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Post by andrew on Dec 26, 2020 13:47:26 GMT -5
While we're adoring French noir, let's not forget the Italian.... EDIT: I just watched this again for the first time in thirty-plus years. What a masterpiece. If there was a licence needed to watch movies, this one would be part of the driver's test.
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Post by Aurelia on Dec 26, 2020 16:00:49 GMT -5
Several great noirs came out of France before and after WW2. Jean Gabin became an international star in the 30s thanks to "Pepe le Moko" and "La Grande Illusion". In 1938 he starred in "Port of Shadows" alongside an intimidating Michel Simon, "Daybreak" released one year later was the last film he made before a brief sojourn in Hollywood.
In the 40s Henri-Georges Clouzot began his directorial career earning himself the nickname "The French Hitchcock". His 1943 film "The Raven" featuring a provincial village torn apart by a series of poison pen letters was based on a true story. After the Occupation ended some of the cast members including Clouzot himself were banned from filmmaking for two years (the movie was made for a German film company). Clouzot would have to wait until 1955 to "beat" Alfred to the film rights for the novel "Les Diaboliques"; the authors Boileau and Narcejac wrote their next novel for Hitch which became "Vertigo".
The mid 50s saw the French film industry kick into high gear. Jean Pierre Melville's crime career took off with the heist movie "Bob le Flambeur", while Jean Gabin announced his comeback with "Hands Off the Loot" directed by Jean Renoir's former assistant Jacques Becker. When it comes to the heist movie America's loss turned out to be France's gain. The blacklisted Jules Dassin made his way to France and shot the low-budget heist movie "Rififi". The legendary heist scene runs for over 30 minutes, contains no soundtrack and no dialogue at all, the rest of the film is pretty good too.
I wanted to add Pepe Le Moko to my choices... but the audience I'm writing this for (the OTHER place) seems like they may not be that into older movies, so I'm trying to give a sort of overview with the more classic American Noir, but have several levels of accessibility for people who may not be familiar or like Film Noir. It will probably fall flat in the end, but I can try. LOL! It's nice to have a more vibrant arts/culture section here... a good "safe place" to express ideas.
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Post by Aurelia on Dec 26, 2020 16:39:09 GMT -5
I'm going to keep posting the stuff I wrote up for this - but please keep the conversation going - my posts are all on the simpler side to reach Noir-newbies / convert new Noir fiends. It seems like andrew and Woland are in the advanced class, so it's making it more fun to hear your insights and favorites! With the limitations of the Hays Code, writers and directors had to think creatively communicate the forbidden elements of the plot through acceptable means with sugarcoating or vaguery. The Big Sleep is one example of the borderline cryptic language used to film the more scandalous elements of the story. Watch it without a trained eye and you will miss all of the lurid details subtly incorporated. The plotline of the Big Sleep was taken from the novel by Raymond Chandler (featured in Black Mask magazine) - an especially lurid tale that was difficult to get past the Hay's code. In the scene above, Philip Marlowe (played by Humphrey Bogart) was supposed to enter Geiger's house to find Carmen (Martha Vickers) fully naked, high and posed provocatively. Geiger himself was openly homosexual in the novel and his book shop was a front for selling pornography (illegal at the time). To satiate the Code, filmmakers have Carmen fully dressed - but in a garment with Asian styling to it. She is likewise sitting in a "Chinese chair" . The Buddha head that obscures the camera is yet another reference to the East that goes completely over the heads of modern viewers... but had definite symbolic meaning to the audiences at the time the movie was made. The East was associated with sensuality, mystery and insinuation of unbridled sexual acts. Marlowe searches the house and then, to suggest nudity, wraps Carmen in his coat upon leaving. The scene is a far cry from the version in the novel, but the effect of these layers of meanings added a distinctive enigmatic element to the story's feel. Audiences loved it. In spite of the strictness of the Hay's Code, audiences who had lived through the Great Depression were disillusioned were looking for something different. In Film Noir, their feelings of hopelessness and cynicism found a champion: the Film Noir Anti-Hero. (Side-track: As I was reviewing the defining characteristics of the Anti-Hero, I was struck how they read pretty much word for word like some of the diagnostic criteria or expression of symptoms for Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (C-PTSD - the form of PTSD typically suffered by soldiers) / "shell shock" (inflammation of the brain from repeated close proximity to exploding shells). While a solid understanding of war time trauma (psychological or physiological) wasn't really in place until the Korean War, the long term effects that would manifest for soldiers of WWII suffering C-PTSD would have had a mirror image on the big screen. The suffering they experienced post-war would have been manifested in the Film Noir Anti-hero, where the traits inherent in that character experienced would have added to his abilities, his mysterious appeal and given him the edge to overcome. I can only imagine that on a subconscious level, this must have been rather validating.) In The Third Man, the extremely convoluted character of Harry Lime (Orson Welles) stirs conflict in the hearts of viewers for his alleged cruelty and contrasting personal charm - and