Bold cinematography makes Lawrence of Arabia (1962) worth watching. Although its plot and characters are riveting, it is the film’s cinematography that stays with you. Director David Lean and cinematographer Freddie Young use the desert landscape to provide a sense of scope in this epic. Briefly, the film centers on the actions of T.E. Lawrence, a WWI British Army officer. Both a charismatic hero and near-delusional narcissist, Lawrence attempts to unite various Arabian tribes and convince them to establish a nation, to fight the Turks and (perhaps) to resist British colonial interests.

You should watch this film because of and not despite its nearly 4-hour running time, especially if you consider yourself a cinephile. (I can’t believe it took me this long!) The length provides the film with its depth and the audience immersive experience in the visual (and aural) experience of cinema; I’m just sorry to say I saw it at home on DVD instead of in a theatre. There are so many beautiful shots that it’s hard to pick a favorite, but I’ll mention one that has been touted by many: the jump cut between Lawrence (Peter O’Toole) and the desert’s rising sun is stunning. As addeed incentive to see the film, many directors—among them Scorcese & Spielberg (and who were instrumental in restoring this film to Lean’s original vision)—have been influenced by the film.

Also worth noting is the bold characterization of Lawrence and others, notably Sherif Ali (Omar Sharif), Prince Feisel (Alec Guiness) and Auda abu Tayi (Anthony Quinn). Lean and the actors provide us with rich, complex performances, made all the more compelling by the fact that these characters are not drawn in the blockbuster-heroic mode. They are alternately inspiring and repulsive, capable of both high- and small-mindedness. They are altogether contradictory and maddenly all-too-human and, in Lawrence’s case, rather unlikeable. These performances makes one appreciate the film’s ideological choices even more, because they highlight Lean’s critique of colonialism, of war, of discourses of heroism and nationalism. And for those interested in issues of historical accuracy and of authenticity, these decisions reflect the contradictory responses to the real-life Lawrence. True, there are debates about elements of Lawrence’s life that are alluded to or rendered as subtext—such as his sexuality, being raped in a Turkish prison, or questions of his death as a suicide—but these elements are legible to the experienced film viewer.

The film deserves its status on best-films lists and its label as a masterpiece. You deserve to watch it.

Goal: 43 films
To Date: 26 seen
Remaining: 17 films

More clever in concept than in execution. It’s worth a read, though, especially if you want to consider the continued cutural capital Baum’s work—and the film—hold over American culture. Not sure I’ll bother with Son of a Witch, though.

Thoughtful, intellectual without being pretentious, and a quick read, Bullshit is a thinking and drinking-person’s inspiration for provocative conversations with like-minded people. )(For those in academia, it reads like an engaging conference or seminar paper.)

I’ve seen this film several times, and I’m always blown away by it. The film is characterized by all the wonderful excess we associate with Welles: the extreme angles, the deep focus, the rich mise-en-scene, the powerful character whose downfall seems both inevitable and elegaic.

What’s more, this film is arguably the last class film noir and it sends out the style in, well, style. Pay particular attention to the opening sequence (about 3 minutes). That tracking shot is an auteur at work. If you’re not particularly invested in the visual style of film, you can always concentrate on the menagerie of characters gathered here: Charlton Heston (looking a little out of place in obviously racialized makeup, and with a bad Spanish accent); Janet Leigh; Dennis Weaver; Zsa Joseph Calleia; Akim Tamiroff; Marlene Dietrich; and, of course, Welles himself. They are quite an ensemble, all working to enhance the script.

And the script works within the best noir traditions, updated. Here, we have a compelling variation of good cop/bad cop played out in terms of border politics—the border being not only US/Mexico, but past/present. It’s worth watching not only for its entertainment & aesthetic value, but to see how the cultural anxieties of the period (1958) are presented; and for me, that’s part of the film’s entertainment/aesthetic value.

This isn’t Eisner’s strongest work, which is kind of sad as it is his last major one. It’s a highly didactic piece and well-intentioned. But it lacks some of the energy and visual interest of his earlier or more famous work. Read only if you’re familiar with, and love, the rest of Eisner’s work.

Although this film is a favorite of Ebert’s, it’s not one of mine. Still, even a secondary Hitchcock film is far better than most of the drivel out there. I certainly like his noirish look at Main Street America.

Eh. It’s decent enough beach reading, though I read it at the gym. Nice short chapters, plot-over character-driven. Its greatest strength is that the book caters to readers’ presumptions of their own intelligence, while managing to provide supposedly “new” knowledge without exposing the readers’ ignorance. In sum, it’s really pretty much of a no-brainer, casual reading kind of book, and I’ll remember it more for its best-seller status than for the quality of its writing. (Interestingly, I think it might make a better film than book.)

I’ve just finished watching this film by director Vittorio De Sica, who also made The Bicycle Thief. It’s a truly touching film, a description I don’t offer lightly, and a stunning example of Italian Neo-Realist cinema.

An overview of the film from the DVD: Shot on location with a cast of nonprofessional actors (this is one attribute of neorealism), Vittorio De Sica’s neorealist masterpiece follows Umberto D, an elderly pensioner, as he struggles to make ends meet during Italy’s postwar economic boom (another attribute). Alone except for his dog, Filke, Umberto strives to maintain his dignity while trying to surve in a city where traditional human kindness seems to have lost out to the forces of modernization (a common trope). Umberto’s simple quest to fulfill the most fundamental human needs—food, shelter, companionship—is one of the most hearbreaking stories ever filmed an an essential classic of world cinema. (I concur.)

Of course, this does not begin to cover what makes the film memorable, but it does offer a tantalizing summary. Let me just say that Umberto’s attempts to maintain his essential humanity in a world which is becoming more callous, one where he is increasingly invisible because of his age and economic class (the latter being another concern of neorealism), is difficult to watch. Scene after scene shows Umberto trying to reach out to others in his time of need, only to be rebuffed. There are fewer light moments than in The Bicycle Thief, which is not exactly a light comedy, and the end is as painful. (Indeed, I found it difficult to watch.) Yet there’s also a touch of hope in the film, one which is as beautiful as the cinematography.

One last word: some critics have leveled the charge of sentimentality at Umberto D. I disagree. I watch a lot of films, and I have very little patience with sentimentality (though I enjoy a good, classic melodrama). Whenever I feel its presence, I immediately adopt a critical stance. For this film, I did not do so. What’s more, I never felt the need to do so.

Watch this film. To paraphrase a line from a mediocre movie, “It will make you want to be a better person.”

...are intertwined in this great, classic film noir. Forget anything you’ve thought about Fred MacMurray if your primary association with him My Three Sons or Disney. In this movie we get to see him go toe-to-toe with Barbara Stanwyck and win…and lose.

If you haven’t seen this Billy Wilder film because they’ve been lax about releasing it to DVD (there was a short release in the late 1990s, but they’re hard to come by…even Netflix doesn’t carry it), you’re missing out. Go ahead, rent it on VHS. It’s classic noir and worth every grainy image.

Ran across this in the library when I was looking for another book. I’d seen the PBS show and meant to get around to reading the book, but it slipped from my top-ten list, as these things sometimes do. So I checked it out and consumed it in a couple of days. It really has me thinking about stuff I’m already concerned with—mindful consumption v. conspicuous consumption, the environmental cost of our consumption, keeping up with the Joneses, the Voluntary Simplicity movement. An earlier post on this provides an overview and a lot of details on the book, so I won’t repeat those points. I will say this: if you’re concerned with both your quality of life and how you live with (and not on) the earth, read this book.