Hairy Cary! The subtle pompadour is back, as BAM fêtes the one-and-only Mr. Grant

There's never been another male movie star like Cary Grant (that's he at right, as if you didn't know) -- a sexy romantic lead who was also funnier (and subtler) than most comedians. And so good looking. Yet rarely, if ever, did he change his hair style (nor, for that matter, his characterization).  He didn't need to: That barely-rising, pitch-black near-pompadour seemed to suit him to a T, as did every role he undertook. The hair, like his handsome face, was something you could always count on.

No one else has captured the Grant magic, though in our modern era, George Clooney's come closest in his ability to effortlessly combine romance and comedy. Still, there's only one Cary (there he is, above, center, in Once Upon a Time) and for those who want to see him in all his glory -- and on the big screen -- BAMcinématek will accommodate, starting this Friday, July 9, with a 21-day, 20-film salute, its second in as many years. Most of these are movies you'll have seen, perhaps in bits and pieces via television, so the chance to view them screened in a theater may be awfully tempting.

The characters Cary played rarely changed; instead, the actor simply expanded or retracted a bit now and again to show us another, slightly different quality belonging to the Cary Grant who might appear in a wartime comedy (above, center, in the somewhat over-rated I Was a Male War Bride, with Ann Sheridan, right) or a wartime drama (below, left, in Destination Tokyo).  His work for Hitchcock is legendary (and you've probably seen those four films maybe eight or ten times, right?), but what about his early comedies?  Those with Mae West and Ginger Rogers, probably. 

There's at least one film I wager you'll not have viewed: THIRTY DAY PRINCESS (below). One of Grant's earlier movies (from 1934: amazingly enough, this man acted in 14 films in the two years previous to this one!), it also features Sylvia Sidney (below, right) and Edward Arnold, while providing the opportunity to see the actor learning on the job.  His crack timing is still developing, and so, in fact, is his way around the romantic lead.  If he's a bit too hesitant, the actor seems to have innately understood that one simply does not push.  Instead, even if the timing is a tad off, he holds back and charms us -- and his leading lady -- with a sex appeal that's as reticent (and sometimes funny) as it is unstoppable.

If Grant is perhaps the least of this film, everyone else is aces. Thirty Day Princess is Ms Sidney's movie,  and she is simply wonderful in it, playing dual roles as a smart, appealing New York actress and the charming titular princess of a country called "Taronia."  From the mud bath scene that begins the film (don't get excited: the bathers are Edward Arnold and the wonderfully dapper Henry Stephenson), we're in early Hollywood's idea of a tiny foreign kingdom, and a dearer place it would be hard to imagine. The movie is one of those throw-away comedies that were probably produced in record time and left audiences happily contented in the knowledge that Wall Street and Main Street are in the same boat, helping each other like good troupers should.

Among the film's four writers is one, Preston Sturges (shown left), and that fact alone should have buff's salivating a bit. If Sturges, like Grant, has not yet mastered full dexterity here, the film still offers some verbal alacrity.  Visual, too: at one point there's a sudden, very funny roomful of look-alike coppers.  The movie's a little choppy, and the pacing is sometimes off, yet its charm and spirit, like Ms Sidney's, conquers all. Thirty Day Princess -- in a newly struck 35mm print -- open BAM's Cary Grant series this Friday, July 9, with screenings at 4:30, 6:50 and 9:15.

You can find the entire series here.  And getting to BAM is easier than I imagined.  Obtain your directions -- subway, bus, address, etc. -- here.

All photos are from the films themselves, 
except that of Mr. Grant, at top 
-- from 1940 by Scotty Welbourne, © MPTV Image 
and courtesy of mptvimages.com -- 
and the photo of Preston Sturges, 
which comes courtesy of Wikipedia.

The "girl" is back: Stieg Larsson's Dragon Tattoo follow-up PLAYS WITH FIRE

You want more of Lisbeth Salander? Judging by the USA box-office take from the first film in this continuing series -- approaching $12 million, making it by far the most successful foreign-language film of the year -- you do. So head out to your art multiplex this Friday and settle in for another relatively wild ride as Lisbeth tackles... relatives and other problematic people.

