Not Wilder Than Today's Standards, Still Awesome

(#93) The Apartment -- directed by Billy Wilder

Thankfully for prosperity's sake, Wilder avoided discussing Ike's cue ball.

Ever since I've heard the name "Billy Wilder" I've associated the famed director with the root of his surname: Wild. In my mind, Wilder is associated with the taboo, the extreme, the wild. His comedies shocked audiences in the early 1960s prior to the more liberal comedies that Hollywood would soon churn out at decade's end. While TV was still portraying Dick Van Dyke sleeping in a separate bed from his wife, Wilder latched onto the reality that people have sex for reasons other than procreation. People engage in intercourse for, gasp!, pleasure. Wilder is widely credited with expanding the bounds of acceptable entertainment.

Wilder, along with Woody Allen, has the distinction of having the most films (five) on AFI's Funniest Movies List -- including number one, Some Like it Hot. On the particular list I refer to, Wilder lands four (along with SLIH: Sunset Boulevard, Double Indemnity and, the film of this post, The Apartment), so I'll be spending a decent amount of time on this German-born director. Web sites laud Wilder for his simplistic directing style, often allowing the written word and the actor's nature to carry his films over fancy cinematographic techniques -- like contemporaries Alfred Hitchcock and Orson Welles. In total Wilder owns seven Oscars and was nominated another 15 times. His expertise went beyond comedy, as his court-room dramas (Witness for the Prosecution), film noir ventures (Sunset Boulevard) and war movies (Stalag 17) also received recognition from the academy.

In short, Wilder's got it going on.

The Apartment does not depart from Wilder's style of letting actors act. His job is to coax the most out of his talent and allow the excellent script (of which he co-wrote the screenplay) to do its job. Because of Wilder's subdued approach, Jack Lemmon and Shirley MacLaine soar.

Bud Baxter (Lemmon) stars as an unimportant, young accountant in New York who has one link to the great movers-and-shakers at his company: an apartment. At Bud's well-furnished yet small apartment, (male) executives from work come to take their mistresses and have affairs. That's it. The whole crux of the film is based on the fact that rich, powerful, white men have sex with women who aren't their wives and the complications that this causes on Bud's life.

Initially, the problems were small (Mr. So-and-so took too long; he's locked out in the cold; his neighbors complain about noise). However when the most-powerful man at the company starts using Bud's apartment to have an affair with Fran (MacLaine) the elevator girl, (to whom Bud is in love) the real dilemma start. What is more important to Bud? The new-found (and probably undeserved) success his apartment has given him or staying true to his feelings by resisting his boss and proclaiming his love for Fran. The humorous scenarios caused by the apartment is checked by the real-life issues it causes. Wilder never lets the film get too serious (which is hard to do when Fran attempts suicide, still he manages), but he is also well-aware of the important subject matter he attempts to address.

A few thoughts on the film.

The past seems so glamorous. Everything about New York in 1960 appears awesome. The clothing, the manner of speaking, the formality everything has in it. I know Wilder made the movie as present day, but to a viewer in 2009, the time capsule is complete. The attitudes of all characters in the film are very unlike people today; however everyone feels authentic. Not that I would really know the appropriate way to behavior, but I feel like I do now. By using the strong-clarity of 1960's black and white film technology, Wilder makes the simple (a middle-class apartment) feel like a whole world unto itself. Bud's office building filled with innumerable adding machines, desk jockeys and Boller caps is a visible phenomenon. Wilder transforms the mundane to grand by doing nothing more than filming it. Visually, that's the beauty of this movie.

Indeed, what used to be considered risque is now tame. As natural as that sounds, this topic must be considered. With HBO, R-rated movies and, my lord, the Internet, people's attitudes towards sexuality sure have changed. Even when watching the seemingly-harmless sitcom Scrubs, for example, the viewer is still given large doses of sex. In The Apartment, I don't think the word sex is even uttered. No skin is shown, no cursing, no over-the-top innuendo -- just allusions carry the film. Maybe that's why the film is so funny. The viewer is never hit over the head with sex; it's omni-present.

