Let's Sing a Song of Long Ago

Over the weekend I took in a new movie (yes, I do see them occasionally). As noted on this site before, November through January is when I start seeing new movies again in anticipation of Oscar time and year-end festivals and top ten lists. Not only am I an Oscar obsessive but I am a film blogger and while I can live with not discussing the summer blockbusters I simply have to be in on the discussion of the festival and award winners at year end, like last year's No Country for Old Men and There Will Be Blood. But I'm not here to do a review of the movie I saw (Happy Go Lucky directed by Mike Leigh) except to perhaps briefly mention how absolutely extraordinary Eddie Marsan is in the role of Scott, the driving instructor. It's a supporting performance so captivating that when he's on the screen he's all you see and when he's not you're anxiously awaiting his return. I sincerely hope he receives a nomination for his intense and driven performance. Anyway, like I said, I'm not here to review it. Rather I'm here to stroll down memory lane and talk about theatres, multiplexes and palaces and why they've been on my mind lately.

Most of my movie going experiences of the last couple of years have been at the renovated A.F.I Silver Theatre in downtown Silver Spring, MD. It's a beautiful old movie palace that the A.F.I. has lovingly restored and kept up in the fashion of the old palaces of yesteryear. There is a coffee shop/bar inside, a concession counter and the feel of quietude. It's not bursting with loud ads, music and the movies don't have twenty minutes of commercials and trailers before them. A few trailers of upcoming A.F.I. showings and that's about it. There are three screens but it's not a multiplex. They have the one large screen with hundreds of seats and then two miniature theatres off to the side that hold about forty people in a small intimate setting.

In jarring contrast, I saw Happy Go Lucky in the local multiplex and felt like heading for the exit before even taking my seat. Packed wall to wall with people, concession lines wrapped around the building, loud music playing in the lobby, commercial bombardments before the feature and the average ticket buyer age somewhere between 14 and 17. I started longing not just for the A.F.I. Silver Theatre but for the glory days of yesteryear when theatres had a single screen, movies played for one week and when they played longer it was because they were "held over" due to popularity. Sometimes, the theatre was enough to make the experience worthwhile even if the movie wasn't.

For instance, I have fond memories of seeing Christine with my brother back in 1983 even though I don't think much of the movie at all. We saw it at the Pinehaven, a local theatre that had a balcony section with big comfortable seats and ashtrays, yes ashtrays, by every seat in the balcony. I'm not glorifying smoking mind you, and I'm sure if I went back now I'd realize how badly it stunk in that balcony section, but it was nice to sit there with my brother, light up a smoke and laugh with and at Christine as it played itself out on the screen before us. The movie left little impression but the theatrical experience remains.

When I returned from Happy Go Lucky I started looking through UCLA's archive of historic locations (yeah, I do things like that) because I had remembered finding some beautiful photos of old theatres there before. Also, I had in mind the name Charles Lee, architect of many theatres in California, because I recently featured a photo of him at the grand opening of MGM's Western Building in December of 1928. As I perused the selection of photos and cross-referenced them on the Cinema Treasures website to see if they were still around I was dismayed to learn that most are now gone. That's too bad. I understand the need for multiplexes in a business driven by ticket sales but I wish every city and town made room for just one old fashioned palatial theatre. Below are some of my favorite photos discovered in my search and I'd be curious to hear from my California based readers if they've driven past any of these that remain standing or even seen a film in one. Some are still operational while others are closed but still standing. I love movie palaces of old. Multiplexes are necessary for business, but the old movie houses left impressions and created memories that in some cases far outlived the movies they showed. Enjoy the photos.

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First up is the Tower Theatre, designed by Charles Lee. It had it's grand opening in 1927 and according to that banner, was the first 1,000 seat theatre in America. Still standing in Los Angeles, but hasn't shown a movie since 1988.

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The Arden Theatre, pictured here in 1946, opened in 1942 and burned down in 1988. It was located in Lynwood, CA. Architect, Charles Lee.

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The Oxnard Theatre located in Oxnard, CA. No dates given on the Cinema Treasures site for this one except that it has been demolished and sat 900. The movie being shown is Judge Hardy's Children from 1938. Architect unknown.

