Film Reviews by Steve

There's something about silent cinema which promotes performances which have become mythic. And Louise Brooks as the tragic courtesan Lulu, falling slowly through hedonistic Weimar Berlin, is one of these. Brooks was monolingual and from Wichita, Kansas, so... a long way from home. But she flawlessly captures the spirit of capricious, sensual spontaneity.

Lulu is a waif who only has her sexuality to exploit to survive. She leads a coterie of crooked oddballs who also get by in the only ways they know. She has become rated as a feminist symbol. My feeling is the film- adapted from a pair of plays by Frank Wedekind- is more broadly critical of inequality, and the hypocrisy of German bourgeois society.

Now, at least to non-German audiences, it's GW Pabst's film which most represents the divine decadence of '20s Germany. Even though Wedekind's play dates from 1904. There is a prominent lesbian character. Lulu is compulsively promiscuous. Society is divided between the ostentatious excesses of the wealthy and the crimes of the poor. Even Louise's hairstyle is an icon of the period.

Lulu is both a femme fatale and a victim, and Brooks plays that ambiguity like a virtuoso. In London she meets Jack the Ripper and the whole bundle suddenly feels like fan fiction! Though this episode allows Pabst to adopt some welcome expressionism. He even seems to sanctify her! But Brooks legendary performance always transcends these moments of phoney melodramatics.

Fritz Lang's science fiction epic was way ahead of its time and its set design and state of the art effects still look sensational. This is an art deco metropolis of the future, from the pristine skyscrapers where the decadent heirs of the wealthy frolic at leisure. To the underworld where the workers toil like human machines.

Control is maintained by a corporate oligarchy through surveillance. Gustav Fröhlich plays the son of the chief administrator, who falls in love with the leader of the resistance (Brigitte Helm). Could he be the mediator the rebels are waiting for, to bring the two worlds together? The politics are crucial to the interwar period; the need to connect the division between capital and labour.

The story was written by Lang's wife, Thea von Harbou, who became an enthusiastic fascist. And it's easy to understand the Nazis' fascination with this film and its theme of political destiny. But it is principally a '20's blockbuster, which became hugely influential within cinema and the wider culture. There are many legendary scenes, like the creation of the man-machine (also Helm).

As new prints have been discovered, the running time has been extended. It's now restored to the original 150 minutes. Maybe it's time for a trim! The last third is spectacular, but doesn't add much to our understanding, and is too melodramatic. The political theme is still relevant. However, its greatness stands on the most impressive vision of a futureworld in cinema.

Relentlessly austere but mesmeric account of the trial and execution of Joan of Arc at Rouen in 1431 during the Hundred Years' War. It's a classic French silent directed by the Danish Carl Th. Dreyer based on transcripts of the trial. And it has become a critics favourite, invariably in the top 10 of the Sight and Sound poll.

It is most memorable for the high contrast photography, shot on bare white sets, with the actors almost entirely in extreme close up. And for Maria Falconetti's harrowing, mythic title performance. The main impression the film leaves is of her agonised face. At first it conveys rapture, and then fear and finally a tenuous acceptance. There is nothing else like it in cinema.

A curiosity of the film is that it is silent, when the most of the narrative is her trial, and therefore spoken. There are a lot of title cards. It must cross everyone's minds what this film would be if it used the emerging sound technology. The price would have been more restricted camera movement. But what we get is an incredible intensity which builds to an ecstasy of faith.

It can be approached as a document of a historic event; though it is silent, there is an impression of authenticity. But that isn't exactly the spirit of Dreyer's creation because this is an ambient experience which the audience feels personally. And credit for this must be extended to Falconetti, who seems to transcend the limits of the screen, in her only film role. 

This could easily have been conceived as a sequel to Fritz Lang's 1922 hit Dr. Mabuse, the Gambler. The head of the criminal underworld is still played by Rudolf Klein Rogge- situated somewhere between Professor Moriarty and a Bond villain. The main differences are a lower budget and a much lighter tone. This has the feel of an adventure serial, all cliffhangers and last second escapes.

Middle Europe in the years between the wars has drifted into an uneasy peace monetised by parasitic gangs. There is a lot of McGuffin about a peace treaty, but this is really a vehicle for the spy plot motifs; the invisible writing, the disguises and '20s surveillance technology. Most of the action is loaded into the climax. Earlier scenes are sustained by the attractive romantic leads.