THE GIRL WHO PLAYED WITH FIRE, number two in the trilogy that is now rumored to be a quartet, has a different director from that of its predecessor, and the difference, while immediately apparent, is not necessarily for the worse.  Director Daniel Alfredson (pictured at left), the new boy on the block, has worked more in Swedish televi-
sion, and this shows. "Fire" looks, sounds (except for the foreign language, of course) and feels like something that you might stumble upon while surfing cable television and -- if that stumble occurred at the show's beginning -- that you would watch, entran-
ced by its bizarre plot and fine acting, right through to the end.
(The screenplay this time is by Swedish TV writer Jonas Frykberg.)

In fact, I enjoyed "Fire" a bit more than "Tattoo," if only because it is finally less florid (don't worry: it's florid enough, but no serial killers or Neo-Nazis in the closet) and more legitimately down-and-dirty.  It remains, as is Tattoo,  mystery-moviemaking-by-the-numbers -- as practically every mainstream hit of this sort must be. There are plenty of coincidences and last-minute "saves."  Fire is shorter, too: only 129 minutes to Tattoo's 152.

That said, there's not a whole lot more than needs detailing without spoiling things.  We continue to learn of Lisbeth's history from this film, and it's as grim as you'd imagine.  (You don't grow up to be a character like this without a closet full of ugly skeletons.)  Noomi Rapace (above) once again plays Lisbeth, and she's even more pivotal to this film's success because co-star Michael Nyqvist (below) is less seen, and so their relationship appears to be on hold.  Lena Endre (whom I mis-labeled in my post on the earlier film), Yasmine Garbi  and Peter Andersson (as the indelibly nasty Nils Bjurman) are on hand for an encore, now joined by Scandinavian stalwart Per Oscarsson -- who, via his thoughtful, quiet appearances, rolls out a ton of exposition. The most memorable cast member, though, may be the beefy, burly blond shown at bottom, played by Micke Spreitz, whose identity and character gimmick both prove interesting.

Whatever critics say, fans are likely to turn out in droves, though they may be somewhat disappointed at this less-glossy follow-up: shorter, grittier, and with an aspect ratio of only 1.85: 1, as opposed to Dragon's widescreen 2.35: 1.  But since it's Lisbeth they love, they'll hang on -- and probably beg for more. (Which they'll get: The third part of the trilogy is on tap for this coming October.)

The Girl Who Played With Fire, from Music Box Films, opens Friday, July 9, beginning one of the largest "limited" runs of a foreign-language film all year.  By the end of August it will appear in more than 100 theaters in over 50 towns and cities.  Click here (and then click on IN THEATERS) to learn if, when and where the film will be playing near you.

DVDebut--VISUAL ACOUSTICS: The Modernism of Julius Shulman tackles photography, architecture and California

TrustMovies knew nothing about Julius Shulman, whose "modernism" heads the subtitle of a documentary that has recently appeared on DVD. As to "visual acoustics" (the title of the film), even after watching this 83-minute work, he's not sure what that odd juxtaposition of "vision" and "sound" really means. Irony? Perhaps.

No matter. VISUAL ACOUSTICS: The Modernism of Julius Shulman proves one of the most immediately captivating and educational documentaries of the year (or two: the film was made in 2008). Mr. Shulman, it turns out, may just be the world's pre-eminent photographer of modern architecture of the past century. Or was: this great photographer died last year at the age of 99; though he seems relatively fit and exceedingly charming in this film, he lived only into the year following its completion.

Directed and co-written by Eric Bricker, shown at left (the other writers are Phil Ethington, Lisa Hughes and Jessica Hundley), the movie is among the most effortlessly warm and friendly documentaries I can recall, which is all the more surprising because it deals with photography and with modern architecture -- the latter often on the cold end of the spectrum. Yet Mr Shulman and his lovely daughter so warm  the film by their presence and prove such charming hosts that we're immediately pulled into both the movie and the subject that Shulman loves best.

The man simply adores modern architecture, as proven by photo after photo offered in this film. As is pointed out early on, most people will never visit these homes in person, but thousands more will be able to see them via photos.  And Shulman's are the best. 

His daughter speaks of her father's "curiosity and optimism," which would appear to be a splendid combination for approaching the world and creating beauty out of it.  Unerring taste also figures into this man's profile; he certainly had an eye for what would last.

Visual Acoustics acquaints us with modern architecture and its architects, California living and the art of photography -- and it's like a fabulous crash course in all of these.  Yet the filmmakers and their subject and interviewees make it seem utterly off-the-cuff and caught on the run.  Again, it's all part of the movie's charm. 

