Twelve movies

[One to four stars. Four sentences each. No spoilers. Sources: Criterion Channel, TCM, YouTube.]

The Deep Blue Sea (dir. Terence Davies, 2011). From the Terence Rattigan play, the story of a passionate woman (Rachel Weisz) caught between the devil and the deep blue sea, or two unsatisfactory alternatives: her marriage to a devoted, older, unexciting judge (Simon Russell Beale) or an affair with a reckless former RAF pilot who seems incapable of love (Tom Hiddleston). Strong overtones of Anna Karenina, which I trust are intended. In Davies fashion, the story arrives in pieces, one reality dissolving into another. The best moment belongs to Mrs. Elton, the landlady (Ann Mitchell), who speaks of what real love is: “It’s wiping someone’s ass or changing the sheets when they’ve wet themselves, and letting ’em keep their dignity so you can both go on.” ★★★★ (CC)

*

Side Street (dir. Anthony Mann, 1949). I’ve written about this movie in several posts. It’s a perfect short noir. What I especially noticed this time: everyman Joe Norson (Farley Granger), having acted impulsively, madly, becomes something of a child in need of soothing care, even as his wife (Cathy O’Donnell) has just given birth to their son. Jean Hagen and Paul Kelly steal the movie: she, as an alcoholic singer; he, as a police captain flipping intercom switches and snapping orders. ★★★★ (TCM)

*

The Scarlet Hour (dir. Michael Curtiz, 1956). A noirish melodrama with overtones of Double Indemnity and Sunset Boulevard. The main ingredients of the somewhat wobbly plot: an increasingly risky affair between a real-estate developer’s wife (Carol Ohmart) and his top salesman (Tom Tryon), a furtive tryst on a country road, a heist scheme overheard, and a heist gone wrong. As the developer, James Gregory is alternately brutal and conciliatory; as the developer’s wife, Carol Ohmart suggests Phyllis Dietrichson’s icy calculation and Norma Desmond’s desperation. It’s fun to see Edward Binns, Nat “King” Cole, David Lewis (an exec in The Apartment), E.G. Marshall, Elaine Stritch (who hated the movie), and “Tom” Tryon, whom I know as Thomas Tryon, as I wrote a book report on his novel The Other in tenth grade. ★★★ (YT)

*

So Ends Our Night (dir. John Cromwell, 1941). “This is a story of the people without passports”: Fredric March, Glenn Ford, and Margaret Sullavan as three German refugees, the first a political dissident, the other two Jewish, now moving from country to country, always in danger of discovery and deportation because they lack the necessary documents. It’s especially painful to see Ford’s and Sullavan’s characters dream of a life in the United States when we know how the odds would have been stacked against that. The movie’s one weakness might be its ultra-episodic organization, but the director is telling a big story, and the constant shifts in scene and tone reflect the unpredictability of life without a home: things happen. Ford and Sullavan are especially good here, and Leonid Kinskey and Erich von Stroheim add comedy and menace to the proceedings. ★★★★ (TCM)

[Ulrich Alexander Boschwitz’s novel The Passenger would make a great complement to this movie.]

*

Cage of Evil (dir. Edward L. Cahn, 1960). Eddie Mueller apologized for this one. It is pretty bad, but, alas, not bad enough to be good — just stupid. Scott Harper (Ronald Foster), a cop improbably headed for a promotion, and Holly Taylor (Pat Blair), a crook’s girl, get together in an improbable scheme to make off with some uncut diamonds. With a dopey voiceover by John Maxwell as Foster’s superior, a brief appearance by Robert Shayne (Inspector Henderson from Adventures of Superman), and one awkwardly funny moment when Scott is surprised to meet up with his fellow cops as he’s about to sell the diamonds. ★ (TCM)

*

The Iron Curtain (dir. William Wellman, 1948). A story of espionage and renunciation, from the memoirs of Igor Gouzenko, told in semi-documentary style with a voiceover by Reed Hadley. Dana Andrews is Gouzenko, a code expert working at the Soviet embassy in Ottawa; Gene Tierney is his wife Anna. When Igor (with help from Anna) begins to recognize the shared humanity of his Canadian neighbors, he makes a decision that puts him and his relatives back home in danger. With music from Russian composers and stylish shadows from cinematographer Charles G.Clarke. ★★★★ (YT)

*

My Cousin Rachel (dir. Henry Koster, 1952). From a novel by Daphne Du Maurier: gothic noir, with cliffs, a great house by the sea, overtones of Hamlet (and Rebecca), and ambiguities that never resolve. Olivia de Haviland is Rachel Ashley, widow of Ambrose Ashley (John Sutton), the beloved guardian and cousin of Philip Ashley (Richard Burton). Philip suspects Rachel of killing Ambrose in Italy, but finds himself falling in love with her when she comes to visit the great house in England. De Haviland and Burton are superb: a cool cipher and a younger man utterly besotted. ★★★★ (YT)

*

Chicago Confidential (dir. Sidney Salkow, 1957) I chose it after seeing that the first scene was shot on location. But that was false advertising; all other locations are on sets. The movie tells a story of racketeers taking over a union (the Workers National Brotherhood, which seems like a thinly disguised version of the Teamsters) and using any means necessary to establish their authority. Four pluses: a nerdy demonstration of voice analysis via oscilloscope, an impressionist’s nightclub act, a spirited performance from Beverly Garland (Barbara Harper Douglas on My Three Sons), and a moment straight from The 39 Steps, which I am happy to have predicted. ★★ (YT)

