The Only Son (Yasujiro Ozu, 1936)

Choko Iida and Shinichi Himori in The Only Son

Cast: Choko Iida, Shinichi Himori, Masao Hayama, Yoshiko Tsoubuchi, Mitsuko Yoshkawa, Chishu Ryu, Tomio Aoki. Screenplay: Yasujiro Ozu, Tadao Ikeda, Masao Arata. Cinematography: Shojiro Sugimoto. Production design: Tatsuo Hamada. Film editing: Eiichi Hasagawa, Hideo Mohara. Music: Senji Ito. 

If someone were to ask me what movie by Yasujiro Ozu they should watch first, I'd probably suggest the one that makes the critics' lists of the greatest films ever made, Tokyo Story (1953), or perhaps his very last one, An Autumn Afternoon (1962). I probably wouldn't select his first talkie, The Only Son, but only because the print I saw was blotchy and its soundtrack occasionally noisy. It's also one of his most melancholy films, drenched in the kind of disappointment that Ozu himself must have felt in the Depression year of 1936 as militarism took stronger hold on Japan. It tells the simple story of a single mother, O-Tsune (Choko Iida), who supports her son, Ryosuke (Shinichi Himori), by working in a silk mill as he grows up, gets an education, and moves to Tokyo determined to be a "great man." But when she pays a visit to him there, she discovers that he has married and has an infant son of his own, and that the little family is struggling to make ends meet. The best job he's able to find is teaching night school. His failure to thrive mirrors that of the teacher, Okubo (Chishu Ryu), who mentored him, urging him to further his education, and went to Tokyo himself to advance his career. Now, even the teacher is struggling, supporting his wife and four children by running a small tonkatsu restaurant. Ryosuke, who is living from paycheck to paycheck, borrows money from friends so he can show his mother a good time in Tokyo. They do some sightseeing and he takes her to the movies. The film is Unfinished Symphony (Willi Forst and Anthony Asquith, 1934) a British-Austrian biopic of Franz Schubert that Ozu uses for an ironic allusion: It's about a disappointed genius and it has dialogue in German, echoing the fact that Japan signed a pact with Hitler's Reich in 1936. Ryosuke tries to impress his mother by pointing out that it's "a talkie," but she nods off during the film -- perhaps Ozu's sly dismissal of the medium that he has finally been persuaded to adopt. Though it's touched with humor, The Only Son persists in its melancholy portrait of failed hopes, ending with Ryosuke's vow that he will go back to school and get a better job. O-Tsune returns to her work in the mill, and tells her friends that her son has become a great man, but her face when she's alone reveals the truth.    

The Anniversary Party (Jennifer Jason Leigh, Alan Cumming, 2001)

Alan Cumming and Jennifer Jason Leigh in The Anniversary Party

Cast: Jennifer Jason Leigh, Alan Cumming, Kevin Kline, Phoebe Cates, John C. Reilly, Jane Adams, Parker Posey, John Benjamin Hickey, Gwyneth Paltrow, Denis O'Hare, Mina Badie, Michael Panes, Jennifer Beals, Matt Malloy. Screenplay: Jennifer Jason Leigh, Alan Cumming. Cinematography: John Bailey. Production design: Emma Bailey. Film editing: Carol Littleton, Suzanne Spangler. Music: Michael Penn.  

