Showing posts with label Movies. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Movies. Show all posts

Monday, March 19, 2012

The Naked Spur, dir. Anthony Mann (1953)


"I'm takin' him back and I'm gonna do it alone," he says.  His eyes are hard and wary as he raises the two revolvers in his hands.  He looks like a cornered, angry, frightened animal.  I almost can't believe my eyes, but sure enough: that's Jimmy Stewart.


The Naked Spur is the third and best of five excellent Westerns that James Stewart made in the 50's with director Anthony Mann.  With these films and the ones that he made with Alfred Hitchcock, Stewart got to demonstrate his range as an actor and add dimension and complexity to his screen persona.  That's especially true of this film, which features one of his best performances and probably his meanest.

From the first moment Stewart appears, he looks tense, edgy, nervous. All but gone are his trademark mannerisms: the boyish charm, the stammers, the drawl, the easy-going demeanor.  I can almost picture someone like Humphrey Bogart playing this role instead.  Seeing that nice guy from those Frank Capra movies, though, makes the viewer wonder--what the hell happened to this man?  What's he going to do?  What is he capable of doing?


Stewart plays Howard Kemp, a bitter, disillusioned Civil War veteran turned bounty hunter.  He's pursuing an outlaw named Ben Vandergroat (Robert Ryan), who's wanted in Kansas for killing a marshal.  He hopes to use the $5,000 reward on Ben's head to buy back the cattle ranch he lost during the war.





Catching Ben isn't easy.  Circumstances force Kemp to accept help from two strangers: hard-luck prospector Jesse Tate (Millard Mitchell) and slick Roy Anderson (Ralph Meeker), who's fresh from a dishonorable discharge from the U.S. Cavalry.  Once they catch Ben, the two men find out about the reward and demand a share of it.  Complicating matters further is Lina Patch (Janet Leigh), a fiesty young woman who has been travelling with Ben.  As the five characters journey back to Kansas, Ben uses Lina to start turning his captors against each other.  He plants seeds of doubt and suspicion, plays on each man's fears and desires and watches for a chance to escape.



It's appropriate, given James Stewart's turn to the dark side here, that each of his four co-stars has at least one great film noir on his or her resume.  Millard Mitchell appeared as a tough, weathered truck driver in Jules Dassin's 1949 crime film Thieves' Highway (he also appeared in the first Stewart-Mann collaboration, 1950's Winchester '73).  Here, he does quite well at conveying his character's overall genial, straightforward nature.  Jesse's clearly not cut out for work like this or for people like these, but he's tired of searching for gold and coming up empty.  As the film progresses, fear and greed override his better judgment and seal his fate.



In some ways, Ralph Meeker's performance in this film feels like a warm-up for the one he'd give two years later as Mike Hammer in Robert Aldrich's Kiss Me Deadly.  He's perfect as Roy, a smug, sly, vain, cocky bastard with a vicious streak.  You wonder how this creep could've lasted in the Army long enough to become a lieutenant.  Maybe he slept with a general's wife or blackmailed the teachers at his military academy.




Janet Leigh was caught in the middle of a bitter vendetta between Robert Ryan and Van Heflin in Fred Zinnemann's 1949 film Act of Violence.  She would go on to star in Orson Welles' Touch of Evil in 1958 (and, of course, Alfred Hitchcock's Psycho in 1960).  And last but most certainly not least, Robert Ryan starred in some of the greatest noirs ever: not only Act of Violence, but Crossfire, The Set Up, On Dangerous Ground and Odds Against Tomorrow, to name just a few.  For much of the late 40's and 50's, Ryan earned his daily bread playing violent, anti-social misfits and bigots (ironically, he was an exemplary man off-screen--an ardent supporter of the civil rights movement, nuclear disarmament and the ACLU).  Ben Vandergroat could have been tailor-made for him: he's a cold-blooded sociopath who hides behind a laid-back, grinning veneer.