*

Take My Life (dir. Ronald Neame, 1947). From the magical year 1947, a Hitchcockian story of a man wrongly accused of murder (Hugh Williams) and his wife’s (Greta Gynt) effort to establish his innocence. The musical backdrop — she’s an opera singer, he’s her manager — matters little, save for one melody, found on a sheet of music paper in a suitcase. The movie drags in the middle but quickens considerably when the story moves from London to Scotland. The near-duplication of a scene from Shadow of a Doubt is astonishing in its shamelessness. ★★★ (IA)

*

Exposed (dir. George Blair, 1947). A Republic Picture, with Adele Mara as private detective B. Prentice. A dumb effort with some snappy patter. “He’s a bad egg, honey.” “Don’t worry — I’ll scramble him.” ★★ (YT)

*

Moss Rose (dir. Gregory Ratoff, 1947). Victorian noir: Peggy Cummins (Gun Crazy) as a chorus girl in Victorian England who finds her friend and fellow dancer dead, with a Bible and a moss rose on her night table. But whodunit? With Victor Mature as a suave foreign-looking gentleman, Patricia Medina as his jealous fiancée, and Ethel Barrymore as his mother. And Vincent Price as a Scotland Yard inspector with extensive knowledge of flowers. ★★★★ (YT)

*

The Baron of Arizona (dir. Samuel Fuller, 1950). Based on the true story of James Reavis, who laid fraudulent claim to the territory of Arizona. Vincent Price is Reavis, an arrogant, slick fabulator, and any resemblance to any present-day fabulator is pure coincidence. With Beulah Bondi, Ellen Drew, and Reed Hadley as a narrator and character. Exciting to see a movie in which ink is a crucial plot element. ★★★ (CC)

Related reading
All OCA movie posts (Pinboard)

WWDFWS

A remarkable premise: a VR headset that kills the user after a lost game. What would David Foster Wallace say?

Related reading
All OCA DFW posts (Pinboard)

[Readers of Infinite Jest will recall “the Entertainment.”]

Mystery actor

[Click for a larger if not more helpful view.]

I couldn’t resist. But I’m guessing that someone will know who’s under wraps here. Leave your answer in the comments. I’ll drop a hint if one is needed.

Here’s a hint before I head out for a walk: when the bandages come off, he’ll have a new life and the face of a famous actor.

*

All is now revealed in the comments, with a link to a screenshot without bandages.

More mystery actors
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Today’s Nancy

In today’s Nancy, repurposed Halloween decorations. I wonder if the rainbow is meaningful.

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About last night

In Illinois: we have a Democratic governor, lieutenant governor, attorney general, &c. Voters approved a constitutional amendment guaranteeing workers the right to organize and bargain collectively. (No thanks to downstate voters there.) Two friends of ours were reelected to the county board (the only Democrats). And we still have Mary Miller to disgrace us on the national stage (though her pal Lauren Boebert may be on her way out).

The national news last night was good, at least better than many people expected. Elaine and I stayed up late enough to hear John Fetterman speak. This morning I noticed a tweet from Asha Rangappa:

Maybe the GOP will realize that Trump getting indicted and going to jail may not be a bad thing.

And with Letitia James and Kathy Hochul reelected, there’d be no pardon to await in New York State.

Carrying a torch

From the latest installment of Heather Cox Richardson’s Letters from an American, posted thirty-three minutes ago:

I just got a text from a Gen Z voter in Michigan who has been in line to vote for more than an hour and predicts he will be there hours more. He has no intention of leaving. If there is an obvious story from today with results still unknown, it is this: a new generation is picking up the torch of our democracy.

Dialogue and the comma

At CMOS Shop Talk, Carol Sallers asked, “Is a Comma Needed to Introduce Dialogue?” And she answered, “Yes, at least sometimes.”

I will happily admit that this question of punctuation has always baffled me, and I’ve done my best — and will continue to do my best — to avoid having to face it. But I’m saving the link for future reference.

Two sentences Sallers wonders about:

Kat set the painting on the windowsill, muttering “One more to go.”

Kat set the painting on the windowsill, muttering, “One more to go.”

And she concludes — rightly, I’d say — that either way is fine.

When I taught writing, I would have called the second comma in that sentence a comma of seasoning. Put it in? Fine. Leave it out? Fine. Your call. Just be sure not to skimp on the garlic.

Related reading
All OCA punctuation posts (Pinboard)

A new Swann in Love

From Pushkin Press, Swann in Love, translated by Lucy Raitz and billed by the publisher as “the perfect introduction to one of the world’s great novelists.” The Washington Post has a review (caution: it’s all spoilers).

I dunno: I’d think of “Combray,” the first section of Swann’s Way, as the perfect introduction to Proust. After all, it’s the beginning to the novel, and it gives the reader the madeleine, which to my mind is all one needs to want to keep going.

Here is the first paragraph of “Un amour de Swann,” as translated by Raitz and by Lydia Davis:

[Lucy Raitz, 2022.]

[Lydia Davis, 2004.]

And the original:

[Marcel Proust, 1913.]

What do you notice?

Related reading
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[I’ve omitted note numbers for Planté, Rubinstein, and Potain from both translations.]

No FOXES

The New York Times now as a Wordle editor, Tracy Bennett. And the game will have a Times-made word list and a new rule: no -es or -s plural forms of three- or four-letter words. Thus no FOXES, only CACTI, GEESE, &c.

QAnon conjecture

Elaine noted that we don’t see as many tabloid psychics as we once did. Where have all the psychics gone?

It occurred to me that they’ve been replaced by QAnon, which allows everyone to tell the future. And the bizarre celebrity content that’s become part of QAnon fabulism — JFK Jr., Dale Earnhardt, Michael Jackson, Robin Williams, all spotted or expected in Dealey Plaza last November — adds a strong tabloid flavor to the political lunacy. Remember Elvis sightings?

I have neither the time nor the interest to pursue this conjecture. But I think it’s plausible.