The Parent Trap (1961)

Walt Disney / Buena Vista, 1961. Directed by David Swift. Starring Hayley Mills, Maureen O'Hara, Brian Keith, Charlie Ruggles, Una Merkel, Joanna Barnes, and Leo G. Carroll.

Far superior to its unnecessary 1998 remake, the original version of The Parent Trap was one of the favorite movies of our childhood, and as such, we tend to treat it with indulgence when we watch it again as adults. However, the film is good family fun, a movie that never fails to satisfy and that is apt to be enjoyed with your kids and their friends on special gatherings such as Thanksgiving or Christmas. No wonder that this project had a soft place in Walt Disney's heart.

The plot is based on the 1949 book Das Doppelte Lottchen, by the great German children's storyteller Erich Kästner, and it tells the story of twin sisters Sharon and Susan—both played very adroitly by Hayley Mills—who were separated as babies due to the divorce of their parents. When they meet at a summer camp and come to the realization that they're sisters, they decide to make up for lost time by switching places: one goes to California to meet her ranch-owning dad, and the other goes to Boston to see her high-society mom. Their ulterior scheme will be to reunite their parents in the hope that they'll fall in love all over again so that the sisters won't have to live apart. Of course, this role change will bring about many comic scenes that are very well developed and put together. Brian Keith, who is better known for his work on television than on the silver screen, turns in a delightful performance as a rough-edged but ultimately tender family man. Maureen O'Hara is stunning as his ex-wife, and the movie is graced by very charming appearances by an elderly Charlie Ruggles and by Leo G. Carroll, who plays a particularly funny minister.

On the whole, The Parent Trap is an extremely light-hearted approach to social issues such as divorce and single-parent households, with a rather stereotypical plot that sometimes indulges in slapstick comedy. But beyond that, the premise of the movie—the fact that the sisters have been separated for almost fourteen years without even knowing of each other's existence—is rather grim, and the film isn't without its moments of tenderness and downright hilarity. You'll do your kids (and yourself) a favor if you choose the original over the more modern remake; in our opinion, the quality of this 1961 version is way beyond compare. Oh, and the soundtrack is also quite interesting: Tommy Sands and Annette Funicello sing the title track, while the twins themselves (Hayley Mills, that is!) perform "Let's Get Together," a tune that made enough of an impression on Anton as a kid that he's still looking for the original record of it.

Anton&Erin.

Ladies in Lavender (2004)

UK Film Council/Baker Street, 2004. Directed by Charles Dance. Starring Judi Dench, Maggie Smith, Daniel Brühl, and Natascha McElhone.

Ladies in Lavender may well be the archetype of the movie that lays a quite interesting foundation but that fails to build on those initial premises. Even though it's compelling and very beautifully put together, its screenplay ends up coming across as a good chance that's been wasted away. In the end, it looks as though British filmmaker Charles Dance hadn't dared to follow the road less traveled, and we can't help but feel that, if trodden, that road might have led him closer to a more satisfying work of art.

Set on a remote English coastal town a few months before the outset of World War II, the film tells the story of two sisters, Ursula (Judi Dench) and Janet (Maggie Smith), whose uneventful life is dramatically altered by the unexpected appearance of the young Andrea (Daniel Brühl), whom they find lying unconscious on the beach. The plot is built around a study of the relationship between the youth and the two elderly ladies, but in our opinion, this study is sometimes lacking in depth. For instance, the presence of Andrea awakens Ursula's yearning for a life that she never had the chance to live, and she plunges into nostalgic memories of a past that never existed. As she grows old, Ursula's innermost longings and desires come to the surface as she looks back on her life and is overwhelmed by the wonder of the many things that could have been but never were. Yet the treatment of this aspect of the plot comes across as rather shallow, and we certainly wish that it'd been pushed a little further. The same could be said of the influence that Andrea exerts on the small community that inhabits the tiny village: even though at first it looks as though the film is going to delve deeper into this issue, it's eventually overlooked in favor of Andrea's passion for music.

Nonetheless, in spite of these drawbacks, the movie is quite entertaining, and its scenes are drenched with emotion and occasional humor. Judi Dench and Maggie Smith prove yet again that they're magnificent performers, and Daniel Brühl and Natascha McElhone add to the consistently high interpretive quality of the film. Overall, then, we do recommend the watching of Ladies in Lavender, a film that is further embellished by its picturesque setting and its beautiful, dramatic music. Yet we wish that Dance had been a wee bit more daring in his approach to the telling of the story—it surely would have gone a long way...