I suspect viewers will leave this documentary feeling a genuine appreciation for modern architecture, particularly that of mid-century America from the 40s to the 60s, all before the advent of post-modernism -- a style that Shulman seems to loathe (and with good reason, according to the photos of it included here).

The movie ends with Shulman (above) and his "take" on Frank Gehry's Walt Disney Concert Hall in Los Angeles -- a building the photographer evidently did not like the idea for but had since grown to love.  As the movie proceeds, we see less and less of those amazing homes.  By the final half hour, if the film has become mostly a Shulman paean (that's him again, below, in the 70s), at least it's to a guy who deserves one.

You can purchase VISUAL ACOUSTICS: The Modernism of Julius Shulman at the film's web site (click the link and then click "STORE") or rent it from Netflix.  (I streamed it from Netflix via a new Samsung Blu-ray machine and found the hi-def picture quality pretty extraordinary.)

All photos are from the film itself, except that of director Bricker, 

which comes courtesy of www.SouthArts.org

DVD debuts from Antonioni and Cavalier -- LE COMBAT DANS L'ILE and RED DESERT

Oh, yeah -- the orange hair/green coat movie! Watching RED DESERT again after many years, and finding this first film in color from landmark director Michelangelo Antonioni, not as you had hoped better, but actually worse than you'd remembered is a frustrating experience. The new, up-to-snuff Criterion transfer marks my third time viewing this movie; there will not be a fourth. Originally appearing in 1964 and found wanting by many critics and foreign film viewers here in the U.S., the film is prescient in its indictment of corporate pollution, but defective in most other ways.  There is amazing lack of chemistry between its two stars Monica Vitti and Richard Harris: He seems utterly bored, while she, playing a woman suffering some sort of breakdown, decides to "act" for a change, and the result is affected and finally embarrassing.

Vitti (above and on poster, top) was best at looking exotically beautiful (L'Avventura, L'Eclisse, and even as the blank, comedic heroine of Modesty Blaise). Here, she's at sea (sometimes literally) as a wife and mother under duress. Her hair color shows more variety than her emotional palette. (What could this mean? With all of Antonioni's attention to hand-rendered color detailing, was the director trying to tell us something about Vitti's continually changing hair-colors modifying her moods?)

There are occasional interesting spatial planes and glimpses of how human beings look in relationship to each other and to their environment (above), but this is a movie in which connections are barely forged and questions tend to go unanswered -- or answered with a lie.  Bourgeois boredom is on display again, with a would-be orgy failing to take place because the room is too small to comfortably hold its inhabitants.

Red Desert is a beautifully designed movie, all right, but to little point.  Even its dialog is affected -- very "of its day" -- sounding initially meaningful but running on empty.  A perfect example is its final exchange regarding what to take with you when you move. Though Vitti's character appears to have registered not one solitary thing during the entire movie, "You're part of me now," she explains to Harris (shown above) at the finale.  Yeah, right.  This was not Antonioni's finest hour.

Alain Cavalier makes odd films that keep us viewers at a distance, but they are not without their charm and/or moody allure. Most recently his film Irène was part of last year's BAM French fest, and now an early movie from 1962 LE COMBAT DANS L'ILE has come to DVD, courtesy of Zeitgeist Films. Retitled Fire and Ice for the international English-speaking market, the change of moniker makes little sense, as the original title translates to "The Fight on the Island" -- which is exactly what the film's finale gives us, though it takes its sweet time getting there.

Initially, we meet gorgeous married couple Romy Schneider and Jean-Louis Trintignant (both at the absolute height of their extraordinary looks).  She has given up a career in the theater for him, which he barely appreciates.  But, then, he's part of a right-wing extremist group that is planning some violence.   How and why this happens and the results of it all are surprising, perhaps, but bear not much meaning to the movie as a whole -- which seems finally more to do with love and art and making a final stand against the bad guy.

Also on view is Henri Serre (above with gun -- who played Jim in Jules et Jim the same year, and appeared in The Fire Within the next) as the "other man."  Serre is as impressive emotionally as he is physically and so ought to be better known on our shores but oddly enough is not.  Here, he pretty much steals the movie from under his co-stars' feet.

Cavalier is given, at least with this film, to using narration rather heavily (a popular trend in 1960s French film), which does not help things much, as it seems more of an affectation than a necessity. But his camera (the cinematographer is Pierre Lhomme) captures some lovely moods, backstreet shadows, rain, light.  And Schneider is, as ever, charming and lovely; ditto Diane Lepvrier, who plays her new friend Cécile.