Hollywood professionals Alan Cumming and Jennifer Jason Leigh wrote, directed, and starred in The Anniversary Party, a movie about a gathering of Hollywood professionals. Which at least follows the advice to write about what you know. But that way lies a certain insularity, which is probably the biggest problem their movie has. Watching it made me feel like an outsider, even a voyeur. They play a couple, actress Sally Nash and novelist turned filmmaker Joe Therrian, who have recently put their marriage back together after a separation, and are celebrating their sixth wedding anniversary -- not usually a landmark occasion, but considering their marital difficulties can be considered an achievement. So they invite their friends, most of them colleagues and co-workers in the film industry, plus some newcomers, including the hot young actress Skye Davidson (Gwyneth Paltrow), whom Joe has cast in the movie he's making. This in itself is a source of tension, which some of the guests are not above pointing out, because Skye is playing a character from Joe's novel who is clearly based on Sally, and he didn't cast Sally herself, perhaps because she's too old to play the role. Also among the outsiders in the gathering are Joe and Sally's next-door neighbors, Ryan (Denis O'Hare) and Monica Rose (Mina Badie), whom they invited because they'd like to quell the tension that has arisen between the two households over the barking of Joe and Sally's dog. The volatility within the group gives rise to some snarky gossip and a few ruffled egos, but it remains mostly under control until Skye produces some ecstasy that releases everyone's inhibitions. Naturally, it climaxes with a big fight between Joe and Sally, in which the unstated tension is clearly and loudly stated. There's nothing particularly new about the film and the characters, but the ensemble work of the cast is fun to watch and Leigh and Cumming know when and how to end their movie on a quietly amusing note. 

Brigadoon (Vincente Minnelli, 1954)

Van Johnson, Barry Jones, Gene Kelly, Cyd Charisse in Brigadoon

Cast: Gene Kelly, Cyd Charisse, Van Johnson, Elaine Stewart, Barry Jones, Hugh Laing, Albert Sharpe, Virginia Bosler, Jimmy Thompson, Tudor Owen, Owen McGiveney, Dee Turnell, Dodie Heath, Eddie Quillan. Screenplay: Alan Jay Lerner, based on his book for a stage musical. Cinematography: Joseph Ruttenberg. Art direction: E. Preston Ames, Cedric Gibbons. Film editing: Albert Akst. Music: Conrad Salinger; songs by Alan Jay Lerner and Frederick Loewe. 

Three years after Brigadoon, MGM's biggest musical star wasn't Gene Kelly or Judy Garland, it was Elvis Presley, who made Jailhouse Rock (Richard Thorpe, 1957) and eleven more movies for the studio. Arthur Freed, Brigadoon's producer, made six more musicals for the studio before leaving it in 1961, but Brigadoon is often regarded as a sign that MGM's golden age was ending. It's not an original movie musical like An American in Paris (Vincente Minnelli, 1951) or Singin' in the Rain (Kelly and Stanley Donen, 1952), the most highly regarded of the films produced by the Freed Unit, but an adaptation of a Broadway hit. It's also filmed in Ansco Color, widely regarded as inferior to classic Technicolor. It was originally intended to be shot on location in the Scottish Highlands, but the studio decided the weather was too uncertain there. After considering another location in California near Big Sur, the decision was made to film it entirely on a soundstage in Culver City. The expensive set earned an Oscar nomination for art direction, even though the decision to make the film in CinemaScope only magnified the artificiality of the artificial turf and painted sky. Brigadoon is not just stagey -- there are pauses at the end of musical numbers where the Broadway audience would have applauded -- it's soundstagey.  Kelly, who also choreographed, is in good voice and Cyd Charisse (whose singing voice was dubbed by Carol Richards) dancers beautifully, The song score by Alan Jay Lerner and Frederick Loewe is one of their best, including hummable tunes like "The Heather on the Hill" and "Almost Like Being in Love." (Although some of the songs from the stage version, including "Come to Me, Bend to Me" and "There But for You Go I," were cut.) Yet there's something lifeless about the movie. Van Johnson, who was cast in the role of Kelly's sidekick after Donald O'Connor was considered, seems a little bored with his part. The cutesiness of the village that outwitted time and space is a little too thick: There's something almost refreshing about the scenes satirizing life in New York near the end of the film, which are supposed to indicate that Kelly's character made a big mistake in not staying in Brigadoon. Vincente Minnelli directs these scenes with a sharpness and vigor that's absent from the rest of the movie. 