Anton&Erin.

The Day the Earth Stood Still (1951)

20th Century Fox, 1951. Directed by Robert Wise. Starring Michael Rennie, Patricia Neal, Hugh Marlowe, and Sam Jaffe.

The Day the Earth Stood Still is far from your typical sci-fi movie. It's actually the product of a very specific social and historical context: that of postwar America as it entered the 1950s. Such a film could never have been made before World War II or before the outset of the Cold War. All the fears that plagued the American society of the time creep into the movie—the atom bomb, the menace of a nuclear war, worldwide political instability—but they're handled in a radically different manner, and that contributes to the appeal of the finished product. One of the foremost assets of the film is the fact that it doesn't treat highly delicate political issues in a one-sided way, but it simply highlights their existence and their complexity, making the audience reflect on them.

The plot is very simple, although extremely telling when we look at it in the light of its historical context. It tells the story of Klaatu (Michael Rennie), an alien from outer space who arrives in Washington on a sort of diplomatic mission: warning humans about the concern that their increasing military power is creating on other planets. After a not-so-warm welcome, the storyline follows Klaatu as he mingles with human beings in an attempt to understand the way in which their society works. Therefore, we see human society from the detached point of view of an outsider that is struggling to come to terms with the fact that dialogue doesn't seem to be a viable way to interact with his distant neighbors.

Robert Wise, who directed great B-movies such as The Body Snatcher (1947), offers here an interesting take on the state of affairs of world politics in the early 1950s. Unlike many pictures of this kind during this period and afterwards, The Day the Earth Stood Still doesn't seem to be interested in taking sides, and it doesn't offer a definitive solution either. It simply warns us about the evils of war and points out the dangers of the lack of communication between governments of different political tendencies. If humans had allowed two World Wars to break out, there's no reason why there couldn't be a third one.

When you see this movie, you may claim that its special effects are a little dated by modern standards. Well, even though they weren't when the film was made, that doesn't really matter, because the essential element of The Day the Earth Stood Still is its message. Wise very deftly twists our expectations as spectators of a sci-fi movie. Here, aliens aren't a menace to humans; on the contrary, it's the other way around. Klaatu doesn't travel millions of miles to attack the Earth; rather, he arrives as a friend, trying to draw attention to the dangerous turns that life on Earth has taken. And in his final speech, he's very eloquent: "Your choice is simple: join us and live in peace, or pursue your present course and face obliteration." Of course, Klaatu isn't really talking about an alien invasion. Unfortunately, not many have actually paid heed to his warning, and his words ring as true today as they did in the war-stricken world of the mid-twentieth century.

Anton&Erin.

The Others (2001)

Cruise-Wagner/Sogecine/Escorpion, 2001. Directed by Alejandro Amenabar. Starring Nicole Kidman, Fionnula Flanagan, Christopher Eccleston, Eric Sykes, Alakina Mann, and James Bentley.

By the time he made The Others, Spanish director Alejandro Amenabar had already proven his abilities behind the camera with two outstanding thrillers, Thesis (Tesis, 1996) and Open Your Eyes (Abre los ojos, 1997). The latter even spawned a far inferior Hollywood remake entitled Vanilla Sky (2001), starring Tom Cruise. But with the highly acclaimed The Others, the wunderkind of Spanish cinema really became an established director, gaining international recognition.

Filmed in its entirety on location in Spain, although set in the English Channel Islands, The Others is a Gothic horror tale told with imagination and gusto, a loose reworking of Henry James's classic novel The Turn of the Screw. One of the reasons why the movie is so effective lies in its plot, very cleverly constructed and developed at just the right pace. Amenabar excels at creating a ghostly atmosphere, building the tension gradually by means of noises, whispers, an elaborate use of light and shadows, and a magnificent soundtrack that perfectly punctuates the most dramatic moments.

The narrative, basically confined to the dimly lit space of an ancient mansion, attempts to blur the limits between time and space, between the world of the living and the world of the dead. The characters' existence is dominated by doubt, fear, longing, and bouts of madness, as Amenabar strives to make sure that the viewer can't clearly distinguish between what is real and what isn't. In such a context, the atmosphere outside the stately walls of the mansion becomes a leitmotif throughout the film. The grim tones of a gray-colored sky, together with the thickness of the ever-present fog, underscore the fact that the characters are in the dark about their past and their present, about their own existence.