You couldn't get a better director for this cast and this material than Anthony Mann.  Before turning to Westerns, Mann directed a series of intense, visually stunning crime thrillers that helped define what we think of as film noir (I'll probably write about some of these in later posts).  He had, as Eddie Muller wrote in his book Dark City, "an unsurpassed feel for stories in which vile human nature put the screws to people seeking calm, rational lives."  By imbuing his Westerns with his visceral, sometimes brutal style and vision, Mann helped pave the way for the work of people like Sergio Leone, Sam Peckinpah and Clint Eastwood.





As grim and as violent as the world of Mann's films can be, however, it isn't completely devoid of redemption, compassion and community.  Rather, it's as if, with so much darkness around, the light shines that much brighter.  This is why, while the men's performances are excellent and crucial to the success of The Naked Spur, Janet Leigh's performance may be the most important.


Leigh's character Lina originally came to Kansas hoping to live with her father.  When she found that he'd been killed (while trying to rob a bank, we infer), she was taken in by his good friend, Ben.  Smart, spunky, tough yet vulnerable, Lina serves as the moral compass for the film.  Over the course of the movie, her allegiance shifts from Ben to Kemp as she discovers the true nature of each man.

This shift begins subtly.  When Roy sets off a gunfight with a party of Indians (they started hunting him after he raped their chief's daughter), Kemp protects her.  She returns the favor by pulling him to safety after he gets shot in the leg.  She also nurses him when he falls unconscious from his wound.




As Lina stays up all night tending to Kemp, the change truly begins.  He grows delirious and starts to think that she's Mary, the woman he loved who betrayed him, sold his ranch and used the money to run off with another man.  Lina plays the part in order to soothe him and keep him calm.  Leigh's delicate handling of this scene allows us to infer that a seed is being planted in her character's mind as she takes on this role: Lina has taken one step away from Ben and toward Kemp.
In the scenes that follow, Leigh conveys largely through looks, nuances in her tone and little gestures that her character is warming more and more to this man.  Kemp responds in kind, and we see some of the Jimmy Stewart we recognize start to come back.  Thanks to the skill of both Stewart and Leigh, Kemp and Lina's deepening relationship and the glimmer of redemption within it feel not sentimental but hard-earned.  This gives great power to The Naked Spur's ending, where Kemp must decide whether to go back to Kansas to collect his blood money or to start a new life with Lina.




Friday, March 16, 2012

Seven Samurai, dir. Akira Kurosawa (1954)


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It never fails.  The ominous drums start, the credits flash onto the black screen in stark white characters, and the familiar tingle creeps up my spine.  I'm locked in.

I first saw Seven Samurai when I was twelve or thirteen.  If I remember correctly, it was the first Japanese film that I ever saw.  It was the perfect movie to show a half-Japanese kid who'd started studying martial arts and loved action movies and stories of knights in shining armor.  However, fond memories alone wouldn't make this my favorite movie.


Here are a few reasons why I love this film so much (I'll try to be brief):


1) Economical storytelling.  It may seem counterintuitive to call a 207-minute movie "economical," but consider the opening scenes.  In only ten minutes, Akira Kurosawa establishes the story's antagonists, the central conflict and a handful of the protagonists.  A gang of bandits rides up to a cliff overlooking a small village.  "Take it!  Take it!" they chant, but its leader--a particularly menacing-looking dude--realizes that the villagers won't have anything worth taking right now.  The bandits resolve to come back after the villagers finish their harvest.  After they ride off, a frightened farmer emerges from his hiding place, scurries down the hill and warns the other villagers, who understandably start freaking out.



A suggestion from one farmer that they tell the local magistrate is shot down instantly at a pity party held in the village square.  Then, a wild-eyed farmer named Rikichi (Yoshio Tsuchiya) stands up and screams that they should fight the bandits and kill them all.  The more cautious and cynical Manzo (Kamatari Fujiwara) tells him that the idea's preposterous. Their only play, he says, is to grovel and beg the bandits to leave enough for them to survive.  At last, the villagers walk, heads hung low, to the shack of the wizened, raspy-voiced village elder, who decides that they'll hire masterless samurai to defend them from the bandits.

Again, all of this takes ten minutes.