Backfire (Vincent Sherman, 1950)

Edmond O'Brien, Gordon MacRae, and Virginia Mayo in Backfire

Cast: Gordon MacRae, Virginia Mayo, Edmond O'Brien, Viveca Lindfors, Dane Clark, Ed Begley, Sheila MacRae, Mack Williams, Leonard Strong, Frances Robinson, Richard Rober, David Hoffman, Ida Moore. Screenplay: Lawrence B. Marcus, Ivan Goff, Ben Roberts. Cinematography: Carl E. Guthrie. Art direction: Anton Grot. Film editing: Thomas Reilly. Music: Daniele Amfitheatrof. 

Backfire is a hyperplotted whodunit that aspires to some of the narrative complexity of Raymond Chandler but doesn't quite have what it takes. Gordon MacRae plays Bob Corey, recovering from war wounds in an Army hospital, who receives a visit one night from a mysterious woman (Viveca Lindfors) who tells him that his friend Steve Connolly (Edmond O'Brien) has been in a serious accident and is threatening to commit suicide; she asks for his help, but Corey has just been given a shot to help him sleep and passes out as the woman is talking. The next morning, he's not certain whether the woman was really there or if he dreamed about her visit. When he gets out of the hospital, the police contact him: Connolly is wanted for the murder of a notorious gambler and has disappeared. While in the hospital, Corey has fallen in love with a nurse, Julie Benson (Virginia Mayo), and with her help he begins the search for his friend. The rest of the story is told mostly in a series of flashbacks, some of them provided by people who get killed for telling Corey their stories, which all point to a high-roller with a mistress who is none other than the mysterious woman who visited Corey in the hospital. Some suspenseful moments and some entertaining performances keep the movie going, but the outcome is just a little too predictable. It's like one of those TV detective shows where the bad guy turns out to be that character actor you've seen before but can't quite place. This time, it's the actor whose name recognition is a little larger than their role in the movie seems to justify. 

Ceddo (Ousmane Sembene, 1977)

Tabata Ndiaye in Ceddo

 Cast: Tabata Ndiaye, Alioune Fall, Moustapha Yade, Mamadou N’diaye Diagne, Ousmane Camara, Nar Sene, Makhouredia Gueye, Mamadou Dioum, Oumar Guèye, Pierre Orma, Eloi Coly, Marek Tollik, Ismaila Diagne. Screenplay: Ousmane Sembene. Cinematography: Georges Caristan, Bara Diokhane, Orlando Lopez, Seydina D. Saye. Art direction: Alpha W. Diallo. Film editing: Dominique Blain, Florence Eymon. Music: Manu Dibango. 

In Wolof, ceddo means something like "outsiders" or "others," but the subtitles for Ousmane Sembene's film translate it as "pagan." Which is appropriate in that Sembene's film is about that essential precursor to colonialism: the obliteration of an indigenous religion by a proselytizing religious authority. Ceddo is set in a village in Sub-Saharan Africa in precolonial times -- Sembene said that he imagined it to be the 17th or 18th century. The colony of French West Africa was established in 1895, but the colonizing vanguard was there much earlier in the form of Islamic and Christian missionaries. In Ceddo the village has been mostly converted to Islam, which the village king has accepted. But the ceddo resist the new religion, and kidnap the king's daughter, Dior Yacine (Tabata Ndiaye), who is supposed to marry a Muslim, in conflict with suitors upholding tribal tradition. The struggle to return the princess is bloody. Two white men, a slaver and a Catholic priest, observe the action like eager scavengers. Sembene tells the story with a mixture of straightforward narrative and touches that evoke the future under colonialism. The music track, for example, at one point contains a gospel song sung in English, suggesting the diaspora of slavery. And we see the Catholic priest with what appears to be his sole parishioner in his makeshift chapel, but Sembene cuts to a vision of what the priest longs for: a large congregation with nuns dressed in white and an image of black men rising into heaven. At one point, when the Islamic villagers have won a victory over the ceddo, the imam gives the forced converts their new names. The first one is called Ibrahim, but the second is tellingly given the name Ousmane. Ceddo is an ambitious film, made under difficult circumstances -- the dailies, for example, had to be sent to France to be processed, resulting in a lag of some weeks before Sembene and his crew could know if what they had shot was acceptable. But Sembene's achievement is a remarkable portrait of a continent in transition.   