Willy Fritsch has a lot of debonaire charm as the action man of national security. And Gerda Maurus is drop dead gorgeous as the hired spook who turns legit. The camera plainly loves her, but then she was having an affair with the director. German expressionism has been replaced by a more realistic look and a procedural approach, but it's still stylish, with outlandish plot twists.

Buzzers are constantly triggered which connect with the '30s thrillers of Alfred Hitchcock. Most startlingly when the female lead is manoeuvred into bondage... Hitch took plenty from this. Spione is not usually pitched as one of Lang's best silents, and there are longueurs early on, but it's ultimately an exciting action-suspense film set in an interwar Germany of intrigue and conspiracy.

This is absolutely integral to the history of the horror film, though made at the dawn of the genre. It was adapted from Bram Stoker's 1897 novel, Dracula. But without permission, so the names and locations are changed. This is the tale of Count Orlok who travels from his castle in Transylvania to the medieval town of Wisborg in 1838, leaving a trail of pestilence and death.

The narrative alterations are improvements. This is really pacy, with no dead ends. It's German expressionism, but the sets are relatively realistic, only the Count's castle is distorted. It is mostly shot in real locations. FW Murnau creates a sense of unease with camera effects and the shadows. But primarily through his star, Max Schrek as the hideous, rodent-like vampire.

He is the ultimate monster in cinema; grotesque and parasitic and folkloric. The journey by ship is disturbing, as he feeds on the crew, slowly draining them all. On arrival, he is the only survivor and he and his cargo of rats go to work on the local population. The Count is an astonishingly voracious killer. More like a disease than a creature. There are moments of breathtaking horror.

And the conclusion- not from the novel- is very satisfying. Murnau creates a supernatural world which is oddly relatable; like a glimpsed memory of a childhood nightmare. Famously, the courts ordered all prints must be destroyed at the behest of Stoker's estate! What was saved is a strong candidate for the best horror film ever made.

Paul Wegener was crazy for this traditional Jewish folk tale. He made three golem films in the silent era and planned others for many years afterwards. And as well as co-writing and co-directing, he starred in the title role too! He plays the clay figure who is animated by the chief Rabbi (Albert Steinrück) to save his people from persecution.

This is German expressionism, so the most striking feature is the ambient set decoration. It's supposed to be Prague in the middle ages, but is so unrealistic it can't really be pinned to any time or place. The ghetto has a peculiar organic look, as if carved out of rock. It's tempting to suggest it's like nothing else in films, except the 1968 original of Planet of the Apes surely borrows from this.

And the early Universal horrors take inspiration too. Like Frankenstein, made in 1931, it's about a maverick creating a living thing, and, by over-reaching their human limits, causing destruction. Admittedly, that makes them both part of a much wider tradition, but James Whale specifically refers back to The Golem throughout his horror classic. Most obviously the meeting of the monster with a little girl.

It was photographed by Karl Freund who performed the same role on Dracula, also in '31. He was famous for his pioneering moving camera techniques. But this was obviously before then! The camera doesn't move a centimetre... The effects are rudimentary, but typical of the period. It's a must for students of German expressionism, but maybe more interesting than entertaining. 

Comedy-thriller set in a rundown hotel in North Africa during WWII which keeps changing hands as the armies of Montgomery and Rommel advance and retreat. A British soldier (Franchot Tone) wanders in from the Sahara just as the Germans arrive, and assumes the persona of a dead waiter, who turns out to have been a Nazi spy imbedded while the British were last in control.

The film starts with a stark and pessimistic image of the campaign so far, as a British tank full of dead soldiers moves randomly through the dunes. The main thrust is propaganda, as Tone persuades a French, pro-Nazi maid (Anne Baxter) to side with the Allies. Erich von Stroheim plays Erwin Rommel as a stiff, aloof, hubristic Prussian aristocrat.

Most of the comedy is entrusted to Akim Tamiroff as the anxious, baffled but well meaning Egpytian hotel boss, in a fez. The McGuffin of where the Germans have buried their fuel dumps is slight but effective. The story ends with the British sweeping back into town and a moving reminder of the sacrifices that winning the war would entail as we discover the maid was shot by Rommel's men.

The fascists are portrayed as efficient and ruthless, not the fools they appeared in the British comedies of the war years. This has the rich production values those films couldn't dream of. The b&w photography is gorgeous. While it is a diversion, it is a handsome suspense film, and a morale booster that leaves its audience with optimism that the tide of the war has turned.

This follows a platoon of US infantry in WWII, from landing on a beach at Salerno to their primary objective, the seizing of a heavily defended farmhouse six miles away. Which they achieve through great loss of life. It is understated, and unheroic for a US war film. There is no propaganda. Much of the time, the men are waiting, or glimpsing distant flashes of combat.

