A blog formerly known as Bookishness / By Charles Matthews

"Dazzled by so many and such marvelous inventions, the people of Macondo ... became indignant over the living images that the prosperous merchant Bruno Crespi projected in the theater with the lion-head ticket windows, for a character who had died and was buried in one film and for whose misfortune tears had been shed would reappear alive and transformed into an Arab in the next one. The audience, who had paid two cents apiece to share the difficulties of the actors, would not tolerate that outlandish fraud and they broke up the seats. The mayor, at the urging of Bruno Crespi, explained in a proclamation that the cinema was a machine of illusions that did not merit the emotional outbursts of the audience. With that discouraging explanation many ... decided not to return to the movies, considering that they already had too many troubles of their own to weep over the acted-out misfortunes of imaginary beings."
--Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

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Showing posts with label Richard Basehart. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Richard Basehart. Show all posts

Tuesday, November 21, 2023

The House on Telegraph Hill (Robert Wise, 1951)

Valentina Cortese and Richard Basehart in The House on Telegraph Hill

Cast: Valentina Cortese, Richard Basehart, William Lundigan, Fay Baker, Gordon Gebert, Steven Geray, Herb Butterfield, Natasha Lytess, Kei Thin Chung, John Burton, Katherine Meskill, Mario Siletti. Screenplay: Elick Moll, Frank Partos, based on a novel by Dana Lyon. Cinematography: Lucien Ballard. Art direction: John DeCuir, Lyle R. Wheeler. Film editing: Nick DeMaggio. Music: Sol Kaplan.

The key to a successful thriller is to keep the audience from asking those questions you're not supposed to ask: Why did X do that instead of that? What caused Y to act that way? Would a sane person really behave that way? And when the film ends, have all the loose threads been accounted for? The House on Telegraph Hill just barely manages to dodge those questions, except at the end. It's sometimes rather clumsily put together. For example, we are led to believe at the beginning that the film is being narrated in voiceover by the protagonist, Viktoria Kowalska (Valentina Cortese). But in mid-film we watch a conversation that Viktoria could not have overheard. We later find that the voiceover is actually Viktoria telling her story to investigators, but the momentary break in point of view is jarring. The ending, too, feels rushed. We have invested enough time in the story that we need a clearer outcome for Viktoria and others. The premise is a familiar one, given a postwar spin: A woman pretends to be someone she isn't and suffers the consequences. In Viktoria's case, she was a prisoner in the Belsen concentration camp, where she befriended Karin Dernakova (Natasha Lytess), who died there after telling Viktoria that she had a son who had been sent at the start of the war to live with her aunt in San Francisco. When the camp is liberated, Viktoria, who has no family of her own left in Poland, finds it expedient to assume the identity of Karin, whose papers she has been given for safekeeping. Viktoria is well-meaning; she doesn't really plan to defraud anyone, but through a rather rushed-through series of circumstances, she winds up in San Francisco pretending to be the mother of Karin's child, Chris (Gordon Gebert). Not only that, she also marries Chris's guardian, Alan Spender (Richard Basehart). So now she finds herself in an elegant mansion on the top of Telegraph Hill, playing mother to a boy who stands to inherit a fortune. And of course she also finds herself in danger. Cortese's performance makes some of this credible, but it was her only important film in America: She married her co-star, Basehart, and returned to Italy. He went with her, but except for Federico Fellini's La Strada (1954) and Il Bidone (1955), his European films were undistinguished, and he returned to the States after their divorce in 1960. The House on Telegraph Hill is plenty watchable, if only because of cinematographer Lucien Ballard's use of the San Francisco location.     

Tuesday, May 28, 2019

Il Bidone (Federico Fellini, 1955)











Il Bidone (Federico Fellini, 1955)

Cast: Broderick Crawford, Richard Basehart, Franco Fabrizi, Giulietta Masina, Sue Ellen Blake, Irene Cefaro, Alberto De Amicis, Lorella De Luca. Screenplay: Federico Fellini, Ennio Flaiano, Tullio Pinelli. Cinematography: Otello Martelli. Production design: Dario Cecchi. Film editing: Mario Serandrei, Giuseppe Vari. Music: Nino Rota.

