TSPDT placing: #48
Directed by: Charles Chaplin
Written by: Charles Chaplin
Starring: Charles Chaplin, Paulette Goddard, Henry Bergman, Tiny Sandford, Chester Conklin, Hank Mann, Stanley Blystone
By 1936, Charles Chaplin was already an anachronism – albeit, an anachronism who was also treasured as an artistic genius. The arrival of The Jazz Singer (1927) did little to curb the director's enthusiasm for silent cinema, and, though he considered at length the commercial implications of converting to synchronised sound, his first film in the "talkie" age was almost completely silent (Chaplin compromised by composing a musical score). Nevertheless, the critical and commercial response to City Lights (1931) was strong, reaffirming Chaplin's status as a cinematic master, and vindicating his decision to linger with an otherwise extinct medium. Thus, Modern Times (1936) was to follow in the same mould, despite a synchronised soundtrack which includes a musical score, sound effects and several lines of spoken dialogue (always spoken through a mechanical "barrier," such as a record-player, radio or loudspeaker). The film is historically significant in that it was Chaplin's first overtly political work, raising concerns inspired both by the economic hardship of the Great Depression, and Chaplin's growing interest in socialism.
The title "Modern Times" is used to deliberate ironic effect. Traditionally, to be modern was to be at the forefront of human progress, a step forwards in Man's noble attempt to assert his dominance over his environment; in short, to further distinguish our species from the lower animals. Yet Chaplin believed that such widespread industrialisation was a step backwards for society. Even from the opening shot, he draws comparisons between the hustling crowds of factory workers travelling to work, and a flock of sheep being herded through a corral. The dehumanisation caused by the workers' monotonous factory work is played for maximum comedic effect, with Chaplin's Tramp eventually driven to a nervous breakdown by Frederick Taylor's apathetic brand of scientific management. In these conditions, direct human interaction is minimal, and almost always channelled through an mechanical mediator. In a scene predating Orwell's "Nineteen-Eighty Four (1949)," Chaplin is reprimanded by a telescreen in the bathroom, the image of his boss looming overhead like the spectre of Big Brother.
Chaplin may also have been remarking upon the rise of the Hollywood studio system, which by then employed a comparable assembly-line approach to film-making. Chaplin, who was given full artistic control through his co-ownership of United Artists, worked in complete opposition to these practices, though it could be argued that his perfectionism and often improvisational style was so inefficient that only an artist as wealthy as he could have gotten away with it. Truth be told, there's nothing particularly distinguished about Chaplin's direction – despite his strong reliance upon actions over words, his silent films were never as visually accomplished as that of Murnau or Lang, for example. However, his greatest talents as a filmmaker were concerned with the plight of people, and, however much sentimentality he liked to dish out, there can be no doubt that, in Chaplin's characters, one found individuals with whom they shared a very real human bond, of empathy and compassion. For all the director's criticism of modern society, he possessed a genuine belief in the value of human spirit.
When Chaplin came under fire for alleged "communist sympathies" in the late 1940s, the content of Modern Times was scrutinised for evidence to support the allegations. Certainly, within the director's distaste for industrialisation one may discern an underlying dissatisfaction with capitalism, but Chaplin was definitely not a communist; after all, a prime motivation in his choosing to continue producing silent films was to retain his commercial popularity in foreign-language markets – that's the capitalist spirit! Nevertheless, Chaplin was eerily prescient when he included a scene in which his Tramp is falsely accused of being a communist, mirroring his own intense political troubles, which concluded in 1952 with the retraction of his US re-entry visa. Though he was initially hesitant about breaking his screen silence, as Chaplin's political convictions grew, so too did his desire to have himself heard. For that, he would, however reluctantly, have to embrace the technology of sound, and, for a mouthpiece, he would choose the most hated man in Europe.