That being said, comedy is comedy. Jokes about President Eisenhower's chrome dome might not be funny, but the elements of comedy are still the same. Relatable scenarios with humorous takes, zanny conflicts with exaggerated characters and unexpected, well-timed reactions remain funny. Bud straining spaghetti with a tennis racket made me laugh. Fran's melancholy delivery of the mantra of a mistress, "When you're in love with a married man, you shouldn't wear mascara," is sad, but nonetheless funny. Bud's neighbors with heavy-German accents thinking that he's a sex deviant because they see a different woman leave his apartment every night and accusing him of being a bastard is funny. Unlike TBS, Wilder knows funny.

On the other hand, an example of Wilder's appropriate infusion of seriousness into the comedy is during Fran's suicide attempt. The scenario surrounding her attempt is that she learns her man is stringing her along and will never leave his wife (like he promises he'll do). So she over-doses on sleeping pills. When Bud finds her unconscious in his apartment, he must ditch the train-wreck of a lady he drunkenly brought home (funny), convince his Jewish-doctor neighbor to aide Fran -- despite the fact the doctor hates him for supposedly being a womanizing play boy -- (funny), and later keep her from attempting suicide again by essentially removing all items in his apartment she might use to ax herself off with (sounds serious but once again is funny).

Mixed in with the humor is the handling of the suicide itself. Wilder artfully juxtaposes the callousness of the business man who feels her attempt is a nuisance with Bud's silly but honest feelings towards her. The film portrays women as more than just objects used by the wealthy to achieve cheap pleasures. Although Bud may loses out financially by choosing love over success, he wins morally as his happiness with Fran far outweighs the alternative.

Moral of the story: Love can make you do some crazy things, but remember that it all hinges on whether the other person loves you for the real you. A Full House-type ending doesn't take away at all from mastery that is The Apartment.

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Up next, (#92) A Place in the Sun, directed by George Stevens

Fold Your Hands Child, You Walk Like a Peasant

"The Garden Party" by Katherine Mansfield

Rabbits may be cute, but they don't give a damn about poor people.

A rich British family plans, delivers and cleans up a fancy, mid-summer garden party. Isn't it grand? However, the fun is spoiled for daughter Laura when a poor neighbor accidentally dies prior to the party. She actually has the audacity to suggest that her family postpone the occasion in honor of the dead peasant.

Mansfield's 1922 short story contrasts the rich and poor with the ever-popular light and darkness imagery. Laura's family, garden, house etc. are bathed in all the sun's riches; the poor dead dude is submerged in shadow. The story does well in sketching the upper classes attitude towards the unfortunate. Good phrases used to describe the poor include: “Their houses were the greatest possible eye soar;” “It was disgusting and sordid;” “People like that don’t expect sacrifice from us;” and “I can’t understand how they keep alive in those poky little holes.”

It is a shocking realization for Laura that people can suffer in misery unbeknownst to her in such a close proximity. The trifles of the garden party are insignificant compared to the sustained torment endured by the poor. Her family’s cold reaction to the poor doesn’t make them bad people. Instead, Mansfield was simply illustrating the general feeling of the establishment towards the lower class in this era.

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Up next: "The Three-Day Blow" by Ernest Hemmingway

A Sustained Departure - Short and Sweet

Delaying a bit what I got going on.

With a Barnes & Noble gift card I purchased a short story anthology. To increase posts on this here blog, I hope to intersperse brief reviews of short stories contained in the book. This is not meant as a substitution for any movie or novel, just an addition to the blog. The book is 50 Great Short Stories; it doesn't advertise them as the best, just great short stories. Milton Crane edited the series.

Up first: "The Garden Party" by Katherine Mansfield

Killing Never Seemed So Cool

#94 -- Goodfellas directed by Martin Scorsese

As Henny Youngman says, "Take Liotta out of this film...please!"

It took Martin Scorsese five attempts to finally secure an Oscar for best director. Although I liked the film he eventually won with (2007's The Departed -- it's pretty sweet), I'd argue it may be the weakest of the Scorsese films (OK, it was better than The Aviator) and may not have even been the best in contention that year (Blood Diamond and Babel were both very deserving). My point being that Scorsese was rewarded for a lifetime of awesome films. One of which being the next on the AFI list -- Goodfellas.