created a story ending that defied censors and pushed label of "anti-hero" used to describe him in the film's trailer to the darkest brink. Holly Martins (Joseph Cotton) has the unfortunate surprised of arriving in Vienna to find his childhood friend, Harry Lime, has died - in addition he was wanted for his nefarious black market dealings. When Lime is first seen, the movie is well underway: in a shadowy street an stray cat rubs lovingly against his shins; a window above opens, throwing a shaft of light that instantly illuminates Lime's face; in spite of the shock of the reveal, charming smile is there on his visage... Could this really be the same man who stole penicillin, watered it down and sold it on the black market, killing so many? He seems too human... he fails to fit the build-up of the hardened criminal he is presented as. In a show-down and final chase with police, Lime is wounded and cornered in the sewers below the city. You cannot help but hope he escapes - in spite of his flaws and the lives he's harmed, you still wish a dignified end for Harry Lime. When he laces his fingers through the sewer grate, you feel horror at his reaching for the world he harmed, and yet when confronted by his friend you see the compassion on Martin's face feel a sneaking sadness for this final moment. Cinematically, it's brilliant... but the mixed quality of Lime's character, in addition to the manner of his death - shot by his childhood friend in a manner that screams "mercy killing" - made this plot line difficult to sneak past the Code. In the larger picture of the torments of war and the misery, privation and injustice that impacted civilian life, Lime was just a small example of how hard circumstances hardened the people who lived in the midst of them.
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Post by andrew on Dec 26, 2020 20:43:01 GMT -5
The Big Sleep - arguably the greatest of the films noir, almost didn't get released. It was originally completed in 1945, but, with the war winding down, there was a backlog of patriotic style war films that had to be released while there was still a market for them. By 1946, the public's fascination the the Bogart and Bacall romance convinced the producers to re-script and re-shoot several scenes to include more one-on-one Bogie and Bacall action. This proved much more challenging than first anticipated. The prank call scene was one such. They couldn't find the original outfit Bacall had been wearing in the 1945 shoot and had to make do with the closest match they could locate.
EDIT: Or maybe it was the "go ahead and scratch" scene, shot on the same set where she wears not quite the same outfit. The two scenes were shot a year apart.
SECOND EDIT: OMG, you need to watch this. I hope somebody finds the lost orgasm scene.... LOL. I confess, the Carol character as a homosexual angle never even occurred to me.
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Post by andrew on Dec 26, 2020 21:27:51 GMT -5
In The Third Man, the extremely convoluted character of Harry Lime (Orson Welles) stirs conflict in the hearts of viewers for his alleged cruelty and contrasting personal charm - and created a story ending that defied censors and pushed label of "anti-hero" used to describe him in the film's trailer to the darkest brink. Holly Martins (Joseph Cotton) has the unfortunate surprised of arriving in Vienna to find his childhood friend, Harry Lime, has died - in addition he was wanted for his nefarious black market dealings. When Lime is first seen, the movie is well underway: in a shadowy street an stray cat rubs lovingly against his shins; a window above opens, throwing a shaft of light that instantly illuminates Lime's face; in spite of the shock of the reveal, charming smile is there on his visage... Could this really be the same man who stole penicillin, watered it down and sold it on the black market, killing so many? He seems too human... he fails to fit the build-up of the hardened criminal he is presented as. In a show-down and final chase with police, Lime is wounded and cornered in the sewers below the city. You cannot help but hope he escapes - in spite of his flaws and the lives he's harmed, you still wish a dignified end for Harry Lime. When he laces his fingers through the sewer grate, you feel horror at his reaching for the world he harmed, and yet when confronted by his friend you see the compassion on Martin's face feel a sneaking sadness for this final moment. Cinematically, it's brilliant... but the mixed quality of Lime's character, in addition to the manner of his death - shot by his childhood friend in a manner that screams "mercy killing" - made this plot line difficult to sneak past the Code. In the larger picture of the torments of war and the misery, privation and injustice that impacted civilian life, Lime was just a small example of how hard circumstances hardened the people who lived in the midst of them. I'm ashamed to admit I still haven't seen The Third Man. I had it on special order from my local fringe video store, but they went belly-up about year before the lockdown. I gave up trying to get movies by mail order, since only about half of them ever arrive. I've since found another shop that can get the movies I want, but I'll have to wait and see if they survive second lockdown.
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Post by Woland on Dec 26, 2020 22:04:22 GMT -5
I wanted to add Pepe Le Moko to my choices... but the audience I'm writing this for (the OTHER place) seems like they may not be that into older movies, so I'm trying to give a sort of overview with the more classic American Noir, but have several levels of accessibility for people who may not be familiar or like Film Noir. It will probably fall flat in the end, but I can try. LOL! It's nice to have a more vibrant arts/culture section here... a good "safe place" to express ideas.