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The Fox Theatre in Bakersfield, CA. According to Cinema Treasures it's still up and running. Anyone seen a movie there? I'd love to hear if they have maintained the original decor or not. Architect, Charles Lee.

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The Studio Theatre, Los Angeles, CA in 1931. Info given says "demolished" but provides no other dates. Architect unknown.

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Finally, Teatro Chapultepec, located in Mexico City, Mexico, pictured here in 1944(three pictures in all). Designed by Theodore Gildred and Charles Lee it has since been demolished. It's a crime.

In with the In Crowd

Children are great at parroting their peers and parents. Over time their views are challenged, they realize they can't defend them since they have simply been parroting and they begin to develop critical thinking. It's essential to their development. It's also fun to watch. Our 14 year old son says this often of movies: "You have to see it on the big screen." Why does he say that? Because he's heard adults, peers and my wife and I say it. Does he know what it means? I'm not sure.

When I was a kid, one either saw a movie in the theatre or on commercial television. Later, cable and videotape became other options. When someone said, "You have to see it on the big screen" it meant something. Seeing a movie on television meant pan and scan, commercials, scenes edited out, scenes originally cut out edited back in and profanity either muted or dubbed with another word. Sometimes the filmmakers would go as far as film two scenes when profanity was used, one for the theatre and a cleaned up version for tv. If you only saw the movie on television, one actually could argue that you had not really seen the movie at all. A rough facsimile maybe but not the real thing.

Now it's different. When my son watches a movie on television, it's a fairly big screen (and relative to the size of the screen and his distance from it, around five feet, it is a rough equivalent of seeing the larger theatre screen from a distance of eighty five feet), there are no commercial interruptions, no pan and scan, no post release editing. Seeing a movie on television now, by means of a DVD player, does not present a radical difference visually from seeing it in the theatre.

But depending on the movie, the difference in social experience can be compelling.

I've never supported the idea that the movies that "must be seen on the big screen" are the great visual giants, the great special effects extravaganzas. The more I see on the small screen that I have already seen on the big screen, the more I realize that the big screen provides little difference for me visually. But emotionally, it's a completely different story.

This past October my wife and I saw The Crowd at the AFI Silver Theatre in downtown Silver Spring, Maryland, and the experience was unforgettable. The film was featured as a part of the A.F.I.'s Labor Film Fest and as an added bonus had the original organ score played live for the film by accomplished organist Ray Brubacher.

Other features included the requisite film historian giving a brief introduction and a raffle in which the audience submitted their names on cards for a bag full of goodies. And I won! So if you happened to be present for this showing of The Crowd, that dashing young man who walked up front to collect his prize was yours truly. It wasn't much of a prize (a couple of free passes, T-shirt, cup, etc) but it was still exciting to win.

Then the movie started with Brubacher providing accompaniment. I had seen The Crowd twice before, both times on television, once on PBS and once on videotape. I was excited for my wife to see it for the first time. Only later did I realize I was seeing it for the first time too. Directed by King Vidor with a fluid movement of camera and lean pacing, the movie tells the story of John and Mary Sims (James Murray and Eleanor Boardman) making their way through an indifferent urban landscape as they struggle with marriage, money and parenthood. Watching it on the big screen I was reminded why so many film historians rank James Murray's performance as one of the best of the silent era. Remarkably free of over the top pantomime, it is a subdued and nuanced performance, one that draws the audience into the character and attaches them to him emotionally. Eleanor Boardman is also superb as Mary Sims, playing off Murray brilliantly as he slides deeper and deeper into emotional despair.

The film became famous for the fight over its ending by Louis B. Mayer and Irving Thalberg. Mayer wanted to tack on a happy ending, where John and Mary win the lottery or John gets a high paying job dropped into his lap. What Mayer didn't realize, and it makes me wonder what if any understanding of story he had, is that The Crowd does have a happy ending, only it's real, not phony. At the end, as John and Mary laugh at the comedy they're watching in the theatre, they are still destitute, still jobless, still struggling. John is but 24 hours removed from a suicide attempt and Mary just hours removed from wanting to leave him. But they're happy, right now, in this moment. It took years but they finally realize that whatever is going to happen to them they can only survive it together. And that's a great ending, one that doesn't declare their troubles are over or their money problems solved, but states definitively that they've grown, together. That's a happy ending in my book. Vidor got it. Thalberg got it. Mayer? It flew right over his head. How could they be happy if they weren't rich? I'm glad I never knew Mayer.

