Blindspot - "Mr. Smith Goes To Washington" and "The Grapes Of Wrath"

As pre-WWII statements of America, Mr Smith Goes To Washington and The Grapes Of Wrath both warn against allowing the powerful elite control over the little common man - a call to arms often heard on the cinematic landscape and relevant to today's political and economic climate as well. But even though they were filmed within a year of each other (1939 & 1940 respectively), they reach much different conclusions about the country via very different storytelling methods. Their biggest commonality might actually be that each film was a showcase for a blooming star - a 31 year-old Jimmy Stewart looking perfectly young and naive as a hick junior senator in Mr. Smith and Henry Fonda, still with boyish good looks at 35 and piercing eyes that illuminate the black and white landscapes of Grapes, bringing some more mature depth to the strength of Tom Joad. They had each been in the business for about 5 years, had each recently come off star-making lead roles for the first time (Stewart in It's A Wonderful Life and Fonda in Young Mister Lincoln) and then never really looked back. They became Hollywood staples now destined for big things, gorgeous starlet co-stars and future best-of lists.

Looking at these films for the first time almost 3/4 of a century later, only one film stands out for me with a story that equals its message - John Ford's The Grapes Of Wrath. A big reason is Fonda's focused take on Joad, but it may be mostly to do with the film's staged approach to releasing its message about the rights of workers. It's not that it's always subtle mind you, but the plight of these migrant farm workers builds throughout the story and allows you to feel more than just sympathy for these poor homeless people. Particularly since Tom becomes someone you can respect and even attempt to emulate as he learns different ways of disarming volatile situations. The junior senator Jefferson Smith, on the other hand, starts out naive as the day is long and - though his intentions are good and "wholesome" - seems to flail against whatever he can't immediately break through. Early on after his move to Washington, the press make fun of his hick background and Smith reacts by going around and punching every writer in the face (including an old man getting into a car). This transition from friendly aw-shucks yokel to rage-filled vengeance seeker doesn't really endear him to you, so when he gets frustrated that his lone idea and cause is threatened due to a bill allowing the creation of a dam (on the property earmarked for his boys camp project), you can't help feel that the day long filibuster that results is mostly a temper tantrum. He ends up on the right path fighting corruption and greed, but he stumbles into it and needs help to navigate the terrain.

Fortunately, the help he receives is from the wonderful Jean Arthur. As Smith's assistant, she brings verve to the film when she's on screen (even if it's just reacting to those around her with her unparalleled timing) and is a gleaming shining light. Otherwise, I had little connection to the story or characters (apart from the great character actors Eugene Pallette, Thomas Mitchell and William Demarest who pepper the film). Jefferson Smith simply isn't interesting. Oh sure, his eyes are opened to the corruption in government, but there's no arc to his character. Again, he goes from one end of a spectrum to another - being in awe of his surroundings to a cynic in a blink. That awe, by the way, is shown in a cheesefest of a montage showing the Lincoln and Jefferson Memorials backed by "Glory, Glory Hallelujah" and topped by a child reading "Four score and seven years ago...". It's an obvious setup for his fall, but director Frank Capra is so heavy-handed with it that I expected Yankee Doodle to come riding by...Oh, did I mention that Yankee Doodle Dandy was played over the opening titles? Also, I have to be honest and state that Smith simply irritated me - not just with his black/white reactions to everything, but also due to his male-centric views. Granted, this was 75 years ago, but Smith goes from publishing a boys magazine to flogging the benefits of a boys camp and states that his main desire is to "make the Capitol come to life for every boy…". He does appreciate the value of his assistant though and lets her know that "for a woman you've done very well...". If it sounds like I'm being harsh on a beloved classic, it's because my frustrations with the film lie mainly in its black and white perspective. The cronies are bad, the politicians and newspaper folks are cynical, etc. It leaves no surprises for the story and frankly makes his "impassioned" filibuster rather dull.