Recently I've made a couple film threads in the OTHER place and received no interest whatsoever, their loss.
Jean Pierre Melville was a key influence on the French New Wave, he only directed 13 films with his best work coming near the end of his career. "Le Samourai" remains his best film, the muted colour palette and Alain Delon's cool-as-ice central performance have earned it legions of fans/copycats over the decades.
Japanese noir had a late start compared to America and France, the 30s and 40s saw sporadic crime films including Kurosawa's "Stray Dog" and "Drunken Angel". It wasn't until the late 50s and early 60s when new-wave Japanese directors looked to steer away from the traditions of their predecessors, a willingness to experiment and depict more controversial topics. Take Kurosawa's "Bad Sleep Well", a story of corporate corruption loosely based on Shakespeare's "Hamlet". A fine film with a legendary opening 20 minutes, but the focus is on the upper class, the violence sanitised, the narrative and acting quite formal.
Masahiro Shinoda's "Pale Flower" concerns a newly-released gangster who has to contend with shifting gang alliances. The tone is darker, the violence harsher. This murder scene is masterfully executed (pun intended).
Seijun Suzuki made a lot of "unorthodox" crime films, almost a polar opposite to Kurosawa's approach to the crime genre. "Branded to Kill" was considered so terrible and confusing the studio shelved it. After a courtcase it was released but Suzuki was fired by the studio and blacklisted for a decade.
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Post by andrew on Dec 27, 2020 22:27:06 GMT -5
While films like The Maltese Falcon, The Big Sleep, and Double Indemnity were A-list movies, most noir movies were B-list: fast production films shot on a limited budget, intended as the opening movie of double features. The low lighting and foggy atmosphere which has come to be associated with film noir is a product of limited budget on many productions rather than deliberate artifice. Sets can be more cheaply constructed if they are hardly visible. The backroom nature of these movies also meant they got less attention from the censors, and so directors could push the envelope a little. Among the best of these B movies is 1945's Detour.
A young man, hitchhiking across the country is drawn into a tangled web of deception first when his ride dies on a lonely road, and then when a woman he later picks up recognizes the car as not his. The post-production was so bad that there is a long sequence where the film is literally flopped, making it look like he's hitchhiking in Australia. For all that, the story is gripping, as we watch the anti-hero caught by his own lies and drawn ever deeper into the sinister machinations of a scheming and manipulative woman (wonderfully portrayed by Ann Savage).
This film suffered far less from the Production Codes than movies like the The Big Sleep, which, if we're being honest, was so badly mangled trying to meet the guidelines, many can't follow it. The only concession made in Detour was that criminals could not be shown to profit from their misdeeds, and so the film concludes with him being put into a police car.
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Post by andrew on Dec 28, 2020 11:36:41 GMT -5
As an aside, though not in the film noir genre, the first real victim of William Hays, Chairman of the Republican National Committee and former Postmaster General under the Harding administration (no one remembers that guy) and finally Chairman of the Motion Picture Producers and Distributors of America was one Roscoe "Fatty" Arbuckle. Like President Harding, few remember Arbuckle today, yet he was one of the most important actors in film history. His protégés, who learned their craft under his tutelage, included Bob Hope, Charlie Chaplin and Buster Keaton.
Arbuckle became involved in Hollywood's very first sex scandal. In 1921, after actress Virginia Rappe became ill and subsequently died in hospital (probably of cystitis, exacerbated by excessive alcohol consumption) at a party in Arbuckle's hotel room, he was accused by a friend of the deceased, also present at the party, of raping her. He was immediately charged. When she later died, the charge was amended to include murder.
Despite the complete lack of any corroborating evidence other than the hear-say statement of a person who admitted to not actually seeing it happen, despite that the victim herself in hospital, when questioned before her death, strongly denied the allegation, and despite the accuser's later admission that she was attempting to extort money from Arbuckle, he was tried for rape and murder. Not once. Not twice. Three times (so much for double jeopardy). He was acquitted every time. There simply was no evidence. The trials fueled the birth of the tabloid press, and trial by public opinion was born. Keaton made a statement in Arbuckle's defence and was reprimanded by the studio he worked for. Charlie Chaplin, living in Britain and outside of studio control, was much more forthcoming, declaring that the Arbuckle he knew could never have done such things.
In January of 1922, William Hays resigned his cabinet position and took up his role as Chairman of the MPPDA, an organization founded in part in response to the Arbuckle scandal. It would be eight years before the code which bore his name would be penned, and a few more before it took real effect. In the meantime, Hays unilaterally outed Arbuckle, literally banning his pictures and prohibiting his working in the movie industry. By the time this arbitrary decision was overturned in the courts the damage was done. Arbuckle never found meaningful work in Hollywood again.