Sunday, August 26, 2018

Miracles of Thursday (Luis García Berlanga, 1957)

Guadalupe Muñoz Sampedro and Manuel Alexandre in Miracles of Thursday
Martino: Richard Basehart
Don José: José Isbert
Don Salvador: Paolo Stoppa
Don Antonio Guajardo Fontana: Juan Calvo
Don Ramon: Alberto Romea
Don Evaristo: Félix Fernández
Don Manuel: Manuel de Juan
Doña Paquita: Guadalupe Muñoz Sampedro
Mauro: Manuel Alexandre

Director: Luis García Berlanga
Screenplay: Luis García Berlanga, José Luis Colina
Cinematography: Francisco Sempere
Production design: Bernardo Ballester
Film editing: Pepita Orduna
Music: Franco Ferrara

I have always admired filmmakers who could get things by the censors. In the United States, for example, nobody did it better than Preston Sturges, who could get away with such outrageous gags as, for example, naming the lead character of The Miracle of Morgan's Creek (1944) Trudy Kockenlocker and having Trudy become pregnant by a soldier (whom she of course married) whose identity she isn't quite sure of. So there's much to admire in Luis García Berlanga's finessing the Franco censors in Miracles of Thursday, a film that sends up small town chicanery and piety. Berlanga does it in part by providing an ending that seems to validate at least the piety, but the main effect of this raucous, entertaining comedy is to portray the easy credulity of the faithful where miracles are concerned. The plot centers on the efforts of some of the prominent citizens to revitalize a moribund spa town by faking a miracle: the appearance of St. Dismas. This, they think, will draw the faithful the way the miracle at Lourdes did, and spark the return of the people who used to come to their town to "take the waters" at their mineral spring. The fall guy for the miracle is Mauro, a mentally challenged man who lives in a boxcar by the railroad station (which has been bypassed by express trains since the decline of the spa). As ineptly staged as their miracle is, Mauro is convinced that he has experienced a holy vision. But the initial flurry of excitement dies down until a stranger named Martino arrives, and helps the plotters with their scheme. Martino is played by the American actor Richard Basehart, who appeared in numerous European films, most notably Federico Fellini's La Strada (1954), during his marriage to Italian actress Valentina Cortese. He's a sardonic fellow with some tricks up his sleeve, and Berlanga keeps us guessing whether he's devil or angel until the very end -- and perhaps beyond. The ending feels a bit flat and perfunctory, but there's fun to be had before then.

Saturday, May 19, 2018

La Strada (Federico Fellini, 1954)

Giulietta Masina and Anthony Quinn in La Strada 
Zampanò: Anthony Quinn
Gelsomina: Giulietta Masina
The Fool: Richard Basehart
Giraffa: Aldo Silvani
Widow: Marcella Rovere
Nun: Livia Venturini

Director: Federico Fellini
Screenplay: Federico Fellini, Tullio Pinelli, Ennio Flaiano
Cinematography: Otello Martelli
Production design: Mario Ravasco
Film editing: Leo Catozzo
Music: Nino Rota

Sad clowns have gone out of style, so to many of us today Giulietta Masina's Gelsomina seems more than a little cloying. But when La Strada was released, she was hailed as a master of comic pathos, as if she were the unacknowledged daughter of Charles Chaplin and Lillian Gish. Similarly, Federico Fellini's film now feels like an uneasy attempt to blend neorealistic grime and misery with a kind of moral allegory: Zampanó as Body, Gelsomina as Soul, and The Fool as Mind. So when Body kills Mind, Soul pines away, leaving Body in anguish. But La Strada has retained generations of admirers who are willing to overlook the sentimentality and latter-day mythologizing. It does remain a tremendously accomplished film, made under some difficulties, including constant battles by Fellini with his formidable producers, Dino De Laurentiis and Carlo Ponti. If it sometimes feels like a throwback to the era of silent movies, it was virtually filmed as one, with its American stars, Anthony Quinn and Richard Basehart, speaking their lines in English and the rest of the cast speaking Italian, and everyone later dubbed in the studio -- which leads to that slightly disembodied quality the dialogue of many early postwar films possesses.