That's the movie. Now for the experience. The audience present, the crowd, was there because of a love of classic film, a love of silent film. We all laughed together in the same places, gasped together, shared the same sense of excitement, the same sense of awe. When it was over we all applauded, ostensibly for Ray Brubacher and his excellent accompaniment, but I knew we were applauding the film as well, perhaps sharing a spiritual hope that somewhere, somehow, James Murray and Eleanor Boardman, King Vidor and Irving Thalberg could hear us and feel how much we loved their work. It was a wonderful experience, one I will never forget. And it taught me once again that seeing a film on the big screen as opposed to the television screen can make all the difference in the world. I'd recommend The Crowd to anyone interested in great cinema but feel like seeing it at home would be seeing a different movie than the one I saw at the A.F.I. This may be illogical and irrational, it may be challenged in this era of 70 inch screen televisions and blu-ray DVD players, but I have to say it anyway:

If you haven't seen The Crowd on the big screen, you haven't seen it.

Director's Commentary: Sight and Sound

PART ONE: INTRODUCTION

Recently the American Film Institute (AFI) released its updated "100 Greatest Movies List," started in 1997. It is a standard lists of greats, rarely reaching beyond the safe bet. By contrast, the list that started it all is much more interesting.

In 1952, as film was cementing its reputation as a truly respected art form worldwide, Sight and Sound Magazine published its first international polling of critics and directors as to what were the greatest films ever made. The magazine began in 1932 and in 1934 came under the management of the British Film Institute which runs it to this day. The lists have been released in ten year cycles (1952, 1962, etc) and mimicking this, the AFI also releases its list every 10 years, starting in 1997. On Sight and Sound's first list The Bicycle Thief was ranked number one. Then, in 1957, Citizen Kane finally got international release and for every poll thereafter has been number one. Starting with the list in 1992 the Sight and Sound poll has broken up its choices between directors' picks and critics' picks. As such, obvious trends can be recognized that separate that considered great by those in the industry and that considered great by those who comment from the outside. Before further discussion, a quick look at the last poll's (2002) picks.

Critics' Choices:

1. Citizen Kane (Welles)

2. Vertigo (Hitchcock)

3. La Régle du jeu (Renoir)

4. The Godfather and The Godfather Part II (Coppola)

5. Tokyo Story (Ozu)

6. 2001: A Space Odyssey (Kubrick)

7. Battleship Potemkin (Eisenstein)

8. Sunrise (Murnau)

9. 8 1/2 (Fellini)

10. Singin' in the Rain (Kelly, Donen)

Directors' Choices:

1. Citizen Kane (Welles)

2. The Godfather and The Godfather Part II (Coppola)

3. 8 1/2 (Fellini)

4. Lawrence of Arabia (Lean)

5. Dr. Strangelove (Kubrick)

6. Bicycle Thieves (De Sica)

7. Raging Bull (Scorsese)

8. Vertigo (Hitchcock)

9. La Régle du jeu (Renoir)

10. (tie) Rashomon (Kurosawa)

10. (tie) Seven Samurai (Kurosawa)

At first glance, the similarities stick out. Half of the movies appear on both: Citizen Kane, The Godfather films, Vertigo, 8 1/2, Le Regle de Jeu (The Rules of the Game). These five (six because of the Godfathers lumped together) are of course some of the biggest ever. It's not too surprising that they are on both. But when one looks at the entirety of the critics' list weighed against the entirety of the directors' list they become two very different lists indeed. To be finally ranked on either list requires at least five votes. So even if Lawrence of Arabia didn't make the critics' top ten, it did still get ranked, if much further down, at number forty-five. There are only two films that made it all the way into the top ten on one list and were completely unranked by the other, and they're both on the Directors' List: Dr. Strangelove and Raging Bull. They both received votes on the critics' poll just not enough to be ranked (2 for Dr. Strangelove (Alexander Walker and Andrew Worsdale) and three for Raging Bull (Peter Bradshaw, Michael Dwyer and Roger Ebert)).

