disaster” movie and the spoof Airplane! doesn’t exactly help it’s cause, but it’s a bit unfair to think of Airport against those publically conscious films of its era like Taxi Drive or All the President’s Men. You can’t conceivably expect every film to have a grand message to offer, and it’s even disingenuous to think lesser of a film that doesn’t.
It would probably go without saying that Airport doesn’t examine all the facets of the novel – but I do think that it’s one of the smartest adaptations of the genre. Hailey’s original novel is permeated with such an air of confusion – it’s one of those “big” novels where every character that appears on the page has something important to say. Cinematic entities don’t have that luxury and though George Seaton doesn’t thrive on the movement between characters like Altman or even Soderbergh, he deserves credit. Airport has a number of good – occasionally great – performances, but it’s a director’s movie. One of those films, like Avatar (if you will) that sort of encapsulate the fact that cinema’s a visual medium. I’m especially glad that got notices for its editing and sound, the latter of which is the more obvious nomination but the former being just as good. It doesn’t strike that veritable chord of “prestige” flick – it’s probably more of a Bourne Identity than a United 93 if we’re using Greengrass as a model.
And, yet, in the space of that Airport has those performances on its side. More than just good performances, it’s the good female performances that always jump out at me. I’ll come out and say that I think Jean Seberg (offensive wig, aside) is great as Tanya. Truth is, I’d swap her for one of the actual supporting actress nominees from the film, but more on that soon. She and Lancaster have the perfect rapport to ground the film against all the madness going on. I always feel badly that she never managed to turn into a bigger actress – she gives me a Marlene Dietrich vibe, and that’s never a bad thing. I’d not have given Helen Hayes that Oscar, and I won’t have nominated her either. I won’t deny that she’s fine in her role and absolutely hilarious but in the face of the vastly superior Stapleton (who at the time had yet to win her Oscar) it’s a shame she took home the Oscar. Jacqueline Bisset is another rarely remembered performance who’s quite good. The role has more significance in the novel, and Bisset plays it with a profundity that’s unexpected.
Like any good disaster movie you know that whatever the catastrophe, the most significant characters need not fear much – and it’s not an indication of Airport’s faults. Fun would be the wrong word to call it, but it sure is an entertaining one. I’m neither here nor there on it gargantuan Oscar success (nomination wise, at least) but that doesn’t really matter. It would be a bit insular, even for me, to think of it only in relation to its worth in the Oscar catalogue. Airport’s a good one.
Have you seen Seaton’s flick? Stapleton or Hayes for the win? Any fans of Seberg?
Sunday, 21 November 2010
This post was mulling for weeks now, but I didn't get the chance to finish it until now, and it's not even complete....notice how my comments are sorely lacking? But, that's probably a good thing...My deep love for The Philadelphia Story is no secret (see HERE) and this particular scene is my favourite in the film. As I’ve said before, I’m more fond of James Stewart than Cary Grant (so yes, I think he deserved that Oscar). It’s one of those pivotal scenes towards the end when Tracy Lords, the ultimate ice queen finally loses her cool.
I just love those first few shots, there. It’s so sedate. George Cukor is always underrated, or revered for the wrong films (My Fair Lady as his best work? Mais non!). His work in The Philadelphia Story is a treasure.
Stewart and Hepburn look so lovely together. It’s one of those scenes that plays right out of a play (a la Liz and Dick in Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?) but in a good way. Few films are willing to focus so much on two characters at once.
Mike: “Champagne’s funny stuff. I’m used to whisky.”
Mike: “Whisky’s a slap on the back. Champagne’s heavy mist before your eyes.”
Just watching them together is pleasing enough, even before we start delving into Donald Ogden Stewart's phenomenal scripts.
Tracy: “Do you hear a telephone ringing?”
Mike: “I did a little while ago.”
Mike: “Let’s see.”
Mike: “No, not yet.”
Mike: “Now I do. Far away.”
It's not news that being inebriated is always a nice way for an actor to showcase their talents, but I love this drunken scene in The Philadelphia Story precisely because they’re really no making great use of physicality to portray drunkenness. There’s just the slight bit of exaggerations, but it’s all so serene and wonderful.