By contrast, Tom Joad starts out having just left prison (with the simple hope of not having to "knock anyone down") and eventually gets to a position of optimism even in the face of hardship ("we're the people that live...") - but he does this in a gradual fashion through difficult circumstances and by listening to others and learning from them. It's immediately easy to react against all the land owners forcing out their farming tenants, but Joad realizes that not all of them are necessarily evil. It's the system that's broken and the owners are actually having their own hands forced by the banks. This is one of the areas where Grapes shines as it acknowledges that not everything is cut and dried. Though the film certainly puts Tom and his family through some pretty rough paces as they travel to California and end up in the migrant farmer camps, it never feels like plot is being dumped on them to drive home any points. Their travels end up not just highlighting the history of these farm workers, but view the variety of opinions and people across the land. When Tom's family pull out of their homestead, they offer to bring along Preacher even though they are all but destitute. It's a lovely moment, but it's quickly followed by Tom's mother taking a last look at her home and stating "never had to lose everything I had in life...". The film wants you to see both sides of the country and everything in between. Later in the film Preacher tells Tom that he can't be a preacher any more since a preacher has to know - and he simply doesn't anymore. "I gotta ask."

Grapes Of Wrath and Mr. Smith Goes To Washington try to show "both sides" of America - the good and the bad - but only Grapes seems to understand that there is a pretty large grey area between the two.

Blindspot - "Phantom Of The Opera" & "Creature From The Black Lagoon"

It's odd to think that two vastly different films with 30 years between them could both be lumped together under the same generic genre banner. But that's what happens when you start classifying anything old as "classic" - like, for example, the 1924 silent feature The Phantom Of The Opera and the mid-50s monster flick Creature From The Black Lagoon both being labelled as Classic Horror. The fact that the technical tools available to the filmmakers were worlds apart and their aims were very different don't seem to matter. If it wasn't for alphabetical order, you'd find them side by side on a video store shelf.

Of course, both films are even further removed from modern day fare. Some might claim they suffer for that, but it really does depend what you want from a horror film. Do either of these films shock or scare you? Likely not in an immediate, jump out of your seat kind of way (though the iconic reveal of the Phantom's face can still unsettle), but that's not necessarily the only thing horror can do to you. There's something chilling about the idea of unseen monsters living in a foreign environment right under your feet which could - at a moment's notice and through no fault of your own - rise up and destroy your life. As well, both films provide haunting images of their monsters in close-up that can leave rather disconcerting feelings within you (put the dead-looking eyes of the Creature alongside the contorted, deformed face of the Phantom and your sleep may be interrupted tonight). The jump scares are few and far between, but good horror leaves an impression, not just a brief quickening of the heartbeat due to the crash of sound and image. So the two films do have a good deal in common I guess.

Even the plots contain some overlap as each film has its own secretive "monster" that lurks below the surface and only fights back against the populace above when he is threatened (or when the woman of his choosing is denied him). The Phantom, of course, is well known from stage, screen and just about every other medium - even most of the characters in the movie have heard about him from the very beginning of the story. Everyone seems to know about the rumours of a ghost at the Paris Opera House and that it may somehow be related to the mysterious and cloaked figure who owns box number 5. Everyone, that is, except the new owners. They get acquainted with him rather quickly, though, as several events happen in rapid succession: they see a cloaked man disappear suddenly from his box seat, the ballet dancers see a shadowy figure as they run off stage and the Prima Donna singer Carlotta gets a note ordering her not to perform the following night. In regards to that last occurrence, the Phantom wants Christine to play the role of Marguerite instead and though Carlotta and her mother put up a good fight and refuse to be insulted in such fashion, when show time rolls around the marquee singer seems to have fallen ill. Christine gets the spotlight and The Phantom later pledges to her (through the walls of her dressing room) that he will impart all of his art to her, but she must renounce all her possessions until the day when he will show her his form. Her current boyfriend Raoul is none too pleased at these developments, but Christine tells him that she cannot ever leave the Opera House and it would be best for him to forget her. As if to underscore this, the next night Carlotta decides to sing and The Phantom follows through with his threats. A great chandelier crashes down upon the audience below causing mass pandemonium. In the aftermath, he pulls Christine to the other side of the mirror and down deep into the caverns below...