A longer list of films ranked by one but not the other reveals more. Here are the films that got enough votes to rank on one list but not enough to rank on the other:

Directors' List:

Dr. Strangelove (Kubrick)

Raging Bull (Scorsese)

Sunset Blvd. (Wilder)

The Apartment (Wilder)

Apocalypse Now (Coppola)

Casablanca (Curtiz)

Chinatown (Polanski)

La strada (Fellini)

Amarcord (Fellini)

On the Waterfront (Kazan)

The Conformist (Bertolucci)

Once upon a Time in the West (Leone)

Persona (Bergman)

Pickpocket (Bresson)

Ran (Kurosawa)

Sweet Smell of Success (Mackendrick)

The Treasure of the Sierra Madre (Huston)

The Wizard of Oz (Fleming)

Critics' List:

L'Atalante (Vigo)

The General (Keaton)

Au hasard Balthazar (Bresson)

Le Mépris (Godard)

Pather Panchali (Ray)

M (Lang)

The Story of the Late Chrysanthemums (Mizoguchi)

Barry Lyndon (Kubrick)

Ivan the Terrible (Eisenstein)

Man with a Movie Camera (Vertov)

Metropolis (Lang)

Ugetsu Monogatari (Mizoguchi)

Wild Strawberries (Bergman)

The 400 Blows (Truffaut)

The Magnificent Ambersons (Welles)

Modern Times (Chaplin)

Blade Runner (Scott)

Greed (von Stroheim)

Intolerance (Griffith)

Letter from an Unknown Woman (Ophuls)

The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance (Ford)

Ordet (Dreyer)

Pierrot le fou (Godard)

Rio Bravo (Hawks)

Sansho Dayu (Mizoguchi)

Shoah (Lanzmann)

The Travelling Players (Angelopoulos)

Two or Three Things I Know about Her (Godard)

Now we have two truly different lists. The average filmgoer would probably recognize quite a few on the directors' list that didn't make the critics' list. For instance, Dr. Strangelove, Raging Bull, Sunset Boulevard, The Apartment, Apocalypse Now, Casablanca, Chinatown, On the Waterfront, The Treasure of the Sierra Madre and The Wizard of Oz would be instantly recognizable titles to even the most cinematically deprived filmgoer, and even if they aren't too familiar with Once Upon a Time in the West, Amarcord or The Sweet Smell of Success they've probably heard of them, especially Once Upon a Time in the West. But the critics' list would probably leave the average filmgoer scratching their head: L'Atalante, Au hasard Balthazar, Le Mépris, Pather Panchali, The Story of the Late Chrysanthemums, Ivan the Terrible, Man with a Movie Camera, Ugetsu Monogatari, Letter from an Unknown Woman, Ordet, Pierrot le fou, Sansho Dayu, The Travelling Players and Two or Three Things I Know about Her. Sure there are recognizable ones here too (Rio Bravo, The Man Who Shot Liberty Valence, Blade Runner and so on) and obviously anyone reading a cinema site like this one probably knows all of these films but for the most part one could pigeonhole these two lists as "accessible" and "esoteric."

PART TWO: BREAKING DOWN THE DIFFERENCES

There are many possible reasons for the gaping differences. Directors, personally associated with the rigors of production, tend to appreciate craftsmanship over artistry. Knowing how difficult it is to be the ringleader of a production gives them an appreciation for crisp editing, tight performances, a polished look and a strong narrative. Dr. Strangelove, Sunset Boulevard, The Apartment, Casablanca, Chinatown, The Treasure of the Sierra Madre and The Wizard of Oz all meet these criteria superbly.

The critics, on the other hand, are personally associated with the rigors of having to see every goddamn film released week in and week out, becoming overly acquainted with cliche and stereotype, and thus tend to take notice when a film doesn't necessarily give them exactly what they were expecting. Not dealing with the day to day rigors of production, they can appreciate more fully the philosophical side of film, tending to give higher marks to films that tell a story outside the mainstream. There are many perfect examples of this on their list but perhaps the best two would be Au hasard Balthazar and Ordet with the first being a French film about Marie, a simple farm girl and her beloved donkey Balthazar, who become separated but lead eerily parallel lives as they suffer abuse from every order of humanity and the second, a Danish film concerning two families, one of which has a son who thinks he's Jesus and performs miracles thusly that helps quell the rift between the two. I probably don't need to tell you that no one who voted for The Wizard of Oz had either one of those movies on their list.