Just when everyone thought mob movies had been done to death (especially mob movies with Robert DeNiro), Scorsese roared into 1990 and released a overtly honest, cleverly scripted and gruesomely gory flick that soldifies the genre, once again, as bankable and capable of new ideas.

Ray Liotta -- in the only thing I ever could stand him as, ever -- portrays Henry Hill, a half-Irish, half-Italian mobster turned eventually stool pigeon. The film, based on the book Wise Guy, runs throw the glamorous life of Hill and his New York-based croonies. DeNiro and Joe Pesci co-star in masterful roles as his two best goombas and really steal the show from Liotta.

Pesce and DeNiro are everything to this film. Their characters have so much depth and both excel in comedic and dramatic scenes alike. Pesce's portrayal of Tommy DeVito is iconic. His indecisiveness and self-consciousness makes him a frightening character to encounter. The oft-quoted "What do you mean I'm funny?" scene far exceeded my expectations. Duplicators lack the fear Pesce creates with the character; throughout the entire scene -- and film in general -- you feel Pesce has the potential to kill everyone in sight for no reason.

DeNiro is at the height of cool in this movie. Also playing a half-Irishman, Jimmy Conway, DeNiro commands the scene like his character commands a room -- through subtle demands. By snapping his fingers, whispering in a colleague's ear or nodding in the direction of what he wants, DeNiro dominates. Not as outwardly dangerous as Pesce's character, DeNiro does not refrain from inflicting violence or defending his turf. When Conway feels his wishes are not met, the results are startlingly deadly. One thing that I learned from Goodfellas is that if DeNiro tells me not to spend my recently-stolen money for awhile, I sure as hell will listen.

In fact, after talking about how awesome Pesci and DeNiro are, fuck Liotta: he severely detracts from this film. When DeNiro yells, it's purposeful, it's poetic; when Liotta mouthes off, it seems as if that's the only card he has in his deck. The climatic scene detailing a paranoid Liotta running errands on the day of his arrest is a symbolic for his acting in the movie. It's like he is always looking over his shoulder to see how much better Pesce and DeNiro are than he. Sadly, it's as hopeless for Hill as it is for Liotta.

There are other noteworthy elements that I feel at least deserve mention. Like in any good mob movie, food plays an important role. Often humor comes from the inclusion of food. At one point, hot-headed DeVito kills a made man; therefore, Conway and Hill have to aid DeVito in burying the man upstate. Instead of getting things done ASAP, the trio stops at DeVito's mom's house and eats dinner -- some good gravy there. Later in the film, during Hill's paranoid drug-dealing spree, he continually bases his movements on a crucial element -- the making of tomato sauce. Liotta, all coked-up and strung out, stirs the sauce and worries about its consistency mere moments before being ambushed by the feds.

Also great secondary character work throughout the film. Lorrainne Bracco (the future Dr. Melfi on The Sopranos) excels as Hill's battered, cuckolded wife. Paul Sorvino's role as the mob boss exudes a Brando-esque dominance. And, for me, Chuck Low is the film's most unappreciated actor. Playing the annoying, clingy, dependent, oh-god-shut-up!, Jewish Morrie Kessler, Low hangs with the big boys and somehow becomes an endearing character. On top of all that, cool cameos by Samuel L. Jackson, comedian Henny Youngman ("Take my wife...please!), and Michael Imperioli (Christopher from The Sopranos) advances the idea that no character is too small.

So despite having a leading man who takes away from the film, Goodfellas is the most tasteful and artistic mob movie outside of The Godfather series. Although Scorsese should have won for this one, I'm glad he finally got what he deserved (just like so many poor, dead gangsters in this film).

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(#93) - The Apartment directed by Billy Wilder

I Think I Get It...

#91 On the Road by Jack Kerouac

Like Alicia Silverstone, I am clueless...regarding Kerouac.

The Beat generation in America paved the way for the Hippies.

That much am I aware.

As depicted in Kerouac's so-called "novel that defined a generation" the Beats were without identity and wandered the country in search of something -- whether it be love, euphoria, or simply joy.

That much I am also aware.

Aside from that I don't know what exactly I got out of On the Road. I'm just not sure if I get it...but I kinda do.