Those dark depths are the domain of the Phantom, just as below the surface of the murky water of the Amazon is the territory of the Creature from the Black Lagoon. He's (It's?) been happy to stay hidden there lo these many years, but as an expedition returns to his particular corner of the river (after finding some fossil remains of large webbed hands), he begins to feel threatened. The expedition is on alert after returning to base camp to find two of the team dead, but they push onwards. The administrative director of the expedition is concerned mostly about finding something - anything - to avoid being labelled a failure, while the remainder of the crew (apart from the captain of the boat) are scientific staff interested in finding and studying the beast. David is the head of the science expedition and he and the director are at loggerheads for most of the film - not just because of their different approaches to the expedition ("You don't sound like a scientist, you sound like a big game hunter out for the kill"), but because they both have eyes for the only woman on the trip. Kay is already David's girl, but director Mark makes it known to her with the occasional creepy remark that he wouldn't be overly upset if David were to disappear and he be left alone with her. Once the creature sees Kay swimming in the water, though, this triangle expands into a quadrilateral. With Kay often left on her own since David and the crew have qualms about "going into unexplored territory with a woman...", the creature actually has several chances at stealing her away. The story from here doesn't so much progress as it repeats a common cycle: attempt to catch and study the creature then fail. The creature, for his part, tries several times to get onboard the ship and finally succeeds at capturing Kay and bringing her to his secret grotto. However, the paralyzing drug they been using to try to capture him finally takes hold and they rescue Kay while finally caging the beast. That doesn't last long and they go back to the cycle of cat and mouse.

In many ways Creature Of The Black Lagoon is a run of the mill 50s sci-fi/horror - impulsive characters doing stupid things, women present only for the sake of being rescued and to have men fight over them, and action being driven simply because the plot requires it. However, it differs in several key ways that firmly place it in the realm of "classic horror". First and foremost is the quite spectacular underwater footage that 60 some years later still looks impressive and must have been very difficult to capture at the time. It's not just the frequency or the realism of seeing the beast and the crew swim around the lagoon, but director Jack Arnold (It Came From Outer Space, This Island Earth, Tarantula, The Incredible Shrinking Man, etc.) gets creative by having the camera follow alongside the swimmers, film over top of them, from below and by playing with the light streaming through the water. This leads to some wonderful shots and, when both man and beast are in the water at the same time, provides actual suspense. As much as I enjoy a great deal of the 50s films from this genre, there are rarely moments as tense as some of these underwater sequences. Arnold keeps the film moving at a decent clip and even though it has a tendency to fall back on standard tropes of the genre and times (such as later in the movie when the beast blocks the boat's path and one of the crew tells Kay to go lock herself in her room to be safe...), as a whole, it's a pretty damn effective monster flick. Even within those restrictions, it plays with the alpha male competition between David and Mark (though never quite allows Kay to do much), appears to be a solid proponent of evolution and its role in helping to foster this strange mix of fish and man (an early montage shows the beginnings of life in water), and consistently uses music very well (blaring horns dominating when the creature pops up from behind a rock while strings help along the creepier sections).

The Phantom, of course, can't readily fall back upon genre characteristics or shortcuts since they were still developing at the time. It does make use of some expressionistic filming which provides some gorgeous use of shadows (even in the relatively crappy DVD version I watched), but otherwise it has to figure out its own path to the creation of an eerie environment designed to frighten its audience. The strategy is focused very much on mood - using shadows, set design, makeup and acting as the tools. As mentioned earlier, that reveal of the phantom's face just after Christine removes his mask has easily made its way to the list of all time horror movie moments and still has the power to shock. Lon Chaney must be given the lion's share of the credit as he created the phantom's horrific features solely from twisting his own face and using makeup that he took great pains to do himself. He's the star of the show, but certainly has to share the stage with those rather stunning sets that stand in for the sewers and dungeon pathways under the opera house. There are several trips through the passageways throughout the movie and numerous times you find yourself hoping that the plot holds off just a bit longer before intruding upon the surreal visions on screen. Adding further to these images is the Bal Masque D'Opera scene - a yearly event where all classes in Paris mingle in costumes and masks and is the only portion of the film with colour. While the revellers are in hues of pink and purple, the phantom stands out in glowing red (on my DVD copy it was more like magenta, but it's obvious how much he contrasts with the rest of the partygoers). At this point Christine has betrayed him, so his costume of the Red Death is highly appropriate. Having previously uttered sentences such as "If I am the Phantom, it is because man's hatred has made me so" and "Feast your eyes - glut your soul, on my accursed ugliness", this is not a guy who is going to be terribly open to second chances and excuses. He has learned of Christine and Raoul's plan to run away and snatches her after the next performance of Faust from the stage. The Phantom has desired Christine's love in order to redeem him ("so that which is good within me, aroused by your purity, might plead for your love"), but now that he sees her as having betrayed him he becomes desperate. Raoul gives chase into the tunnels (along with the French secret police and eventually a mob) and sets up the finale which also turns into a bit of cat and mouse suspense.