Tracy: “It’s my bedroom telephone.”
Tracy: “Couldn’t be anyone but George.”
Tracy: “I was sort of swinish to him. Perhaps I’d better go and see what...”
Kate is so phenomenal here, it really is a shame she lost the Oscar to the worse of the lot – the others were all so much better; but I digress.
I like that shot of her sauntering off.
Like that shot, above. It’s more strident than Tracy’s usual mannerisms, but it’s never over exaggerated. The telephone has stopped ringing and Tracy seems elated...drunkenly so...
Tracy: “It isn’t ringing anymore.”
Tracy: “I tell you what – let’s have a quick swim to brighten us up. Dexter and I always swam after parties.”
Mike: “Let’s dip into this instead, huh?”
Tracy: “Hello, you.”
Mike: “Hello.”
Tracy: “You look fine.”
Mike: “I feel fine.”
Tracy: “Did you enjoy the party.”
Mike: “Sure, sure. The prettiest sight in this fine, pretty world is the privileged class enjoying its privileges.”
It’s lovely watching Kate as Jimmy speaks. Every line from him seems to precipitate a change of expression from her, but it all seems so natural
Tracy: “You’re a snob, Connor.”
Mike: “No doubt, no doubt.”
Mike: “Awash with champagne was Will Q. Tracy’s pleasure dome on the nuptial eve of Tracy Samantha – Tracy – wheee. Tracy Samantha...”
Come on! Can anyone resist how lovely they look together?
Mike: “Tracy...”
In case you haven’t seen the movie (in which case, I probably should have inserted a spoiler warning and in which case you should be ashmed) Tracy’s engaged to be married, for the second time. She’s upper class, Mike is working class. It’s fairly ironic how alcohol is what gets them to appreciate each other. But I can’t call the idea hackneyed, because this is 1940 and this is pretty much one of the earliest films to do it.
Mike: “You can’t marry that guy.”
Tracy: “George? I’m going to..why...why not?”
Her face is always changing, but you have no idea what she means with these expressions...
Mike: “Well, I don’t know. I thought I’d be for it at first but you just don’t seem to match up.”
Tracy: “Then the fault’s with me.”
Mike: “Well, maybe so. But all the same you can’t do it.”
Ah, that smile...
Tracy: “No?”Mike: “No.”
Tracy: “Come around about noon tomorrow.”
Tracy: “I mean, today.”
Tracy: “Snob.”
Mike: “What do you mean, snob?”
Tracy: “You’re the worst kind there is – an intellectual snob. You made up your mind awfully young it seems to me.”
Mike: “Well, thirty’s about time to make up your mind and I’m nothing of the sort, not Mr. Connor.”
Tracy: “The time to make up your mind about people is never.”
That has to be the most profound line of the film, but I love how it’s dovetailed into the narrative without any sort of ceremony.
Tracy: “Yes, you are. And a complete one.”
Mike: “You’re quite a girl, aren’t you?”
Tracy: “You think?”
Mike: “Yeah, I know.”
Tracy: “Thank you, professor. I don’t think I’m exceptional.”
Mike: “You are.”
Tracy: “I know any number like me. You ought to get around more.”
Mike: “Within the upper class? No, no. No, thank you.”
Tracy: “You’re just a mass of prejudices aren’t you? You’re so much thought and so little feeling, professor. ”
There you see Tracy acting herself, she’s so hot and cold it’s sort of ridiculous but it’s working because it makes sense. Kate makes it make sense.
Mike: “Oh, I am? Am I?”
Tracy: “Yes, you am. Are you?”
That exchange always kills me.
Tracy: “Your intolerance infuriates me.”
Tracy: “I should think that of all people a writer would need tolerance. The fact is, you’ll never – you can’t be a first-rate writer or a first-rate human being until you’ve learned to have some small regard for human fr-“
Another key moment. It’s almost a carbon copy of the speech Tracy’s father gave her earlier. She’s known for her aloofness, being a goddess of bronze who has no ability to stoop to the level of those not as perfect as she. It’s the same reason she and Mike can’t work – no matter how brilliant they look together, too much prejudice. I love how she shifts from her ranting into an idling comedic bit...