The novel describes narrator Sal Paradise and his gone friend Dean Moriarity's travels across the great American landscape. Divided into five sections, each segment tells a different adventure. Sometimes they go East to West; others West to East. Whether hitchhiking, riding the bus, driving their own cars, stolen cars or being hired to move cars, they always somehow get from Point A to Point B. Eventually the pair finds itself in Mexico for what I guess you would call the novel's climax.

But that's about it...to me anyways.

On the Road is based off of the real life exploits of Kerouac (Sal Paradise) and Neal Cassady (Dean). Thrown in there are also numerous secondary characters, the most notable being Carlo Marx -- the alias of yet another Beat icon, Allen Ginsberg. Marx and Dean spend loads of time together in the early parts of the novel and are described by Kerouac as outcasts:

"They were like the man with the dungeon stone and the gloom, rising from the underground, the sordid hipsters of America, a new beat generation that I was slowly joining."

I would give context for that quote, but there is none. Throughout the whole book there is no context for any description. Kerouac writes long, rambling paragraphs that are heavy on adjectives but light on purpose. He rants and rants and rants about nothing.

Kerouac's pointless, stream-of-conscious diatribes to me are empty. Time and again he writes of massive nights where Dean and Sal go nuts in random American city. It's all the same every time. Denver, New York, San Francisco, New Orleans -- each has its own unique identities, but each is still essentially the same. They don't learn anything knew; the only growth is the further experience of repetitive partying. I dug the admiration for black bop and jazz music, but everything else felt hollow.

But maybe that's the point. Maybe the American experience is one of letdown and disappointment. Dean can never be content in one city, with one woman, living one life. He's restless. Thrilled only by the chase, the road, Dean really isn't a complete person. In a lot of ways Dean is just a symbol for the failure of the American dream. With a drunk for a father and no formal education, Dean floats along doing as he pleases until he is forced to deal with reality. For him, the reality is in the form of the countless bastard children and divorced wives he leaves scattered around the country.

Are Kerouac's experiences a lesson of what not to do? In a lot of ways I feel his recollections are mere documentations of wild nights and nothing more. I don't think Dean is painted as a sympathetic character, though, despite Kerouac's efforts to make him one. I feel only anger towards Dean, not pity. I think it's because he's such a fuck up; he destroys everything around him and constantly ruins others' lives. If he didn't affect others it would be one thing, but that's not the case. Dean is lost and is bringing everyone down with him in his catastrophe of a life.

What pisses me off the most about this book is the lack of a climax. Like I said before, eventually Dean and Sal stumble down to Mexico, and they love it. The backwards-ness of the impoverished country inspires them...to accomplish exactly the same thing they do in America. Namely, they get drunk, smoke lots of "tea" and pay for sex. This episode concludes with Sal contracting dysentery, Dean abandoning him and eventually Sal returning to America.

The novel's conclusion is essentially Dean won't change and continues to wander and screw people over in the process; Sal settles down with a lady; and the pair -- despite Sal's yearning -- don't rekindle their road wanderings. By the way, all of that is summed up in about six pages of text. I'm not saying Kerouac had to resolve everything, but I wish he accomplished something.

Yes, Kerouac's wanderings spoke to countless young Americans who felt out of place. The hopeless feeling certainly exists today, and I'm sure On the Road remains an anthem to many. But for those with at least small ambitions, this novel yields nothing.

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Like I said before, a mystery guest will discuss Frankenstein. The next novel on my radar is (#90) Les Miserables by Victor Hugo. I read an abridged version in my junior year of high school.

Also, a film review is in the works.

Sicily As It Was

#93 The Leopard by Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa

How'd you feel if you were kicked around for eternity?

I am Sicilian, yet I really do no know much about my heritage. Growing up, for whatever reason, I embraced and immersed myself more with the Irish half. I didn’t really have anything against the Italian in me, but it never really appealed as much. Possibly it was the language gap or the infatuation with style that held me back. In fact, until recently I didn’t even know that I was Sicilian (the other 25 percent is Neapolitan -- Naples, from what I hear, is pretty gross).

After graduating from high school, I traveled to Ireland. The love for the Emerald Isle grew, as did the indifference towards my Mediterranean roots. Following my sisters’ subsequent high school completion, they journeyed to Italy. Maybe that’s why they had a closer connection to my other homeland.

