Johnny Simmons

As promised, a few reposts will pop up as I prepare for examinations; this is an entry I did a few months back assessing two oldies in my top 100. I cleaned it up, and voila – the renewed essay, it's actually a bit different.

                       

When Rebel without a Cause premiered in 1955 it became a film symbolic of the troubled youths of its era. The film articulated the generation gap between the idealistic youths and their pragmatic parents focusing on James Dean’s Jimmy, an ill contented teenager, who moves with his parents, to a suburb in Los Angeles changing the town and the people there. In this way, Rebel without a Causebears striking similarities to another 1955 piece Picnic. Adapted from William Inge’s Pulitzer Prize winning drama of the same name, Picnic is less concerned with the zeitgeist emotions of Rebel without a Cause, instead focusing on how the protagonist, Hal’s, arrival in a small unnamed town precipitates actions of drama and melodrama. Yet, in its way of examining an outsider changing the society he meets Rebel without a Causeand Picnic exist as films existing similarly. Both mix realism with tinges of melodrama and both gauge the effects of the reluctant “hero” on those around him.

In many ways Rebel without a Cause is a perfect example of a film existing almost exclusively for the time in which it was made and yet managing to achieve mainstream popularity over the years. There was an unsubtle allegory to be found in James Dean’s appearance in Rebel without a Cause. Dean’s Jim was a potent deity for the youths of the fifties to revere. He was the sort of dubious hero that they were willing to idolise and emulate. Jim, after all, was the literal representation of what they felt like in society – strangers. Picnic, like Rebel without a Cause exists – completely – in its era too, but it never managed to become a hit after the fifties. Many would probably praise its ability to evoke the feeling of small-town sensibilities in the fifties, but modern audiences would probably be lost as to the relevance of it. Even though Rebel without a Cause is not necessarily a “futuristic” effort, Jim’s struggle to fit in is as relevant to contemporary teenagers as it would have been to those in the fifties. However, William Holden’s intrepid drifter’s dissonance as to whether or not he wants to exist in the peaceable small town – which is an almost stolid representative of the Eisenhower era – is not particularly modern.

It is very possible than in its attempt to examine more than just a singular plotline Picnic seems to be less personal than Rebel without a Cause. Even though Hal could be considered the protagonist, he is more of a de facto lead than a genuine one. In this way Picnic is less a story about a man and more a story about a tongue. Certainly, like Rebel without a Cause key characters are changed, oftentimes for the better, by their relations with the stranger. However, the characters in Picnic exist as creations of their own cinematic value and not just supporters to Holden’s Hal. Rosalind Russell’s Rosemary and Kim Novak’s Madge depend significantly on their reactions to Hal, but through the shades the women add to their roles we believe that they exist as independent characters in their own form. It seems different with Sal Mineo’s Plato and Natalie Wood’s Judy in Rebel without a Cause. The two cannot be accused of poor performances; they both earned deserved Oscar nominations for their performances. However Plato and Judy seem to exist primarily for the shades they add to Dean’s Jim. Thus, any character development that occurs does so only for its importance to our protagonist. It is possible that Picnic’s literary roots present the actors with more background on their characters, than the original screenplay of Rebel without a Cause.

Despite all the dramatic turmoil that ensues during the runtime, both films ends on a high note that could often be seen as far-fetched. Rebel without a Cause has thus far focused on the appalling generation gap existing between Jim and his parents and the film’s end is all together too coincidental. Despite, the “scare” his parents may have experience a connection derived from tragedy can hardly be more than tenuous. It is an unbelievable resolution that is altogether too glib to be regarded as realistic. It is the same in Picnic. It is almost ridiculous to think that after less than twenty-four hours of indolent flirting that Madge and Hal could enter into any significant romantic relationship. Picnic exacerbates the lack of realism by having another preposterous affiliation – the wedding of Rosemary and Howard. It is uncertain if William Inge’s original play was trying to be some revelatory analysis of the absurdity of American life in era. Whatever the play’s intent may have been the smoothness with which Joshua Logan treats the marriage and the romantic way in which he shapes the union of Madge and Hal only accentuates what could hardly be more than an ephemeral union.