Though Phantom Of The Opera is undoubtedly one of the more original and long-lasting documents of horror filmmaking, both films have influenced (in different ways) and entertained countless fans and aficionados over the years and easily deserve their reputations as being classics. Horror or otherwise.

Blindspot - "Lost Weekend" & "Deliverance"

When I chose Lost Weekend and Deliverance as a Blindspot pair, I did it with a vague idea of a common theme of men overcoming major obstacles. As it turns out, the biggest obstacle each central character faces and needs to overcome is staring right back at him in the mirror. That's not to say there aren't a few other hindrances in their way throughout each story (addiction and hallucinations in the first, raging water and crazy backwoods hunters in the other), but each man has to come to the realization that he has worth, courage and the ability to "dig deep". For some, it takes desperate and dire circumstances to finally get the message across.

In Billy Wilder's Lost Weekend, Ray Milland plays Don Birnam - a miserable alcoholic who (even though he has managed 10 days sobriety) continues to be his own worst enemy. We actually meet one of his bottles of rye (hanging out the window in one of the few hiding spots his family haven't found yet) before we meet him. As the camera moves into the apartment, we learn that Don is preparing to go to the country with his brother for a weekend away from all temptation. However, Don has every intention of bringing along some of his favourite refreshment if he can just divert his brother's attention for a few minutes. If he plans to get some writing done, he needs to be creative and he believes that alcohol allows his mind to "toss the sandbags overboard so the balloon can soar". But that's the thing about someone in Don's condition - they can rationalize just about anything and lie as easy as most of us breathe. And not just to his brother or girlfriend (Jane Wyman with the loveliest set of cheekbones you ever did see), but mostly to himself. He may become far more loquacious when liquored up (or "tight" as they used to say in the old days), but he hasn't made a lick of progress on his novel. "Suddenly I'm above the ordinary. I'm confident, supremely confident" he says as he riffs on other supremely artistic people and he may very well feel that way, but Don is far too scared of failure to truly commit to his writing. Hence the booze and the roadblock that is himself.

In John Boorman's Deliverance, Ed (Jon Voigt) seems to have everything he wants (nice job, nice house, nice wife, nice kid - everything "nice"...), but he's somewhat unsure of himself in comparison to his outdoorsman buddy Lewis. One of their early conversations while drifting down the soon-to-be-flooded Cahulawassee River is about why Ed even comes along on these trips. Lewis directly mocks his comfortable life and implies that he has a deep-seated need to break out. Lewis, on the other hand, is always bursting - whether it's scoffing at the idea of insurance or barreling through the deep woods in their jeep to prove to the locals that he can find the river himself. Ed's a bit frightened by this demeanour, but awe-inspired as well. Lewis may be rude and easily disparaging of others, but he outwardly exudes confidence - even if it's more bravado than anything else, it still appeals to Ed. On their first night of camping by the river, Ed and their two other friends have imbibed freely while Lewis remains stone cold sober. The next morning Ed borrows Lewis' crossbow to try some hunting and fails completely as he falls all over the place and misses his target wildly. He seems ashamed of himself and wants to "confess" to Lewis...This opening to their simple paddle-down-the-river-before-it-disappears weekend accomplishes a great deal: it sets up our travelers as disrespectful of these rural people, disrespectful of nature itself and dishonest with themselves.

That dishonesty is Don Birman's biggest issue. It's not that it'll be easy to kick his long term habit if he admitted it, but at least he could see that his drinking is more crutch than creative tool. During his weekend bender that encompasses the film, he does actually take a moment to get down on paper his stories. He's just told his regular bartender that this time he's gonna do it and (after a few drinks to get the juices flowing) he heads back home to pour his words onto the page through his typewriter. But as soon as that blank page stares back at him, he almost immediately reaches for a drink...The cupboard is bare, though, and his scheming to get more commences. It seems the search for the booze is half the addiction and it overwhelms any desire to create his art. The binge starts after he convinces his brother to take Helen to a concert instead of taking the earlier train. They agree to leave him alone and take a later train since he has no access to any money, all hiding places of liquor have been emptied and every nearby bar has been told not to supply him. Of course, the second they leave Don's gears start grinding. He finally finds a stash of money meant for the cleaning lady and bolts to the liquor store and then his favourite bar to celebrate. The bartender gives in since Don assures him that he'll definitely leave at a specific time in order to meet his brother. Don also has some remaining money, so it's an easy sell to the man tending bar. Of course, the drinks pile up while the clock ticks down and Don misses his rendezvous time. His brother leaves without him (fed up with the pain and suffering Don continues to leave in his wake) while Helen begins searching for him. Back alone in his apartment, he uncorks the bottle...