The Others turns out to be the perfect vehicle for Nicole Kidman to show once more that she's an excellent actress. Her character, tormented by a past that she's somehow forgotten and by a present of loneliness and grief that she strongly dislikes, isn't an easy role to play, yet she handles it with great elegance and taste. The rest of the cast, laden with fine British actors such as Fionnula Flanagan, Christopher Eccleston, and Eric Sykes, matches Kidman's great performance. Don't expect The Others to be just another bone-chiller populated by ghostly figures and full of special effects. It's actually a delightful, well-constructed little Gothic story whose unexpected twists and turns will keep you at the edge of your seat.

Anton&Erin.

The Lady from Shanghai (1947)

Columbia, 1947. Directed by Orson Welles. Starring Orson Welles, Rita Hayworth, Everett Sloane, and Glenn Anders

To say that Orson Welles was ahead of his time sounds so much like an understatement nowadays that it may well fall into the category of a widely accepted stereotype. Based on Sherwood King's novel If I Die before I Wake (which Anton took the time to read and actually turned out to be much better than he expected), and graced by fantastic performances by Welles, his then-wife Rita Hayworth, and two fabulous actors such as Everett Sloane and Glenn Anders, The Lady from Shanghai bears witness to this. Welles landed this project merely by chance, when his career as a director was faltering, and he needed money for other endeavors. But no matter, because the movie represents one of those instances when fate and genius come together, and the result is pure and simple greatness.

In The Lady from Shanghai, Welles undertakes a highly interesting generic revision: this is indeed a film noir, yet a very atypical one at that. The movie plays around with most elements of the genre (murder, shady characters, the figure of a femme fatale) but the plot is so elaborate and leaves so many questions unanswered that we often find ourselves completely at sea as spectators. We constantly have the feeling that Welles is playing with us, building up our expectations in one scene merely to shatter them completely in the next one. The characters add to the overall sense of indeterminacy of the film. All of them are complex characters, but their complexity lies mainly in the fact that their development throughout the storyline is conveyed by means of brushstrokes. They are like puppets in Welles's hands, and we only get a very superficial idea of what is hidden behind their masks. For instance, when at some point Grisby (Glenn Anders) stares directly at the camera with a grin on his face and says to Michael (Orson Welles), "Remember that you were only doing target practice," we can't help but feel unsettled because Grisby seems to be winking at us, as though he were announcing that he knows something that we don't.

The plot also moves along unevenly, sometimes almost tentatively, and quite often the events in the story don't seem to be clearly connected. This might be due in part to the fact that Welles's original cut of the movie ran over an hour longer than the final version, which clocks in at roughly ninety minutes. Welles was made to reduce the length of the film against his will, and that definitely influences the way in which the story is told. However, The Lady from Shanghai is also a wonderful example of Welles's highly personal use of the camera: the movie is full of bizarre shots, improbable angles, and strange, almost grotesque settings. This unsettling atmosphere provokes a feeling of estrangement in the viewer, which climaxes in that powerful final scene at the funhouse, a directorial tour de force that embodies what The Lady from Shanghai is ultimately about. As each character pulls the trigger and smashes one another's image on the mirrors, Welles reminds us that, both within the movie and in the outside world, things are hardly ever what they seem.

Although it wasn't well received when it was first released, in our opinion, The Lady from Shanghai is a masterpiece. Like most of Welles's movies, it requires several viewings in order to make sense out of its intricacies. However, don't feel frustrated if you see it dozens of times and you still feel that you can't find convincing answers for all your questions. In most of Welles's movies, greatness isn't necessarily planned; it simply happens.

Anton&Erin.

Oklahoma! (1955)

RKO/20th Century-Fox, 1955. Directed by Fred Zinnemann. Starring Gordon MacRae, Shirley Jones, Gloria Grahame, Gene Nelson, Charlotte Greenwood, and Rod Steiger. Music score written by Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein II.