A Mother Should Be Loved (Yasujiro Ozu, 1934)

Mitsuko Yoshikawa in A Mother Should Be Loved

Cast: Mitsuko Yoshikawa, Den Ohinata, Koji Mitsui, Seiichi Kato, Shusei Nomura, Shinyo Nara, Chishu Ryu, Yumeko Aizome, Shinobu Aoki, Choko Iida. Screenplay: Kogo Noda, Tadao Ikeda, Masao Arata, Yasujiro Ozu. Cinematography: Isamu Aoki. 

Ordinarily, I would regard watching a silent movie about mother love as a chore, not a pleasure. Especially if the movie is missing its first and last reels and doesn't have a music soundtrack to sweeten it. But A Mother Should Be Loved is an exception, mostly because it's directed by Yasujiro Ozu, who can be trusted not to slip into mawkishness and also to provide visuals that compensate for what's lacking in audibles. The story is emotionally complex: After the death of their father -- a role, played by Yukichi Iwata, that was lost with the movie's first reel -- Sadao (Seiichi Kato) and Kosaku (Shusei Nomura) are raised by Chieko (Mitsuko Yoshikawa). But when Sadao comes of age (now played by Den Ohinata) and applies to the university, he sees his birth certificate and realizes that Chieko is not really his mother -- he's the son of his father's first wife. He's upset at the deception but is quickly assured by Chieko that she loves him equally with Kosaku (now played by Koji Mitsui) and has tried to raise him as her own son. Eventually, however, Sadao suspects Chieko of overcompensating: treating him more generously than Kosaku. They argue, and when Kosaku learns that Sadao has upset their mother, he strikes him. Unwilling to fight back, Sadao leaves home and takes up residence in a brothel. When Chieko comes to plead with him to return home, Sadao refuses at first, but a maid in the brothel overhears their conversation and tells him her own story, which moves him so much that he relents. The reconciliation scene has been lost with the last reel, but is narratively inessential -- if the loss of any of Ozu's work can be deemed inessential. The delicacy of the performances and the lovely framing of each scene in the film overcome sentimentality. Ozu also slips in one of his allusions to other movies by decorating the brothel with a poster of Joan Crawford as Sadie Thompson in Rain (Lewis Milestone, 1932).  

The House of Yes (Mark Waters, 1997

Tori Spelling, Josh Hamilton, and Parker Posey in The House of Yes

Cast: Parker Posey, Josh Hamilton, Tori Spelling, Freddie Prinze Jr., Geneviève Bujold, Rachael Leigh Cook. Screenplay: Mark Waters, based on a play by Wendy MacLeod. Cinematography: Michael Spiller. Production design: Patrick Sherman. Film editing: Pamela Martin. Music: Rolfe Kent. 

Meeting the in-laws is such a familiar rite of passage that it's no wonder it has become a common movie plot device, as in Meet the Parents (Jay Roach, 2000) and its sequels in 2004 and 2010. Wendy MacLeod's play and Mark Waters's film The House of Yes turn the device into a black comedy influenced by another genre: the wacky family comedy -- think You Can't Take It With You (Frank Capra, 1938) and Auntie Mame (Morton DaCosta, 1958), in which a prospective spouse is introduced to a household of eccentrics. In The House of Yes Marty Pascal (Josh Hamilton) brings his fiancée, Lesly (Tori Spelling), to meet his family in a D.C. suburb. Lesly, who works as a waitress in a doughnut shop, finds herself out of her element: For one thing, the Pascals are clearly more affluent and better educated than she is. Moreover, Marty's twin sister (Parker Posey), known as Jackie-O because of her fixation on Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis, has recently been institutionalized, his mother (Geneviève Bujold) is hardly the most stable of parents, and his younger brother, Anthony (Freddie Prinze Jr.), only appears normal. Marty's no-nonsense manner also turns out to be a façade as Lesly becomes the vehicle for the revelation of various family secrets, including incest and possibly even the real reason for the death of Marty's father. In fact, Lesly's obvious out-of-placeness suggests that Marty's invitation to spend Thanksgiving with his family may even have been a kind of sadistic prank. There's some smart dialogue and some wincingly funny moments, but the film is stage-bound. It never touches base with reality, suggests an idea behind its conception, or reveals a satiric target. 