Ultimately though, despite this injustice, by creating the system whereby studios could self-censor, Hays and his code probably saved Hollywood. Studios at the time were required to reimburse state censor boards - by the literal foot - for footage that they deemed inappropriate and excised from movies.
I'm reminded of the scene in Wolf Hall:
George Cavendish: "Do you think it's something about the English, that they cannot see a great man set up but they must pull him down?" Thomas Cromwell: "It's not the English, George. It's just people..."
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Post by Aurelia on Dec 29, 2020 11:22:10 GMT -5
As an aside, though not in the film noir genre, the first real victim of William Hays, Chairman of the Republican National Committee and former Postmaster General under the Harding administration (no one remembers that guy) and finally Chairman of the Motion Picture Producers and Distributors of America was one Roscoe "Fatty" Arbuckle. Like President Harding, few remember Arbuckle today, yet he was one of the most important actors in film history. His protégés, who learned their craft under his tutelage, included Bob Hope, Charlie Chaplin and Buster Keaton. Arbuckle became involved in Hollywood's very first sex scandal. In 1921, after actress Virginia Rappe became ill and subsequently died in hospital (probably of cystitis, exacerbated by excessive alcohol consumption) at a party in Arbuckle's hotel room, he was accused by a friend of the deceased, also present at the party, of raping her. He was immediately charged. When she later died, the charge was amended to include murder. Despite the complete lack of any corroborating evidence other than the hear-say statement of a person who admitted to not actually seeing it happen, despite that the victim herself in hospital, when questioned before her death, strongly denied the allegation, and despite the accuser's later admission that she was attempting to extort money from Arbuckle, he was tried for rape and murder. Not once. Not twice. Three times (so much for double jeopardy). He was acquitted every time. There simply was no evidence. The trials fueled the birth of the tabloid press, and trial by public opinion was born. Keaton made a statement in Arbuckle's defence and was reprimanded by the studio he worked for. Charlie Chaplin, living in Britain and outside of studio control, was much more forthcoming, declaring that the Arbuckle he knew could never have done such things. In January of 1922, William Hays resigned his cabinet position and took up his role as Chairman of the MPPDA, an organization founded in part in response to the Arbuckle scandal. It would be eight years before the code which bore his name would be penned, and a few more before it took real effect. In the meantime, Hays unilaterally outed Arbuckle, literally banning his pictures and prohibiting his working in the movie industry. By the time this arbitrary decision was overturned in the courts the damage was done. Arbuckle never found meaningful work in Hollywood again. Ultimately though, despite this injustice, by creating the system whereby studios could self-censor, Hays and his code probably saved Hollywood. Studios at the time were required to reimburse state censor boards - by the literal foot - for footage that they deemed inappropriate and excised from movies. I'm reminded of the scene in Wolf Hall: George Cavendish: "Do you think it's something about the English, that they cannot see a great man set up but they must pull him down?" Thomas Cromwell: "It's not the English, George. It's just people..." The Arbuckle / Rappe incident was like the last nail in the coffin - there was a string of events that prompted the need to revamp Hollywood's image. There were a few notable overdoses, Mary Pickford shattered the wholesome image she had during a rather quick divorce and remarriage, William Desmond Taylor was found murdered with a stash of porn (illegal) and a rather large collection of women's lingerie and ties to a drug-addict teenage protégé... Hay's Code was similar to Prohibition - there was the idea that making what people thought were enticements to sin illegal would somehow stamp out the sin. But with anything, that never really is the case, and much of society's evils will find a way around any legal hurtle... Arbuckle was perhaps too naïve: he had a rented suite full of (illegal, as it was during Prohibition) booze, Rappe's "friend" was a high-profile Madam who brought girls to be "introduced" to men at parties, and the photos of the suite after the party shows it must have been pretty out of control. There's a lot of smashed furniture. The Teetotalers had painted this image of the usually upright man brought to brutality by liquor, and the Arbuckle story fit that narrative so perfectly that it was almost made to order. It was early on into Prohibition, so people were especially zealous - here was a famous man drinking and carousing. It just ticked all the boxes at the time. It think that Hearst said the Arbuckle headlines made him more money that the sinking of the Lusitania - so probably people who looked to profit (Hearst and Delmont) helped ruin him more than the average person or social reformers ever did.
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Post by andrew on Dec 29, 2020 12:31:40 GMT -5
William Desmond Taylor was found murdered with a stash of porn (illegal) and a rather large collection of women's lingerie and ties to a drug-addict teenage protégé... I just watched a little exposé on that case which alleges the lingerie and associated items were planted after his murder by his friends, not to incriminate him, but rather to protect his reputation. He was, as it turns out, queer as a three dollar bill. It seems the mother of the protégé is the most likely culprit for the actual murder.
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