Although most loyal fans of this irresistible 1955 musical would enthusiastically shout out each letter to the title O-K-L-A-H-O-M-A as they sing along to the upbeat score by Rodgers and Hammerstein, the words we are compelled to cheer while watching this film could only be G-O-R-D-O-N M-A-C-R-A-E! In this tale of the farmer and the cowman, and of the looming ratification of Oklahoma’s statehood, no one could fill the big screen or the vista of the golden prairie like the incomparable Gordon MacRae. The depth of his voice carries the audience from scene to scene, and during the sequences that do not feature MacRae, we often found ourselves eagerly awaiting his reappearance. Now, this is not to say that the Hollywood version of the musical does not provide any worthy match for its playful cowboy. On the whole, it offers a well-rounded cast, including the lovely and charming Shirley Jones (who here far outshines her most famous role as Shirley Partridge of “The Partridge Family”), Gloria Grahame, Gene Nelson, and Charlotte Greenwood. The film entertains throughout with sharp dancing, witty solos, and ensemble numbers to match the previous year's Seven Brides for Seven Brothers.

There is another side to Oklahoma!, however, that makes the movie stand out from more typical musicals and from the typical accusation that audiences sometimes rashly hurl at the genre: that musicals are just superficial dreamworlds arranged for the showcasing of stars’ smiles and musical prowess. Jud Fry, Aunt Eller’s farmhand (who is deftly played by Rod Steiger), throws a dark edge on the sunshine of Oklahoma!. In fact, the awkward transition between songs and violence that Fry’s character creates calls attention to the dynamics of collective social judgment and other issues not often touched on in such films. One unfortunate effect of this effort for substance, however, is realized in a dream sequence halfway through the picture. Unlike the powerful dramatic exchanges between Jud and Curly or Jud and Miss Laurey, this episode reveals the director’s indulgence in the melodrama of modern ballet, pseudo-Freudian dream suggestivity, and strange double-casting of characters. First of all, why can’t Shirley Jones and the rest of the cast play their own characters in this dream within a musical dreamworld? And second, why cram the serious artistic commentary of the film down the audience’s throats with a sequence like this? It is just not necessary in our opinions. The subtle performance by Steiger is much creepier and so much more effective.

Whether you are looking for a light sing-along or a provoking take on the molding of a state’s history and identity, Oklahoma! will not disappoint – so long as you strategically break for refreshments during the ballet!

Erin&Anton.

The Jazz Singer (1927)

Warner Bros./Vitaphone, 1927. Directed by Alan Crosland. Starring Al Jolson, May McAvoy, Warner Oland, and Eugenie Besserer.

Usually hailed as the first talking picture, The Jazz Singer is actually a part-talkie, that is, a silent movie that features some spoken scenes and a few songs. Nevertheless, it's a landmark in film history and definitely deserves a place of honor along with the best musicals ever made. Not that its plot is very complex, though: it tells the story of Jakie Rabinowitz, the son of a Jewish cantor who wants to educate him to take over that role in the neighborhood synagogue when he grows into adulthood. But Jakie's heart doesn't lie in religious music, so he decides to become a jazz singer taking up the artistic name of Jack Robin, something of which his father strongly disapproves.

The story is based on Samson Raphaelson's play The Day of Atonement, but it bears a clear resemblance to the real life of the great Al Jolson, the movie's main star. However, it seems that Jolson wasn't the first choice to play the lead in this film; that honor was originally reserved for another fine vaudevillian, George Jessel, who rejected the part. We have no doubt, though, that Jolson was tailor-made for this role. Billed as "The World's Greatest Entertainer," he'd been one of the most popular artists in the country for over fifteen years by the time shooting began for this movie. And, of course, his appearance fills the screen, and his exciting singing style and his larger-than-life stage personality make the film a success. This is clearly a movie for Jolson and about Jolson, and so it would be even if the events in the plot didn't resemble his real life story. In fact, the songs featured here—perennials such as "My Mammy," "Blue Skies," and "Toot, Toot, Tootsie"—don't serve the purpose of driving the storyline forth, but they are simply vehicles to showcase Jolson's matchless artistry. In our opinion, Al Jolson is a superb vocalist that is unjustly overlooked nowadays, and unfortunately, his movies fail to capture the sheer excitement that audiences must have felt at his bombastic personal appearances.

If you enjoy The Jazz Singer as much as we do, you won't want to miss other fine Jolson movies such as The Singing Fool (1928) and Hallelujah, I'm a Bum (1933). In the mid-1940s, long after his retirement from stage and motion pictures, the biopic The Jolson Story (1946), featuring Larry Parks magnificently portraying Jolson, stirred a renewed interest in Jolson's music. This paved the way for a great comeback for Jolson, complete with re-recordings of his old hits and a good deal of radio work. We highly recommend that movie, along with its less interesting sequel Jolson Sings Again (1949), in the hope that new audiences will thereby discover and appreciate the magic of Jolson's art.

Anton&Erin.