When examining classics critics often ask whether a particular film has aged well. I do not think the problem with Picnic is that it has not aged well; it is just obviously a play and one that exists resolutely in its era. Perhaps, Picnic is one of those films that depend on the audience’s mindset. It is not necessarily one of formidable cinematic proficiency. Yet, it exists as a valiant effort. It is decidedly sentimental, but its sentimentality is not cringe worthy. Rebel without a Causeis often remembered as the important classic from its era, and its ability to speak to the modern audience despite its age is significant. Nonetheless, in examining the notion of a stranger in a small town both films exist as noteworthy efforts from 1955.

                          

Any thoughts on Picnic or Rebel Without A Cause? I prefer the latter, it does appear at #49 on my list of favourites and the latter appears at #57. Sure, they’re faulty but I have a soft spot for them – obviously. Which do you prefer?

When I think of the loveliness that is David Lean’s excellent Summertime I always turn immediately to the ending. We watch the beautiful Katharine Hepburn, old and yet young, as she waves a heart wrenching goodbye to her suitor who will never be able to give her the flower he picked specially for the occasion. Few cinematic moments so sedate make me tear up as much. I’m not sure if I’m tearing up at the sincerity of the story, or the fact that Hepburn and Lean’s excellent production is all but forgotten today. Kate has rarely been as girlishly enchanting, and no piece of Lean leaves me praising his authenticity as much, but I’m usually alone on both counts…and when Lean has been known for sprawling epics like Dr. Zhivago, and Lawrence of Arabia. and The Bridge on the River Kawi…I suppose I should be able to understand.

Summertime is a film where nothing much really happens and yet everything does. Katharine plays Violet, an aging spinster who finally saves up the money to go to Italy for that holiday of bohemian rhapsody she has dreamed so much of. She’s simultaneously at bliss and out of place in the sensuality of the surroundings, and this is all the more exacerbated by her introduction to the similarly sensual Renato a philandering shop owner. Out of this certain attraction between the two a tentative romance grows that’s beautiful to watch. Never has Kate’s femininity been as piercing on screen and opposite the completely Italian Rossano Brazzi, and shot by Lean’s meticulous dedication she is a joy to watch. I can’t think of writing about this film without remembering this post which (objectively) assesses all that is good – and admittedly bad – in Summertime. But, really, I’m torn when I watch it. Is it Hepburn the actress faltering in moments of uncertainty or is it Jane Hudson, the woman, unsure of her place in Italy? It’s strange, Jane is completely unlike our perceptions of Kate and yet Jane seems decidedly like Kate…or a variation of Kate (which is all the same).

It’s the sort of masochistic tendency I have, where I’m unable to appreciate the few tenuous moments of bliss in the narrative but, instead, revel in those moments where Kate’s Jane is at her lowest. Kate is known for comedy, deservedly so – but her skills as a straight dramatic actor are vastly underrated. Her technique is not that of the chameleon, but Jane – someone so generically normal – seems like a special creature in her hands. Sure, it’s the very issue that makes The Rainmaker somewhat of a mixed bag. But, the thing is, Summertime is a stronger narrative. Incidentally, Summertime was adapted into a musical (Do I Hear A Waltz?) as was The Rainmaker (1110 in the Shade) – I can’t speak for the former but the stodginess of The Rainmaker is imprvod by music… but me and by digressions…back to Italy. It’s the mark of our ideology that spinster is a dirty word, while bachelor is a suave term – but Kate’s embodiment of spinsters in the fifties (Jane, Lizzie, Rose) represents a time where the word is not a representation of something perverse but winningly noble. It’s not that Jane is such a perfect creature, but it’s Summertime is about more than making moral judgments on the characters…

It’s remembered mostly for Kate’s disastrous fall into the Canal (the body double failed to stand up “straight enough” for her), and strangely the fall is one of the few moments where Kate seems completely uninhibited – to a fault. Jane is not comfortable in her life of singledom as the officious Rose and it’s the moments of disconcertment that make her special – something that Kate gets right more often than not. Summertime is probably the perfect example of what a sentimental favourite is. But that realisation doesn’t make me appreciate any less…it’s #19 on my list of favourite films.
         
Have you seen Kate in this...or do you prefer another David Lean piece?