Meanwhile on the Cahulawassee, Ed has switched rowing partners and is paddling now with Bobby (Ned Beatty) - a somewhat annoying and overly condescending businessman. When they pull off to the side of the river, they encounter a couple of local moonshiners who don't take kindly to Bobby's attitude and rolling eyes. Ed tries to diffuse the situation somewhat, but fails again and what follows is one of the more infamous scenes in 70s American cinema. Though the physical abuse Bobby undergoes is hard to watch, the toughest thing about the scene is seeing how he is completely humiliated and dehumanized. Lewis and Drew (Ronny Cox) arrive and help them escape, but the consequences of their actions affect everyone in very different ways. Drew is shattered by what they had to do to escape, Lewis is humbled and Bobby (at least by the end) starts to find goodness in others. In Ed's case, he has to take on a leadership role as the group is pursued and gets caught in the rapids and the rocks. The plot shifts allow for the film to switch gears from an environmental warning tale to a road/river picture to a dark horror to an adventure and finally returns to the tale or warning (respect nature and it'll respect you). Though certainly responsible for many people's view of the "hillbilly south" (the early duelling banjos scene, the mannerisms and speech of the locals, etc.), the film does no favours to the city folk who intrude upon the landscape. It's like the Cahulawassee is hitting back at the "civilized" folks who dare to flood her banks.

Of particular note in Deliverance are the many river navigation scenes. Each paddle is handled and each rapid navigated by the actors themselves. It lends an air of excitement and danger to the film that makes it feel all the more real and visceral. And when Jon Voigt climbs that rock face, Jon Voigt is actually climbing that rock face (no doubt with some extra safety precautions, but still...). Naturalism reigns in this part of the country as it does in the film in style and acting. You can't help but Join Ed on his journey to discovering his hidden ability. Whereas in Lost Weekend, melodrama and artifice are the underpinings. The street scenes and sets (apartment, bar, etc.) look realistic, but the acting, the monologues, the blaring music and the heightened emotion all call attention to themselves. This isn't a bad thing of course - the script is typically sharp and Don's speeches are so very eloquently crafted by Wilder that they are just pure joy to listen to (even if covering depressing or pathetic ground). Ray Milland won an Oscar for his decidedly non-natural performance, but it fits those words and creates one big emotional arc towards his own self-discovery. Two vastly different films reaching for similar conclusions.

Blindspot - "A Star Is Born" & "Cabaret"

I've likely said a lot of obvious things in my time, but I expect ranking high on that list would be saying something like "Geez, that Judy Garland can sing, eh?". But I wonder how obvious that is these days? Sure, everyone knows that Judy's version of "Somewhere Over The Rainbow" from The Wizard Of Oz is a classic piece of American music and that she's been in countless musicals, but I wonder - particularly with a great deal of words being spilled over the darker aspects of her life - how many people really know that she can SING. And I mean soul-bearing, hair-on-the-back-of-your-neck-raising, pure unadulterated song emanating from her voice. I can think of no better evidence of this than her version of "The Man Who Got Away" from A Star Is Born - it raised every goosebump on my skin as I listened to a woman attempting to purge all variety of demons from inside her.

It wasn't just the emotion pouring out that was impressive, it was also a deep command of her voice that she used to shift on a dime, retain her pitch and control power. Oddly enough, traits that she seemed to share with her own offspring Liza. In Cabaret, Liza Minelli's songs are all worked into the film as part of her night job working in the local cabaret club (both films manage to make all the songs - at least the vocal parts anyway - diegetic) and essentially comment on the progress of the story at each point. Though it's a fantastic idea to provide some context for each song, they easily stand alone as single performances because of director Bob Fosse's creative choreography and Liza's natural ability (and I would guess instinct) to grab the spotlight. There is more artifice in Cabaret's musical numbers due to them being confined to the stage, but there is no question about Minelli's vocal chops. Like her famous mother, Minelli has slowly become known primarily as a persona, but let's be clear - she could sing with the best of them.