Another reason for the difference would again be directly associated with their respective professions. Being in the industry, and spending months at a time working on a film only to finish and begin pre-production on another doesn't leave most directors with the leisure to see as many films as your average critic. As a result, they see most of their competition in recent release and those films that have been historically noted as standouts. Critics are paid to watch any and all films and have the time to take them all in. One of the odd quirks of this seems to be that at times they purposely ignore the historically noted films lest they be thought of as unimaginative. In his submission to the Sight and Sound poll, well-respected film critic Jonathan Rosenbaum added the comment: "I've included a serial, an unfinished trilogy and two shorts, but assume it's no longer necessary to mention Chaplin, Godard, Hitchcock, Ozu, Renoir or Welles." And so he doesn't. And this coming from a noted Welles scholar and an ardent Godard supporter. And yet he leaves all traces of their films from his list. Of course, if everyone starts leaving them off then it will become necessary to mention them again because they won't be recognized anymore so the whole logic behind the comment appears to be dubious at best.

At the opposite end of that spectrum is what I would call "Manny Farber Syndrome" for the critics and "Noble Subject Syndrome" for the directors. Here's where both the critic and director switch places.

The critic decides he wants to add a little punch to his list that the beloved French donkey just isn't providing so he goes for the rough and tumble "B" movie made by the auteur director that gives his list more of a "common man" feel. Excellent examples would be Rio Bravo, Blade Runner and (on Jonathan Rosenbaum's list) Gentlemen Prefer Blondes. Two of those are by Howard Hawks, a great director and longtime favorite of Farber.

The director, suffering from "Noble Subject Syndrome," loves Citizen Kane and Vertigo but wants to add some social commentary prestige to his list by adding an epic tale of great seriousness like Lawrence of Arabia, The Best Years of Our Lives or On The Waterfront.

Cases could be made for both, I suppose, but the "Manny Farber Syndrome" is probably preferable. At least there, one is looking for artistry in the mundane which is probably more "noble" than acknowledging "artistry" shoved in your face. But I could be wrong.

PART THREE: AND THE WINNER IS...

So who comes out on top with the list? The directors or the critics? If we combine the totals the answer is clear: It's the critics. The combined total of both lists with their votes counted together gives us this top 25 (actually 26 due to several ties):

1. Citizen Kane

2. Vertigo

3. The Godfather and The Godfather Part II

4. La Régle du jeu

5. 8 1/2

6. 2001: A Space Odyssey

7. Tokyo Story

8. Seven Samurai

9. Rashomon

10. Singin' in the Rain

10. Battleship Potemkin

12. Sunrise

13. The Searchers

14. Lawrence of Arabia

15. Bicycle Thief

15. La dolce vita

15. The Passion of Joan of Arc

18. L'avventura

18. Breathless

18. Touch of Evil

21. Raging Bull

21. Dr. Strangelove

21. Jules et Jim

24. Psycho

24. L'Atalante

24. Sunset Boulevard

Citizen Kane is number one on both lists so obviously it's number one overall. Vertigo is number two on the critics list and (in a three-way tie) is number six on the director's list but ends up number two overall. Then there's Le Regle de Jeu, number three on the critics list and all the way down to number nine on the directors list but combined it is number four. As for the Godfather films they are four on the critics list and two on the directors placing them at three overall, an even split. Three of the critics top ten films, 2001, Tokyo Story and Singin' in the Rain aren't even in the directors top ten yet make into the combined top ten. Only one critics top ten choice does not make the combined top ten: Sunrise, and just barely, coming in one vote behind the tied Singin' in the Rain and Rashomon. On the other hand three directors picks don't make it: Lawrence of Arabia, Dr. Strangelove and Raging Bull coming in at places fourteen and twenty-one (tied) respectively.