Tracy: “Aren’t the geraniums pretty, professor?”
And off she walks, as if nothing has happened, I don't know how people can see The Philadelphia Story and still doubt that Katharine Hepburn was gorgeous.
Tracy: “Is it not a handsome day that begins, professor?”
Mike: “Lay off that professor.”
Tracy: “Yes, professor.”
Mike: “Oh. You’ve got all the arrogance of your class, haven’t you?”
Tracy: “Oh! What have classes to do with it? What do they matter except for the people in them? George comes from the so-called lower class, Dexter from the upper. Mac the night-watchman is a prince among men, Uncle Willie is a – pincher.”
Tracy: “Upper and lower, my eye. I’ll take the lower, thanks.”
Mike: “If you can’t get a drawing room.”
Tracy: “What do you mean by that?”
And back she goes, from sanguine to exasperated.
Mike: “My mistake.”
Tracy: “Decidedly. You’re insulting. Oh, don’t apologise.”
Mike: “Wait, who’s apologising?”
Tracy: “I never knew such a man.”
Mike: “You wouldn’t be likely to, dear; not from where you sit.”
Tracy: “Talk about arrogance.”
Mike: “Tracy.”
Tracy: “What do you want?”
Mike: “You’re wonderful.”
Brilliant shot there...
Tracy: “Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.”
No one can tell me Cate Blanchett didn’t get her laugh for The Aviator from this.
Mike: “There’s a magnificence in you, Tracy.”
The first authentic close-up of the scene, and so lovely to see.
Tracy: “Now...I’m getting self-conscious. It’s funny. I...”
Tracy: “Mike, let’s...”Mike: “Yeah.”
Tracy: “I don’t know. Go up, I guess. It’s late.”
Mike: “The magnificence that comes out of your eyes, and your voice, and the way you stand there and the way you walk. You’re lit from within, Tracy. You’ve got fires banked down in you – hearth fires and holocausts.”
Tracy: “I don’t seem to you made of bronze?”
Mike: “No, you’re made out of flesh and blood. That’s the blank on the holy surprise of it. Why, you’re the golden girl, Tracy, full of life and warmth and delight.”
Mike: “What goes on? You’ve got tears in your eyes.”
Tracy: “Shut up. Shut up. Oh, Mike, keep talking. Keep talking. Talk, will you?”
Mike: “No, no, I... I’ve stopped.”Tracy: “Why?”
Tracy: “Has your mind taken hold again, dear professor?”
Mike: “Good thing, don’t you agree?”
Tracy: “No, professor.”Mike: “All right. Lay off that professor stuff, do you hear me?”
Tracy: “Yes, professor.”
It’s so nice watching her get frazzled now, talk about role reversal...
Mike: “It’s really all I am to you, is it?”
Tracy: “Of course, professor.”
Mike: “Are you sure.”Tracy: “Why, yes – yes. Of c-”
And the kiss (about time).
Tracy: “Golly.”
Tracy: Golly Moses.”
Mike: “Tracy.”
Tracy: “Mr. Connor, Mr. Connor, Mr. Connor.”
Mike: “Tracy...”Tracy: “All of a sudden I’ve got the shakes.”
Mike: “It can’t be anything like love, can it?”Tracy: “No, no. It mustn’t be. It can’t.”Mike: “Would it be inconvenient?”Tracy: “Terribly. Anyway, I know it isn’t. Oh, Mike, we’re out of our minds.”Mike: “And right into our hearts.”Tracy: “That old-time music.”Mike: “It does, doesn’t it?”
Tracy: “...As if my insteps were melting away...What is it? Have I got feet of clay, or something?”
Mike: “Tracy...”
Tracy: “It’s not too far to the pool. It’s just over the lawn and in the birch grove. It’ll be lovely now.”
Mike: “Tracy, you’re tremendous.”
Tracy: “Put me in your pocket, Mike.”
Aren't they just lovely? Further proof that the classics did everything better...
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