The Leopard by Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa made me appreciate my father’s background a lot more. It also gave me a little justification -- and relief -- for not knowing much about the culture: the real Sicilian culture.

Lampedusa’s surprisingly insightful and captivating novel on the demise of Sicilian nobility made me realize that I’ll never be able to know anything about one of homelands without visiting it. The ancient, backwards island has been kicked by the boot of the modern society, in addition to the geographic Italian peninsula, for hundreds of years. The French, Romans, Turks and probably the Mongolians at one point all colonized the island, ravaged it of natural resources and individual sovereignty, and imposed their respective tradition on the Sicilians. Oddly, a main point by The Leopard's protagonist, is that the Sicilians relish their sufferings and hardships.

As I’ve seen in many of the stories on this literary list, the setting is important. This would only be natural with many great works focusing on revolutions (social or otherwise), great trends or social injustices centered in a particular place and time. However, only half of a setting’s characteristics are important: the place, not the time. The Leopard itself occurs the period before, during and after the Red Coats act of uniting Italy under the leadership of Victor Emmanuel. Revolutionary leader Garribaldi’s visage hovers above the novel’s characters as he transforms from liberating demagogue to corrupt demi-goat over a 25-year span. The point Lampedusa makes, though, is that despite revolution, Sicily remains the same. Day-to-day actions of the islanders are not altered. A lethargic, blasé approach to life avoids political affiliation. Resistance to change and adherence to past and tradition rule the Sicilian mindset.

That past tradition is dying away with the Leopard himself, though. I suppose the time does matter, but not as much as one would think. The crux of the story deals with Don Fabrizio Salina's (the leopard is on his family crest) life. It starts during his middle age, the hight of his comfort. He is rich, powerful and will never have to worry about losing any his prestige. Yet, he does; not so much for himself, but about the future. He feels he is the last in a line of great Salina nobility, and he's accurate. Like in many societies, the nobles probably could have survived, but they, through inaction, do not move, do not alter the status quo. And while their loss of power is gradual, it is noticeable. At one point in the novel, it is evident that a character of non-noble has more money than him, making Don Fabrizio only the second richest person in Sicily. But that is symbolic in it of itself. Fifty years prior, it would be impossible for someone to rise up and secure funds. The nobility was the state. For the Leopard, he is now only a part of the state.

Later, Salina is offered a chance to serve in the newly established Sicilian senate. He scoffs at the idea, though. His way of dealing with problems is throwing money at it, not by establishing social programs or making education reform. Why would he demean himself by consorting with the common man? If Salina had wanted his family to prosper in the future, he could have begun a long line of Salina senators. Instead, his resistance ensured their death sentence.

But enough of that silly stuff. Let's talk about the grungy, dirty sex. Well, sort of. A significant portion of the novel dealt with fiery passions and lust. Early on, Don Fabrizio leaves his comfortable home for an evening with a whore. A lengthy discussion ensues detailing his love for his wife, but how their passions has been distinguished. Their sex life is over. So he has a chippy on the side. The author made it seem as this wasn't uncommon in 19th century Italy. Later, his nephew and his fiancée romp around the mansion doing everything but the nasty. They don't want to ruin the supposed marital bliss and feel the deprivation will make their sex life better. He heavily foreshadows that their life during marriage will be anything but happy and even their sex life will suck. Believe want you want about sex before marriage, but I thought it was bold for the time period for Lampedusa to suggest such improprieities against marriage.

Great book, though. Easy read and relatively short. If you have any Italian blood look up this masterpiece centered around the new nation-state of Italy.

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(#92) Frankenstein by Mary Shelley is next. Possibly by a guest blogger.

To Catch a Salinger...

# 94 The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger

Larry David is Holden Caulfield all grown up.

One’s perspective on a literary work is ever-evolving. To read a novel at 12 is monumentally different than at 15. Rendering an opinion at 21 yields an even fresher outlook that makes your previous readings elementary. However, no matter what age, when one reads a work for a third time, it is quite natural for more in-depth conclusions to be drawn.