Though less emotionally resonating than anything Garland sings within A Star Is Born, Minelli's songs are sung with full gusto, natural flair and - where have you heard this before - complete control. It's a bit at odds with Minelli's character of Sally Bowles, though, since she comes across as the impromptu party girl (who calls people "Daahling!"), always seeming to live life to the fullest, but in reality is all false bravado and desperately seeking approval. This drives her desire to be a famous actress, though perhaps not as much as the need to show her father that she really is worth consideration. And so she finds herself in Berlin in 1931 bravely working the Kit-Kat club, fending off suitors (unless of course they may prove to be beneficial in some capacity) and waiting for that one Hollywood agent to discover her. In the meantime she lives in a boarding house and more than happy to meet and greet a new British tenant named Brian who is hoping to make his way as an English teacher. Sally wastes little time trying to seduce Brian, but he resists. She flippantly says "...unless you don't sleep with girls..." and as he pauses before answering, she realizes her misunderstanding. In a wonderful moment - so much more realistic and contrary to much modern day fare - she isn't shocked by this revelation that Brian's taste lies more with men than women and essentially refuses to leave his room. She forces her friendship upon Brian and he all too gladly receives it. She's still smitten with him due to his open nature (when she tries to shock him with "Have you ever slept with a dwarf", he quickly responds with "Yes once, but it wasn't a lasting relationship...") and they seem ripe to mesh with the morally loose society around them. At the same time, there's growing anti-semitism and swelling nationalism with the rise of Hitler and the Nazis. Many aren't overly concerned about it (including wealthy Maximilian - the shared friend and lover of both Brian and Sally), but midway through the film we get the only song sung outside the confines of the club: an stirring version of "Tomorrow Belongs To Me" led by Nazi youth and sung with a growing intensity by the majority of an outdoor cafe. It's not just disquieting, it's downright terrifying - especially as we see an old man not singing and sitting alone at a table, looking despondent at what he envisions is about to happen to his country. After witnessing the scene, Brian asks Maximilian "Do you still think you can control them?". His little shrug before he gets into the car speaks volumes about the dangers of inaction. It speaks to Maximilian's selfish character as well - cheating on his wife with both Brian and Sally shows he has no particular allegiance. Except perhaps to money. It makes the world go round after all (or so the song says...).

As A Star Is Born opens to a "Night of Stars" relief fund event for motion pictures, the world of 1950s Hollywood is a little less frightening than 1931 Berlin. But perception can drive one's fears and anxieties...Norman Maine is one of the scheduled performers at the event, but he's once again MIA so the producers decide to skip ahead to the next act: a big band with a young singer named Esther Blodgett fronting it. They kick into their first tune when a heavily drunk Maine shows up backstage and trips, bumps and bullies his way on stage. Esther sees what's developing in the dark corner and incorporates his inebriated dancing into her act to make it all seem planned. Afterwards, he's very thankful for her help, but still boorish to everyone else. As she leaves, she recognizes his issues, but still sees something "nice" inside. His career has started to slide and his dependence on booze has been creeping up. What caused what isn't clearly stated, but the more he feels like the spotlight has waned and the public have forgotten him, the more the booze takes precedence. Fear of failure is a curse for the celebrity and the film presents this in an achingly real fashion. It's doubled when you consider Garland's own troubles in the few years previous to the film and there's little doubt where many of the barbs at the studio system, uncaring fans and overall machinery come from (Garland and her husband's production company produced the film as a comeback vehicle for her). Maine tracks down Esther the following day and quietly eavesdrops on a jam session with her band. It's at this point that she lets loose with "The Man Who Got Away" and you can see her performance literally pull Maine into the light (the use of light and colour throughout the film is exceptional). Partially he sees that chance to get back to relevance by bringing her forward, but she has also renewed his enthusiasm for the art itself. And so begins the classic setup of the fading star helping the new talent with only one possible ending...