But all this is frou-frou against which the film, it's plot and point never materialize sufficiently.  Le combat dans l'île is pretty much for dyed-in-the-wool film buffs only.

On-Demand: DON'T LOOK BACK--de Van's diabolical use of Marceau & Bellucci

Back in 2002, a filmmaker named Marina de Van appeared to burst upon us with an odd and creepy movie called In My Skin, devoted to the story of a young woman with deep psychological problems who cuts herself. Yet Ms de Van, no beginner in the least, had been working with Ozon for some time as both actress and writer, as well as doing her own films, mostly shorts, since 1993. Approaching 40, this writer/director should have hit the big time with her newest movie DON'T LOOK BACK (Ne te retourne pas), considering that it's a genre-jumper that succeeds in each of its several genres -- thriller, sci-fi, psychological tale -- and also stars two major European actresses, Sophie Marceau and Monica Bellucci, both working at or near the top of their form.

Perhaps Ms de Van (shown at left) has bitten off more than today's dumbed-down audiences care to chew, because the movie has gone straight to On-Demand and will probably appear on DVD eventually -- in both of which venues it should find a small but devoted following who don't mind engaging in intelligent puzzlement grounded by a firm understanding of the psychology of the abandoned. Although the movie is one of those, during which, for a full half to two-thirds, you may  be muttering, "WTF is going on here?", I think you will not for a moment be tempted to stop watching.  So well set-up is the premise and follow-through, and so expertly does Ms de Van create her very odd and disturbing scenario (a woman's entire life -- including her apartment, husband, children and even her own image -- begins to change into something else), you'll want to stick around, if only to discover to which genre the movie actually belongs.

Is the writer/wife/mother played by Ms Marceau (above) being somehow "gaslighted," and if so, by whom?  Or is she truly going mad -- or into Alzheimer's?  And yet so real and befuddling are the changes around her -- the placement of a table, the color of one's eyes -- that "reality" is something the viewer begins to question as fervently as does our heroine.

Ms Bellucci, for her part, does a very good job of being mysterious. Of late I have found this actress less riveting than in former days when she seemed to house considerable emotion, as well as the ability to demonstrate it.  Yet, here, in a role that calls for hesitance and quiet discovery, she seems as commanding as ever (every bit as beautiful, too).

The supporting cast is well-chosen and delivers what's necessary (sometimes playing dual roles).  Especially authoritative is Brigitte Catillon (above, left) as an oddly distant "mom," while Andrea Di Stefano (atop Bellucci, below) entices, doubling as one of the hubbies and later as a very hunky waiter.

Don't Look Back (not to be confused with that earlier Bob Dylan movie) is available On-Demand all summer, through September 23, via IFC Films' Festival Direct program.  Click here for instructions on how to get it.

Josh Tickell's FUEL explores alternatives to oil -- and why we might want to try 'em

Acting as cheerleader for a sustainable source of fuel is probably not the worst thing you could accuse a movie of being these days, and Joshua Tickell's new documentary FUEL is pretty much that -- a paean in particular to bio-diesel fuel (made from "used" vegetable oil yet!) that Mr. Tickell (shown below) pours into the van (see the penultimate photo in this post) in which he traverses our country to win converts to his cause.

The director/narrator (the writing here is from Johnny O'Hara) seems a friendly, funny and pleasant young man who first fills us in on his family history (some of it) before moving on the subject at hand: our nation's reliance on oil -- and not just foreign oil, but the stuff that has made his mother's home state, Louisiana (he's originally from Australia), such a wasteland in many ways.  His detailing of the "Cancer Alleys," found wherever oil is processed, shows up the oil companies who create them as both appalling and criminal.

The most interesting part of the documentary for me was Tickell's fact-finding regarding the connection between Henry Ford --  whose early cars ran on ethanol alcohol and captured 25% of the mid-west market --  and John D. Rockefeller, founder of Standard Oil, who funded the ammendment to our Constitution that became "Prohibition."  It was not until Ford finally gave up on ethanol-fueled cars that prohibition actually ended.  And here we thought it was those little-old tea-totaling ladies who effected our period of non-drinking.  As usual, it's the power behind the throne -- in this case (as in most) the oil companies who call the shots -- and call them in secrecy.