Yet, it is theatrical. There are three narrative voices on the soundtrack, including a sung commentary of ballads. The constant impassive crosstalk of the soldiers is intended to be realistic; they rarely talk of the danger of their situation, but repeat verbal leitmotifs,  which are usually ironic: "You kill me', 'Nobody dies'. This chorus feels unreal and dreamlike and literary.

 Despite this, many returning soldiers said this best captured their experiences. They walk from the beach to the assignment as members of their group are picked off. The Lieutenant dies on the landing craft and his second in command becomes incapacitated through fear. Dana Andrews stands out as the pragmatic Sergeant suddenly thrust into the role of leader.

 This is another WWII film that brings together an ensemble of many ethnic and social groups.They capture the farmhouse bravely, but the stress of constant danger is unsustainable. It's a weary, noirish film which feels appropriate for men who have been at war for three years with no impression of how it will end. It is one of the best Hollywood combat film made in the war years .

This is a companion to William Wellman's The Ox-Bow Incident (1942), sharing the same writer and some of the cast, as well as its laconic style, abstract studio sets and absence of music. There is a different photographer, but similarly stark, ominous high contrast black and white. It's a fascinating, schematic heist narrative, from a story by WR Burnett.

Six men (Gregory Peck, Richard Widmark, et al) rob a bank and are chased into the salt desert of Death Valley. Rather than give themselves up, they continue into the barren, hostile wilderness. As their resilience gives way the outlaws stumble on a ghost town occupied by an old gold prospector (James Barton) and his rugged grand-daughter (Anne Baxter).

 It unfolds like a medieval parable. The men destroy themselves as their desire for the gold and the woman open up their already significant divisions. It's really an anti-western. The men are ruined by their individualism, and the only survivor is Gregory Peck, the gunman who develops the capacity to compromise and not be ruled by impulse.

Predictably Peck plays the tough leader who develops some integrity and Widmark is the cruel, mercenary killer. There's little dialogue, just the visual impact of the derelict shacks huddled in the desert as the men betray each other. It's the sombre mood and melancholy cynicism that linger. It's one of the first of the western noirs to emerge after WWII, and one of the best.

This is the western as political history. Of course it is fictionalised to fit an acceptable narrative, but it is a biopic of Tom Jeffords (James Stewart) a US army scout who constructed a relationship with Cochise (Jeff Chandler) leader of the Apaches in 1861, which was instrumental in ending the war in Arizona. Clearly, it's Hollywood history and primarily an entertainment.

It condemns America's western expansion for ethical reasons as well as for the entrenched racism- which more reflects US values after WWII. It recognises the Apaches' strength as warriors and stresses that they were a civilised and principled people, even compared to American imperialists. It treats their culture as worthy of respect.

There was location shoot in Arizona, in Technicolor. It's a vivid spectacle full of well staged action scenes. As so often, Stewart is able to mute the heroics and reveal the common man within the hero. Chandler is dignified and charismatic and plays Cochise as a philosopher-warrior. Debra Paget is appealing as Jeffords' Apache love interest. .

It reflects on the perspectives of both the indigenous people and the settlers. James Stewart has to do a lot of editorialising to draw out the nuances of their relative positions. Roughnecks on either side threaten the treaty. It humanises the Native Americans and acknowledges that greed and corruption are the instruments which will overwhelm Apache traditions, and their territory.

The Baron (Herbert Marshall) and the Countess (Miriam Hopkins), share a romantic supper in his swanky hotel in Venice. But they soon they tumble each other as fellow con artists. After they have returned the trinkets they lifted from each other, they move to Paris as a duo and steal a diamond covered handbag from a rich perfumer (Kay Francis).

Marshall finagles a job as the tycoon's secretary and develops romantic feelings for her while embezzling a fortune from the company. But Hopkins wants him for herself. It's a love triangle, except two of the lovers are kleptomaniacs trying to gyp the third, and each other.

Marshall is very much at home in Ernst Lubitsch's Paris.  But it's Hopkins film, in a performance that goes a long way to establishing a female archetype of the screwball comedy, with her mix of the ditzy, impulsive and volatile.  

The dialogue is charming and witty and the farce is adorable. But it's also a comedy of manners which refers to Trotsky and the wages of the poor. Surprising and imaginative at every twist this is the last word on the sophisticated comedy which was Lubitsch's gift, set in the romantic destinations of Europe, places of irony, charade and repartee. And scandal. 