After getting her in with the studio, Maine is sent off to do location shooting and Esther (now renamed Vicki Lester by the individuality-hating studio that requires conformity) gets bogged down in grunt work. There are some particularly sharp jabs at the studio system as she is plopped on an conveyor belt through various departments. The most obvious inspired-from-her-own-life segment is the studio's makeover of her face - Garland had always been terribly self-conscious of her appearance as studio boss after studio boss had tried to tweak her looks on screen, so when she comes out of the assembly line with blonde hair and caked on makeup, you can see the direct link to the blonde makeover done to Garland for 1943's Presenting Lily Mars (when she was only 21). Not until Maine returns and arranges for her to take the place of a singer who has left another film in mid-production does she finally get a chance to shine. The film shines here as well by taking a simple film premiere and building it into a centrepiece for Garland herself without ever sacrificing the flow of the overall story. As they watch the film from the audience, we are brought into the movie where Vicki plays an actress in a big stage production. After singing an odd half-blackface rendition of "Swanee" to close out the play, the actress sits on the edge of the stage and sings a song to the audience about her career and life. Within that song, we get flashbacks to earlier parts of her career where she sings other songs. So these individual numbers become song flashbacks within a song within a play within a movie within a movie. But there's never a question of which layer she's currently in - it's done effortlessly through George Cukor's direction, the ingenious construction of the sequence and some wonderful slightly surreal sets for the flashbacks. As terrific as James Mason is in the role of Norman Maine (his ability to switch from happy drunk to absolutely menacing is a sight to behold) and as great as the melodrama of the story is, Garland and her songs own the film.

As does Minelli and her club performances in Cabaret. Michael York is lovely as Brian, the rest of the cast (including Joel Grey as the slightly wicked, slightly creepy master of ceremonies to both the audience of the club and the audience of the film) is great and the claustrophobia of Berlin feels quite real on screen, but everytime Liza sings and Fosse's choreography kicks into gear, the film soars. Minelli (like her mom) too often gets associated with the oddities of her personal life, so let's hope she is never forgotten for the quite spectacular way she proudly owns that Kit-Kat club stage. There's never a false note in her voice or those performances - they are simply pure entertainment. When Sally gets on stage, she delights in being there, her uncertainties having been left in the dressing room and her confidence demanding the spotlight. It's probably safe to say that it's a good fit for Minelli as well - though one could say that about her entire performance during the film. If Sally is all blather and false front, Minelli acts the character superbly. It's the kind of character that can become annoying ever so quickly, but Minelli finds just the right touch to make her endearing. As for Fosse, the way he directs both the dancing and the filming is masterful. Having just watched his first film Sweet Charity attempt to experiment with all manner of different choreography and film tricks (with unsuccessful results for me), it was ideal to see him restricted to the stage for each of these numbers. It seemed to open up his creativity even further to perfect each and every routine. Cukor too was hitting some interesting creative notes - apart from those set piece songs (along with the sets, the use of a minimal set of colours makes them distinctive), he uses still photographs to help advance the narrative in a couple of sequences. The first usage of it is quite effective as it covers a period where the two are separated from each other and gives a unique feeling of loneliness for both of them.

Romance between the main characters is inevitable in both films - Vicki falls for her mentor and he for his starlet while Sally and Brian's close friendship leads to an experiment in sex and into an initial very loving relationship. But the films give enough foreshadowing with their concurrent themes so that the viewer isn't overly surprised as things fall apart. The rich elite in Germany ignore what's happening under their noses (or even buy into it) and the Hollywood studios turn away from their has-been stars once they are of no use to them (as do the fans). Even once Maximilian has left the country (for Argentina) and left Brian and Sally to focus on each other, their future is in doubt. The film clearly says that "life is a cabaret" and it should be lived to its fullest, so each realizes they must remain true to themselves. Unfortunately, as the final unsettling distorted mirror shot of Nazis in the club's audience shows, their countrymen did not. In A Star Is Born, the studios and fans raise their stars to places from which they can only fall - no matter how great a mentor Norman Maine is to Vicki, no matter what he has done in the past and no matter how caring and kind he is when sober (Garland and Mason fit together very naturally during these moments), he's doomed. His public fall is painful to watch (in particular the Oscar ceremony scene when he pleads to the audience "I need a job...") and his private one is simply tragic.

Both musicals handle the artifice of their musical segments within the story without resorting to fantasy and even use them to help advance the story. This helps make them both classic musicals and among the best films I've seen all year.