In the film we hear from everyone from Shock Doctrine's Naomi Klein and various scientists and politicians to Woody Harrelson (who makes a fine co-cheerleader) and Julia Roberts.  The biggest fumble in the film occurs more than halfway along, when we're suddenly faced with headline stories in Time Magazine and else-
where that these bio diesel and other green fuels are pointless and worse -- "crimes against humanity." What?  But instead of  taking the trouble to detail the the negative points the articles raise so that we might have a greater understanding of things, not to men-
tion possibly refuting them, Tickell just moves on, saying we must find "better" alternative fuels. This is bad, stupid movie-making.

Even if the filmmaker is correct, and I suspect he is, his approach is not good enough. Preaching to the converted never changes things much.   Still, Tickell does open up new areas for examination: among these, the oil spills during Katrina that were given no news coverage, a history of Rudolf Diesel and his work, the fact that the country of Sweden has promised to be oil-free by 2020 and what this might mean for other nations in their increased search for the right mix of oil alternatives, and Virgin's Richard Branson and his standing behind bio-diesel (though in some future, better format, it would appear).

Tickell gives us a lot to mull over, much of it worthwhile and inter-
esting.  But I wish he had shortened his movie by 20 minutes because his cheerleading gets increasingly repetitive and tiresome before his film finally concludes.  Still, his checklist on what we can all accomplish immediately -- which ends his documentary -- is certainly worth reading and considering.

FUEL is out now on DVD, for purchase or rental.

ONLY WHEN I DANCE: Brazilian ballet students warm hearts, knock our socks off

Watching kids pursue their dreams is usually good for some uplift.  When they're crack ballet students and their dream is to dance, you get a bonus. And if one of them proves so charismatic a performer that he wipes the floor with most everyone around him, expect some additional "star-is-born" chemistry between the subject and the filmmaker.

So it is with the new documentary ONLY WHEN I DANCE directed by Beadie Finzi (pictured at right) who, a few years back produced the rather startling Unknown White Male.  Here, she concentrates on two especially fine students: Irlan Santos da Silva (shown below) and Isabela Coracy Alves Nascimento Santos -- who, from this point on, shall be referred to as Irlan and Isabela -- and their talented, loving and supportive instructor Mariza Estrella.

We meet these two kids and their quite wonderful (and equally supportive) parents and siblings. Irlan's father, in fact, notes that the vocation of ballet is not one to which most Brazilian boys aspire. Nonetheless, he stands behind his son, pushing the boy forward, full-throttle. One of the first things we hear from Irlan himself is his dream of "living in a better, quieter place" (the family occupies an apartment in one of Rio de Janeiro's crowded and often violent favelas)  "and taking my parents with me!"

For her part, Isabella (shown below and below) is more retiring, though just as hard-working, and we see her family, too, at work and play -- supporting their daughter's choice just as fervently as does Irlan's.  Yet, as the movie progresses, it is the young man who proves the decided mover-and-shaker of the pair, and soon the documentary's focus skews his way, too.  Everybody loves a winner, as they say, and Irlan is nothing if not that.  We follow the pair from their Rio school to Switzerland, where they compete with other top students from around the world for the chance to win prestigious scholarships and/or interships.

Ballet lovers will cotton immediately to the wonders of Irlan's body and movement, his grace and skill.  But average film-goers should also be able to pick up on all this -- so spectacular is the young man's ability.  And while Isabela is lovely and also quite skillful, she proves less successful for various reasons, from weight to the kind of unspoken racism that means there simply are no black ballerinas in Brazil -- and damn few elsewere in the world.

Only When I Dance offers heartbreak and thrills, success and sur-
prise (maybe not so much of the latter) and the chance to become acquainted with a dancer from whom we are bound to hear (and see) much more.  Viewing the two audition pieces Irlan performs -- one classical, the other (modeled after a dance by Nijnsky) all angles and percussion -- provides reason enough to visit this dance film set against a teeming, throbbing and very unusual background.

Opening theatrically* in New York City at the Cinema Village on Friday, July 2, the documentary is distributed by Film Movement. You can view its other very limited playdates here. Once word gets out, maybe those theatrical venues will expand.

*It's nearly two years after this original post (above), but this week another and quite similar dance film opens in NYC and L.A. -- First Position -- so TM thought it appropriate to let you know where you can view this earlier movie.  Only When I Dance is now out on DVD and available for sale or rental. You can rent it from Netflix (where it's also stream-able!) or Blockbuster, or purchase it from Film Movement or Amazon, among others.