Musical version of Anita Loos' durable 1925 novel, via the Broadway stage. It's updated from the jazz age to the 1950s. Marilyn Monroe and Jane Russell are two showgals from Little Rock, Arkansas. Monroe is a gold-digger, Russell a sort of she-wolf. They sail to Paris with the red blooded boys from the US olympics team, and an elderly gent (Charles Coburn) who owns a goldmine.

Predictable chaos ensues. Neither Monroe nor Russell were dancers and they kind of wiggle and sway through the scenes in synchronicity, singing half a dozen pretty good musical numbers, including the legendary showstopper, Diamonds Are a Girl's Best Friend.

There's a very funny script by Charles Lederer, heavy with innuendo, and Howard Hawks is a legendary comedy director.  But the film shines because of the two stars. They make dazzling, glittery magic, particularly Monroe, playing a sort of distorted femininity.  Its look probably influenced the future of drag more than mainstream chic. 

 It's completely weightless, and its values are materialistic, mercenary and soulless. But it is hilarious, irreverent and unique. It made Monroe a major star as the good time blonde. What she does here, I'm not sure it's acting at all, or even sexy. But as far as the Hollywood comedy is concerned, she heralds the hedonistic, consumerist '50s.

This is a vehicle for Charles Laughton's ripe comic talents.  He is Ruggles, a valet won in a game of poker by a tycoon from the US west, (Charles Ruggles, channeling Walter Brennan) from an English aristocrat (Roland Young).  It's a fish-out-of-water comedy, but there is also a little propaganda, as the inhibited servant finds freedom and equality in the new world.

There is plenty of Ernst Lubitsch in the premise (and Young and Ruggles are among his regulars) but Leo McCarey paints with a broader brush and a heavier touch. He even has Laughton quite solemnly reciting the Gettysburg Address!

 The earlier scenes are the funniest, as the wife of Laughton's new employer (Mary Boland) tries to get Ruggles to gentrify her reluctant spouse, mocking the (supposed) vulgar pretensions of Americans abroad. Eventually, Ruggles finds dignity in the American west and escapes the control of those in who would exploit his compliance.  

Laughton and Young give most unusual performances, almost catatonic, so inhibited are they in their feudal relationship. They are both damaged by their dependence on each other and their fatalistic belief that this is inevitable. Laughton's acting is a matter of personal taste, but this is his best comedy.

 This is one of the Laurel and Hardy scenarios in which they have jobs, their own homes, and wives, which always feels a stretch because they are incapable of carrying out even the simplest of instructions. We never find out what their work is, only they want to go to their fraternity's yearly convention to make business connections!

Which of course, their wives will not allow. The duo inhabit a domestic world of bullying and fear. Ollie's wife (Mae Busch) is often wielding a big knife and Stan's other half (Dorothy Christie) invariably holding a huge rifle for killing ducks. They go anyway and inevitably get found out. Ollie is punished ruthlessly, with crockery.  

As ever, it's the characters of Stan and Ollie and the comic performances of the great stars that are the best parts of the film; their clowning, their optimism, their aspirations and their inevitable failures justified by the pair through the distorting lens of self delusion.    

There's a good script and Charlie Chase is memorable as the drunk, middle aged practical joker they get lumbered with at the convention. Busch spars well with Ollie, and Christy is really quite scary. Laurel and Hardy often suffered with inauspicious directors and meagre budgets, but this is among their finest.

Low budget film noir with Helen Walker as an unfaithful wife who schemes have her rich husband (Brian Donlevy) murdered during a car trip. When her lover/accomplice fails to complete the kill and is consumed in the flames of a crash with a petrol truck, everyone assumes it is Donlevy's burned corpse at the scene of the accident.

While the concussed, amnesiac husband stumbles into a small town in Idaho to work as a mechanic for the tomboyish Ella Raines, Walker is busted by a smart Irish cop (Charles Coburn) and goes on trial for a murder that never happened.

Impact demonstrates how robust are the conventions of film noir. It's a reshuffling of noir archetypes and situations, made by a minor director and crew with a B standard cast. But it's still very entertaining, with plenty of atmosphere and strong performances.

Donlevy is fine as a schmuck that gets played for a sap, and Raines lifts the second half as the down to earth good girl who contrasts with Walker's glamorous femme fatale. Arthur Lubin was a lifelong director of support features, but he could turn out a pacy thriller and he handles the narrative well.  Film noir rarely lets you down.