This description describes my third stab at J.D. Salinger's novel, The Catcher in the Rye. Recommended to me by my grandfather at an early age, I became enamored with the piece. Re-reading it again in high school, the infatuation continued. Checking Facebook recently, it appeared that I would not be alone in my fondness for the novel.

That reason is exactly why I decided to tread very carefully for my third read through and subsequent review. I feel in a lot of ways that the books in Harry Potter series are the only novels read more by America's youth -- and possibly by the greater population as whole -- than The Catcher in the Rye. People don't like to read criticisms on things they cherish. (Check out Left of the Dial's review and comments for the recent Pattern is Movement album if you don't believe me.)

All that said, I still liked the story of Holden Caulfield's odyssey. A lot. But in many different ways than I did when I was 12.

One aspect the novel excels in is Salinger's masterful characterization of a teenager. Caulfield's language in narration accurately portrays how dumb teenagers really are, drastic their emotions can change in a second and -- despite claims to moral superiority -- hypercritical teenagers can be.

His constant inclusion of the word "ironical" was comical and something I overlooked as a child (possibly because at the time I thought it was a word). Other great words in his vernacular that he overused the shit out of include: "lousy," "terrific," "bastads," "flit," " sexy stuff," "pervy" and, of course, "phony." This really illustrates the limited vocabulary possessed by Caulfield and teens in general. Salinger's ability to capture this verbal immaturity rounds out Caulfield's character and gives insight to his stunted maturity level, as well.

Caulfield emotionally describes things that are important to him in one instant, than insignificant the next. He's the king of the mood swing. And very slight things set him off. Everything rains on his parade. Judgmental to a fault, he lets others personality aspects affect his emotions and stunts his individual growth. While eating lunch with two nuns, he becomes very upset initially because of the presence of a shabby-looking basket for charity collections. Despite the nuns reassurance to him that they are teachers and weren't collecting money, he dwells on this one detail and can't enjoy what would otherwise be a pleasant lunch. This occurs later when Holden runs into his brother's ex-girlfriend in a bar. Her new boy is an Ivy League chap, which instantly makes him a jerk. Holden leaves just because he's a fancy college boy. In a lot of ways, Holden is like Larry David.

Instead of expounding on Caulfield's hypocrisy (and teens in general), I'll just list a few that bugged me:

--Hates movies, but consistently goes.
--Lashes out at Ackley for standing in his light, later ignores Stradlater's request to move out of his light.
--Cringes at Stradlater's motives as always being sexy, then invasively questions Columbia kid's sex life in a bar.

There's more, but those ones stuck in my mind, weeks later.

Children play an important part in the novel and really give credence to my mother's theory that the phrase "the catcher in the rye" is about parenthood. The only people it seems that Holden can tolerate are children. Whether it be a kid playing in the street, two boys "being yellow" at the Museum of Natural History, a little girl asking for help with her skate key or any instance involving his sister Phoebe or deceased brother Allie, Caulfield only has peace of mind when dealing with children. He greatly wants to protect all those young (as seen in helping those boys in the museum, using the girl's skate key or wiping "Fuck" off the school's wall). He wants to be the catcher in rye making sure they don't fall off that cliff.

It is "ironical," though, because Caulfield himself is just a child -- his maturity level is so stunted that he can't tolerate being around people his own age who care about things unrelated to childhood. In no way can he help kids out; he needs to find his own catcher. He tries in vain to search for one, too. The old teacher at Pencey, Jean Gallagher, Stradlater, Ackley, Sally Hayes, his former English teacher now at NYU, a former student at a previous school, D.B., his sister are all potential catchers. Oddly his parents are the only ones he doesn't actively pursue for help. Sure, Holden is a basket-case, but he really is only looking for a little guidance.

Salinger may be a mystery and I hope sometime we find those manuscripts he's hid away since the 1950s, but his gift of Holden Caulfield to all teenagers (and to those lost in general) is enough of a literary contribution that will live on well past his death. Maybe The Catcher in the Rye itself serves as a self-help book for all those souls out there looking for something to relate with. Maybe that's why it's in everyone's Facebook profiles.

In the very least, it establishes proper etiquette on how not to talk to a pimp.
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The next book will be (#93) The Leopard by Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa -- an I-Tall-Yan.