The Pirate (Vincente Minnelli, 1948)

Gene Kelly and Judy Garland in The Pirate

Cast: Judy Garland, Gene Kelly, Walter Slezak, Gladys Cooper, Reginald Owen, George Zucco, Fayard Nicholas, Harold Nicholas, Lester Allen, Lola Albright, Ellen Ross. Screenplay: Albert Hackett, Frances Goodrich, based on a play by S.N. Behrman. Cinematography: Harry Stradling Sr. Art direction: Cedric Gibbons, Jack Martin Smith. Film editing: Blanche Sewell. Music: Lennie Hayton, Conrad Salinger, Cole Porter (songs). 

Props to Walter Slezak, who is the only person in the cast of The Pirate who knows how to pronounce the name of the heroine. Everyone else refers to Manuela (Judy Garland) as "Man-you-ella." Manuela is a young woman in the Caribbean village of Calvados who is engaged to the town's portly, middle-aged mayor, Don Pedro Vargas (Slezak). Her head is full of tales of the dashing pirate Macocco, aka "Mack the Black," and she fantasizes about him taking her away from the village for a life of adventure. Don Pedro, however, likes the village perfectly well and never wants to leave. Visiting the city of Port Sebastian to have her wedding gown fitted, Manuela encounters a traveling player named Serafin (Gene Kelly), who falls for her, and during his act he hypnotizes her, hoping she'll fall in love with him. Instead, she reveals her passion for Mack the Black. Serafin follows her with his troupe to Calvados, where he recognizes Manuela's fiancé as the real Macocco, retired from piracy and hiding his secret past. From there, the plot thickens into a series of complications as Serafin decides to win Manuela away from Don Pedro by pretending that he's the real Macocco. It's not a bad premise to hang a series of songs and production numbers on, and there's some spectacularly athletic dancing by Kelly and Garland is in fine voice. The songs by Cole Porter are not his best work, however. The lyrics are sometimes silly: "Niña," for example, rhymes the name Niña with "neurasthenia" and "schizophrenia." Only "Be a Clown," which Kelly dances to first with the Nicholas Brothers and then with Garland, has had any life outside the film, and that mostly because producer and songwriter Arthur Freed notoriously copied it for Donald O'Connor's "Make 'Em Laugh" number in Singin' in the Rain (Kelly and Stanley Donen, 1952). Garland's increasing emotional problems, which worsened after she experienced postpartum depression following the birth of Liza Minnelli in 1946, also affected the production. The film feels a little disjointed and the ending is perfunctory, a reflection of some script problems and cost overruns. It wasn't a box office success. Still, it has moments that are as good as any of the more successful Freed Unit productions. 

Saltburn (Emerald Fennell, 2023)

Barry Keoghan in Saltburn

Cast: Barry Keoghan, Jacob Elordi, Rosamund Pike, Richard E. Grant, Alison Oliver, Archie Madekwe, Carey Mulligan, Paul Rhys, Ewan Mitchell. Screenplay: Emerald Fennell. Cinematography: Linus Sandgren. Production design: Suzie Davies. Film editing: Victoria Boydell. Music: Anthony Willis. 