9/10
Currently my #1 film of 1936:
1) Modern Times (Charles Chaplin)
2) After the Thin Man (W.S. Van Dyke)
3) Swing Time (George Stevens)
4) Partie de campagne {A Day in the Country} (Jean Renoir)
5) Follow the Fleet (Mark Sandrich)
6) Sabotage (Alfred Hitchcock)
7) Mr. Deeds Goes to Town (Frank Capra)
8) Secret Agent (Alfred Hitchcock)
9) Intermezzo (Gustaf Molander)
10) My Man Godfrey (Gregory La Cava)
2) After the Thin Man (W.S. Van Dyke)
3) Swing Time (George Stevens)
4) Partie de campagne {A Day in the Country} (Jean Renoir)
5) Follow the Fleet (Mark Sandrich)
6) Sabotage (Alfred Hitchcock)
7) Mr. Deeds Goes to Town (Frank Capra)
8) Secret Agent (Alfred Hitchcock)
9) Intermezzo (Gustaf Molander)
10) My Man Godfrey (Gregory La Cava)
For the most part, The Godfather: Part III is a wonderful film. Gordon Willis' return as cinematographer ensured that the film remained aesthetically consistent with its predecessors, and Coppola's film-making is, for the most part, handsome and professional. The screenplay, co-written by Coppola and Mario Puzo, is just as convoluted as the original film, but I'm confident that a second viewing will substantially improve my understanding of each character and their motives. Though the first few dialogue scenes seem strained, as though the actors are easing into their roles, the performances are generally excellent. Only Sofia Coppola – and I don't want to labour the point, since she's been lambasted enough – fails to construct a well-defined screen persona. She wears a peculiar scowl for most of the film, and her role in the story is vague and superficial. Nevertheless, any of the picture's weaknesses are quickly forgotten in lieu of an unforgettable climax, set amid an operatic performance of "Cavalleria Rusticana," perhaps the finest instance of prolonged suspense since the Albert Hall sequence in The Man Who Knew Too Much (1956).
As with The Godfather, Coppola's film could only have succeeded with interesting and authentic acting performances, and the cast doesn't disappoint. Al Pacino has rarely been better, playing Michael Corleone with a violent intensity that suggests the lasting influence of brother Sonny (James Cann), who was assassinated in the previous film. Pacino's scene with Diane Keaton, in which we learn that she received an abortion for her unborn son, is one of the most traumatic moments of spousal interaction I've ever seen, with Pacino exhibiting a barely-suppressed rage through his severe, almost fearful, eyes, and a quiver in the jaw. An under-appreciated John Cazale brings depth and pathos to weaker brother Fredo, and Robert Duvall is excellent as Tom Hagen. New to the Godfather cast are Lee Strasberg (President of the Actors Studio) and Michael V. Gazzo, as business associates who may be plotting against the Corleone family. De Niro won an Oscar for his portrayal of a younger Don Vito, understatedly evoking the essence of the character without parodying Marlon Brando.
The Godfather: Part II is certainly an impressive achievement, but it doesn't quite manage to equal its predecessor. Whereas the original film achieved the bulk of its emotional power through the transformation of its central character, Part II leaves Michael hopelessly stranded in his despair, portraying neither his rise nor his downfall. Having effectively sold his soul for the family in the previous film, Michael must now come to terms with his desolation, alone in his misery, and having long forsaken any opportunity for salvation. He concludes the film still at the height of organised crime in America, and yet receives no reassurance from his position of power. Michael is alone, a dejected and self-loathing soul, without comfort from the family he helped destroy. It's a haunting ending that will remain with you for hours afterwards, but nevertheless doesn't seem like a conclusive ending to the entire Corleone saga. Fortunately, Coppola returned sixteen years later to direct The Godfather: Part III (1990), which charts, I believe, Michael Corleone's inevitable downfall. Hopefully I won't be disappointed.
Tony Hunter (Astaire) is a has-been, a washed-up musical comedy star who's all but faded from the public memory. Anonymity is a fate he's since accepted. When offered the starring role in a stage show written by his friends (and two remaining fans), Tony is at first reluctant, and even more so when he finds out that he'll have to stand his own alongside a beautiful and popular ballet dancer, Gabrielle Gerard (Charisse). It doesn't help that the director (Buchanan) seems oblivious to the show's intended genre, cramming in so much doom and gloom that the premiere audience leaves the theatre in a hushed despair, no doubt contemplating suicide. Can "The Band Wagon" be spruced up with comedy before it leaves them all bankrupt? Will Tony and Gabrielle overcome their differences and learn to like, or even love, each other? A happy ending is, of course, never in doubt, and the musical numbers are all completely enjoyable, even if songs like "Louisiana Hayride" and "Triplets" felt somewhat poorly integrated into the plot.
