This past week I indulged in one of my occasional film
orgies. A trip to my local public library gave me an excuse to come home with
an armload of classics, chosen for variety as well as entertainment value. What
a pleasure to have access – for free! -- to such a wealth of cinematic
treasures.
First up was Before
the Devil Knows You’re Dead, a taut little crime-and-punishment drama from
2007 that was the last film directed by the great Sidney Lumet. Fifty years
after he burst onto the Hollywood scene with Twelve Angry Men, the 83-year-old Lumet showed a young man’s vigor
in guiding such contemporary aces as Philip Seymour Hoffman, Ethan Hawke, and
Marissa Tomei into outrageously entertaining performances. It’s good to see
that the director of such masterworks as The
Pawnbroker, Serpico, Dog Day Afternoon, and Network
went out in a blaze of glory, having etched yet another indelible
portrait of New York life.
For a change of pace, I watched a 1942 screwball comedy, The Man Who Came to Dinner, about what
happens when a sharp-tongued public figure slips on an icy step at the home of
a fan, and then takes over the household while recuperating. Hilarity ensues: I
particularly liked Billie Burke as the dithery hostess; Mary Wickes, making her
feature film debut as a much-put-upon nurse; and (of all people) Bette Davis
doing a rare romantic turn as a loyal but no-nonsense sidekick to the great
man. And, oh yes, I mustn’t forget the penguins.
Comedy of a very different sort marked 50/50, the 2011 flick in which Joseph Gordon-Levitt faces a cancer
diagnosis with the help of best buddy Seth Rogen. It’s based on the real-life
story of screenwriter Will Raiser, which is why it rings so true, with raunchy
humor shown to be one defense against intimations of mortality. There wasn’t
much humor in Robert Rosen’s bleak, powerful The Hustler (1961), which is ultimately less about a poolroom
play-off between brash upstart Paul Newman and old smoothie Jackie Gleason than
about the implications of winning and losing. This one packed a wallop.
As did, in a very different way, the heart-warming Norma Rae, made in 1979 by two Roger
Corman alumnae, Tamara Asseyev and Alex Rose. This story of a feisty Southern
textile worker who stands up for unionization turned Sally Field from TV’s Gidget
into an Oscar winner. I loved the craft of this film, how it captured a sense
of time and place, allowed its characters to reveal unexpected dimensions, and
built to a powerful climax that was entirely silent.
Norma Rae was
based on the actions of Crystal Lee Sutton, who led a wildcat strike at a North
Carolina textile plant. Because Sutton preferred to keep her private life
private, the film creates a mostly fictional heroine. But when I ventured out
to the multiplex last night, I saw a movie that’s all about an actual person on
the last day of his life. Fruitvale
Station, which has proved especially timely in the aftermath of the George
Zimmerman verdict, introduces Oscar
Grant, the deeply flawed but deeply engaging young black man who was killed by
an Oakland, California transit cop on New Year’s Day, 2009. It’s a film that
deserves attention.
But may not get it. At the same multiplex, most screens were
filled with Wolverine, World War Z,
Pacific Rim, RIPD, The Conjuring, and a few kiddie flicks. I hope today’s
moviegoers can handle a film that contains no werewolves, demons, zombies, robots,
or undead vigilantes, only a human being who ends up dead for real.