With its fine cinematography and production design and skilled performances, Emerald Fennell's Saltburn is an exquisite container that's so hollow it echoes. The echoes are those of sharper literary and cinematic satires on the English class system. Barry Keoghan plays Oliver Quick, a first-year student at Oxford from an affluent and apparently loving middle class family who pretends to be a poor young man from a dysfunctional family and winds up conning his way into a decadent aristocratic family. Oliver's skill at lying and his lethal ways of covering up his lies recalls Patricia Highsmith's Tom Ripley, whose adventures began in The Talented Mr. Ripley, memorably filmed by René Clément (as Purple Noon) in 1960 and by Anthony Minghella in 1999. Like Ripley, Oliver is sexually fluid, and makes his way into the Catton family through his infatuation with Felix Catton (Jacob Elordi), a handsome and popular fellow student who invites Oliver to spend the summer at the family estate, Saltburn. The Cattons, who include Sir James (Richard E. Grant), Lady Elspeth (Rosamund Pike), and Felix's sister Venetia (Alison Oliver), are a collection of quirks and vices, including the other guests that summer: Felix's cousin Farleigh (Archie Madekwe), an American who sees Oliver as a rival, and Elspeth's neurotic friend, Pamela (Carey Mulligan). If the gathering at Saltburn reminds you of Brideshead Revisited, Fennell name-checks its author when Oliver says Felix's description of his family reminds him of Evelyn Waugh; Felix replies that Waugh based his characters on the Cattons. Another analogue might be found in Alan Hollinghurst's novel, a satire on Thatcherite Britain. The Line of Beauty, whose protagonist becomes a part of the wealthy household of an Oxford classmate on whom he has a crush. And Oliver's sexual attraction to Felix, which has him slurping the bathwater in which Felix has masturbated, is an inevitable reminder of the cum-filled peach in André Aciman's novel Call Me by Your Name and Luca Guadagnino's 2017 film version. Now, I don't have anything against borrowing, but it has to be done with some originality. The time is ripe for a satire on post-Brexit Britain, for example, but Fennell doesn't even give us that: Saltburn is set in 2007. The film lacks sharpness and clear intent, so it winds up being a well-mounted, very well acted but wholly derivative collection of mildly shocking incidents.  

I Wouldn't Be in Your Shoes (William Nigh, 1948)

Elyse Knox in I Wouldn't Be in Your Shoes

Cast: Don Castle, Elyse Knox, Regis Toomey, Charles D. Brown, Rory Mallinson, Robert Lowell, Bill Kennedy. Screenplay: Steve Fisher, based on a story by Cornell Wooolrich. Cinematography: Mack Stengler. Art direction: Dave Milton. Film editing: Roy V. Livingston, Otho Lovering. 

I Wouldn't Be in Your Shoes is a tidy, by-the-numbers Wrong Man thriller with an eleventh-hour climax -- in short, the kind of drama that would become standard on television a few years after it was released. Tom (Don Castle) and Ann (Elyse Knox) are a young dance team getting by between bookings on Ann's pay (and tips) as an instructor in a dance hall. One night, Tom flings his shoes out the window at a yowling cat. That same night, an elderly miser in their neighborhood is murdered and robbed. Tom's shoes become an important clue in the search for the killer, leading to his conviction for murder and imprisonment on Death Row. His only hope lies in Ann's attempt to persuade the police detective, Clint Judd (Regis Toomey), with whom she has flirted at the dance hall, to find the real killer. The movie was made by Poverty Row studio Monogram, so there's nothing fancy about it. The stars are low-wattage: Castle had been a bit player at Paramount before World War II, and had trouble restarting his career after being drafted and serving in the Army Air Force. Knox was a former model whose career never quite took off before she was signed by Monogram to play the girlfriend of Joe Palooka in a series of movies based on the comic strip hero; she married football player Tom Harmon and became the mother of Mark Harmon. Regis Toomey was probably the best-known member of the cast, with an IMDb list of 273 credits, stretching from 1929 to 1985, mostly in character roles. Director William Nigh started as an actor, but turned director in 1914, working steadily for B-movie factories like Monogram. I Wouldn't Be in Your Shoes was his next-to-last feature. Mostly a straightforward movie, it does try a little too hard in a montage in which Tom, counting the hours until he goes to the chair, is haunted by echoes of the word "shoes." It comes off, unfortunately, as a little silly. Otherwise, it's solid, unpretentious and modestly entertaining.