Certainly the most memorable of the film's musical numbers is "That's Entertainment," written by by Arthur Schwartz and Howard Dietz, an infectious little ode to the joyfulness of the musical comedy genre. MGM musical fans would note that the song also featured prominently in the nostalgic documentary That's Entertainment: Part II (1976), in which Gene Kelly and Fred Astaire dance together, for only the second time in their careers. Cyd Charisse, whom we lost just last year, is absolutely gorgeous as ballet dancer Gabrielle Gerard, and her wordless pas de deux with Astaire in the park ("Dancing in the Dark") is one of the latter's all-time most most touching duets (equal, perhaps, with the "Never Gonna Dance" number in Swing Time (1936)). Also worth mentioning is a film noir-inspired stage musical sequence, its surrealism recalling the climax of An American in Paris (1951), with Astaire as a weary detective who is entranced by a shifty femme fatale – Cyd Charisse resurrecting her vampiric dancer from Singin' in the Rain (1952).
A notable artistic observation regarding The Godfather is that Coppola's film-making style is strictly traditional. Whereas a new generation of filmmakers like Martin Scorsese and William Friedkin were introducing a gritty new cinema aesthetic, Gordon Willis' cinematography is graceful, understated and handsome, predating his excellent work for Woody Allen {the most notable example being Manhattan (1979)}. A sprawling family saga, The Godfather boasts a staggering ensemble cast of emerging and established actors, as well as many unknowns who nevertheless give letter-perfect performances. The scenes of violence are typically abrupt and effective, but much of the film's running-time is more closely concerned with dialogue and human interaction, particularly among family members. Needless to say, the quality of talent is more than enough to make these scenes, not only watchable, but astonishingly compelling. Every character down to the smallest speaking part – and there are a lot of them – has such a richly fleshed-out personality, making their actions and development throughout the film both authentic and interesting.
Marlon Brando – in what, along with Last Tango in Paris (1972), was deemed a grand comeback – gives a towering, Oscar-winning portrayal as Don Vito Corleone, the aging head of an Italian organised-crime family. Having endured decades of corruption and inter-family conflict, and seeing his household disintegrate in the futile pursuit of family honour, Vito finally understands in his final moments the folly of his wasted life, and the fateful mistakes that led to this undesirable lifestyle {these precursor years would be explored in greater depth, with Robert DeNiro in the role, in The Godfather: Part II (1974)}. Most central to the story, however, is the transformation of youngest son Michael (Al Pacino), who, in the course of the film, effectively sells his soul to retain that elusive "family honour." The climactic sequence, utilising Eisenstein's style of montage to its fullest extent, intercuts the baptism of Michael's nephew with the simultaneous assassination of the Corleone family's enemies. This scene also serves as a baptism of sorts for Michael, symbolising his irreversible initiation into a life of crime, and the final transaction of his soul.
Of course, any mention of Breakfast at Tiffany's immediately calls to mind the image of Audrey Hepburn, and it's certainly among her most iconic performances, which is interesting given how it strayed somewhat from her typical screen persona. Unlike the shy and girlish "Cinderella" of 
Among the supporting performers, Martin Balsam is most certainly worth a mention, playing Holly's womanising, to-the-point agent, who publicly holds the opinion that his client is a "real phony" – that is, she herself genuinely believes in her own spurious lifestyle. Finally, I like Mickey Rooney as much as the next man, but what's going on here? When Richard Barthelmess donned ridiculous Oriental make-up in Griffith's Broken Blossoms (1919), at least the portrayal was respectful and sympathetic. Racial stereotypes can work adequately enough in comedies (see Peter Sellers in The Party (1968) or Murder by Death (1976)), and Breakfast at Tiffany's certainly has comedic elements, but the rest of the film also has an impeccable elegance that clashes horribly with the dim-witted slapstick of Mr. Yunioshi. If, indeed, the character had to exist, it would have been far less distracting had an Asian actor been cast in the role; some would certainly have existed in Hollywood at the time. Blake Edwards really needed to give that one a second thought.
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