So why do the critics picks dominate the list? The obvious answer is numbers. There are 145 critics voting to 108 directors voting. The Sight and Sound poll started out a prestigious selection by informed, educated critics and the B.F.I. would probably like to keep it that way so they will continue to tip the scales in the direction of the critics by keeping their numbers higher. But those numbers will mean nothing if there is no consensus among the critics. There is a much higher number of films selected by the critics than the directors and even in the ranked films (5 votes or more) the critics come up with 60 different titles to the directors 50. As digital technology gets us closer to realizing the dream of seeing any movie you want at any time you want more and more film buffs will see more and more films and as they become the next wave of critics and historians any consensus they had will become more and more disjointed. But the directors? Their consensus probably won't change much. I've often told people that the most uninformed people on film and theatre are often those involved in film and theatre. When I was regularly involved in the theatre I would often get into discussions with fellow actors about great performances. They would to a man come up with names like Olivier and Brando and by rote list performances like Hamlet or On the Waterfront. It's not that these aren't great actors or great performances, they certainly are, it's that if you asked them about Walter Huston in Dodsworth or Anna Magnani in The Rose Tattoo or god forbid, someone who's name they didn't even recognize like Roger Livesey in The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp they didn't know what in the hell you were talking about. I was constantly amazed at their knowledge of only the biggest actors in the biggest movies. And in discussions of films themselves just think Best Picture winners and that's about all you need to know. So while the critics list will probably continue to expand to include more and more great undiscovered films the directors list will probably stick with Citizen Kane, The Godfather and The Godfather Part II, 8 1/2, Lawrence of Arabia, Dr. Strangelove, Bicycle Thief, Raging Bull, Vertigo, La Régle du jeu, Rashomon, Seven Samurai for a long time coming. They know these films and believe in respecting the pantheon.

PART FOUR: THE PROBLEM OF SELECTION

One way around the problem of too many big movies shutting out too many small movies is to expand the submissions to 25 or 50 from each director and critic. That way movies like Citizen Kane and The Godfather will still get the recognition they richly deserve but other smaller films will build more of a consensus. When a critic or director is faced with dropping one of the pantheon so they can get another great, less recognized film on the list most will probably go with the big one. Given only ten spaces the Godard fan might drop Le Mépris in favor of Breathless to insure that Godard is represented. The Welles fan might drop Magnificent Ambersons in favor of Citizen Kane and so on. But given 25 choices, or even 50 (!), Jonathan Rosenbaum can still "mention Chaplin, Godard, Hitchcock, Ozu, Renoir or Welles" and have room left over for Playtime and Last Year at Marienbad. Give critics and directors the freedom to come up with their own top 25 or 50 and, who knows, a new pantheon may emerge. It's five years until the next list, maybe it can happen.

PART FIVE: CONCLUSION

The appeal of the Sight and Sound poll for the novice film buff is that is gives one a quick, concise overview of film history, from all countries, from all eras. The results have changed dramatically over the years. In 1972 there were only three American films in the top ten: Citizen Kane, The Magnificent Ambersons and The General, with only Citizen Kane (at no. 1) breaking into the top seven. Now the entire top three are American made (or four since, despite their being lumped together, The Godfather I & II are obviously two distinct films). The Magnificent Ambersons remained on the list until 1992 when directors became involved in the selections as well. Battleship Potemkin, a vital film in cinematic history, has been in the top seven on the critics list since the poll's inception in 1952 but has yet to crack the directors top ten dropping it to ten overall, its lowest mark ever.

With the popularity of the A.F.I. top 100 lists the Sight and Sound poll is more necessary than ever to give a novice a real sense of diversity in film. Since the A.F.I. covers only American films it isolates all of film history to one country. This wouldn't present a problem if it were not so popular or perhaps the Sight and Sound poll were more well known. But that is not the case.

The Sight and Sound poll will continue to offer the best selection of great movies to the movie enthusiast. An expanded submission for the critics and directors would make the list even more authoritative. More critics and directors will be willing to include smaller, lesser known works along side the giants, confident in the knowledge that they will all be recognized. We will still revel in the Kanes and Vertigos of the movie world but also make room for the George Minafers, delusional Danish men who think they're Jesus and beloved French donkeys.