Consider as well the scene that introduces Kambei Shimada (Takashi Shimura), the leader of the titular seven.  The team of farmers dispatched to hire the samurai come across a hostage situation: a thief who was discovered by a group of town-dwellers kidnaps a young boy and flees into a barn.  Kambei steps forward to help.  He cuts off his topknot and gets a Buddhist monk to shave his head and lend him some robes.  Armed with only a pair of rice balls, he gets the thief to lower his guard, rushes into the barn, kills the thief with his own sword and rescues the boy.



In this one scene, Kurosawa and his screenwriters, Shinobu Hashimoto and Hideo Oguna, show us everything that we need to know about this man.  We see that he's smart, that he's tough and, most importantly, that he's compassionate.  Indeed, as I mentioned above, he's so willing to help others that he cuts off his own topknot.  In the film Harakiri, a trio of samurai who get their topknots cut off kill themselves because of the disgrace.  Kambei doesn't even blink.  The qualities he displays here fuel his later development and orchestration of the villagers' defense against the bandits.


2) Technical mastery.  In the excellent "Scholars' Roundtable" commentary on the 3-DVD Criterion Collection box set, Stephen Prince says, "You could take any four minutes of this film, anywhere in the picture, and find more concentrated filmmaking genius than you'll find anywhere [else] in cinema."  That's the whole truth and nothing but, in my opinion.

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There's a sensous, tactile quality to Seven Samurai that is truly stunning.  This arises in great part, I think, from Asakazu Nakai's extraordinary deep focus cinematography.  You can see the minute play of light on water, the grain of wood, the rustling leaves on trees as wind blows through them.  You can even see the little wrinkles in the actor's costumes and the pores on their faces when they're in close-up.

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Not only does the film look great, it sounds amazing too.  Kurosawa and his composer, Fumio Hayasaka, use music very sparingly throughout.  The movie builds enormous tension in many scenes by pumping up background sounds: the thunderous gallop of horses, the gurgle of flowing water, the crackle of fire, the staccato of pouring rain, the howl and whistle of wind.  When music does play, Hayasaka's themes are simple, terse, and instantly memorable; each theme centers clearly on one specific character or idea and helps push it to the foreground in the viewer's mind.


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Finally, the editing brings sight and sound together so that the film feels less like a static construction and more like a living, breathing thing.  In the commentary mentioned earlier, Japanese film expert Donald Richie rightly calls Seven Samurai "an editor's dream."  In fact, I don't think that I could describe the editing better than Richie does: thanks to the editing, he says, the film feels "fluid," "vital," kinetic," "alive" (italics mine).

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3) Themes of Struggle, Collectivity, Hope.  "You have to learn to struggle in order to find yourself."  This, Donald Richie says, is one of the crucial messages of Seven Samurai.  Conflict, the film shows, can be nasty and brutal--the battle scenes allow us no illusions about that--but you must stand your ground and hold your own if you want to survive and to thrive.

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However, Kurosawa argues throughout the film, individual power and glory won't be enough.  We must live with each other, we must help each other, and we must work with each other.  This concept is emblematic of Japanese thought, of course, but it also calls to mind Patrick Henry's oft-quoted declaration: "United we stand, divided we fall."




In the film's bittersweet, unforgettable final scene, the villagers joyfully plant the seeds for the next year's harvest.  The bandits have been vanquished, not without pain and loss but vanquished all the same.  The three surviving samurai watch the farmers quietly, mournfully.  They have no place here now that the threat is gone.  Kambei and his friend Shichiroji (Daisuke Kato) look up at the graves of their four fallen comrades, and they know that this is all that waits for them and for the rest of the samurai class.

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In spite of all this, I don't regard the fate of the seven samurai as entirely sad.  If not for Kambei, Kikuchiyo (Toshiro Mifune, seen below) and the other five, we wouldn't see the villagers as they are in this final scene.  It makes me think of these lines from Walt Whitman's Song of Myself:

I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love,
If you want me again, look for me under your boot-soles.

You will hardly know who I am or what I mean,
But I shall be good health to you nevertheless,
And filter and fibre your blood.

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Because of its themes of conflict, collective action and the hope that a better life can arise from these, Seven Samurai still resonates very strongly with the person I am today: a Joe Strummer-obsessed, democracy-loving Occupy Wall Street sympathizer.