[ The Chateau ]
Please believe me when I tell you this is a classic. Based on the novel by Vera Caspary, it is a whodunit which questions whether it was done at all. Dana Andrews is Mark (last name eludes me), the hardboiled detective who tries to be tough-as-nails but finds himself haunted by the the elusive presence of the murder victim in his latest case. As he moves through her apartment and tries to assemble a sense of who she was--in order to discover who might have murdered her--he finds that he is drawn to the spectre of the woman that begins emerging from all these different sources. Even though there are disturbing elements of opportunism and manipulation hinted at in the figure of Laura, he soon realises that he has fallen in love with a dead woman.
If I were to throw an analytical spin onto this commentary, I'd say that this presents an interesting metaphor for objectification/idealization of the female subject. This is, however, immediately given a strange twist, given the fact that Laura herself is not a sweet, demure dieaway woman. In the anecdotes related by friends, she is strong and determined. And when she does "appear" to Mark, she is also far from being compliant.
Again, for those of you Twin Peak fans, this is one to check out. The name alone should be a tipoff. But, in case it isn't, here's a little dessertation of mine on the subject.
One of the things which really struck me forcibly in Twin Peaks was the fact that even though Laura Palmer was dead, she was everywhere. The way she was remembered, the way she was grieved, the way she was evoked--all made her seem still present, like some sort of ghost who cannot leave because she has been so fiercely remembered by those around her. The centerpiece of this recollection, for me, was the videotape. It provided a glimpse into one aspect of who she was or who she might have been. There was also Maddie--Laura's exact look-alike--and Cooper's vivid dreams of Laura in the Red Room. Bear all this in mind if you ever get around to seeing the old film Laura. Lynch certainly didn't try to evade the parallels between the two.
The old movie also features a detective who dreams of the murder victim he is investigating, a host of suspects who remember her vividly and fiercely in all her different guises and, in place of a video tape (also: the framed photo of Laura Palmer that became one of the key associations people had with the series), a portrait hanging above her mantlepiece, painted by an artist who was in love with her. She is linked with a recurring musical theme... and so on. Here's a link to a fellow's ode to Gene Tierney's status as screen goddess. Me, I'm more drawn to Dana Andrews, but Laura is the kind of strong, assertive female presence which is all too often tinged with misogyny in the older films. I still love them films, though.
I saw this last week for the first time. Wotta howler. Fritz Lang viewed it as one of his "failures" and I can certainly see why--as a serious film, it falls completely flat. Nonetheless, it is a delight to watch--so many aspects of it became "bad film" cliches in the years that followed. The acting is stilted, the message is moralistic and heavy-handed and the songs are only worth mentioning because they were so wacky. So, if you want to see a light evening's entertainment, check it out. It's so bad, it's good.
The Hitchcock classic, based on a novel by Daphne DuMaurier, starring Joan Fontaine and Lawrence Olivier. Like Laura, it is a film that features the haunting presence of a strong, absent woman. But, where Laura is sympathetically flawed, Rebecca such a paragon that one comes close to hating her. Fontaine plays the unnamed heroine--the shy, gentle girl who is dazzled by the handsome, brooding sophistication of the wealthy Maxim DeWinter. He has recently been widowed and his first wife, Rebecca, had everything that the protagonist does not--beauty, grace, charm, wit and sophistication. Nonetheless, Maxim proposes and the enamoured young narrator accepts. She is then led into a world she does not understand--Maxim's home, Manderly, is bewilderingly large, and the people who inhabit his circle are still touched by Rebecca. Maxim grows distant and suddenly, she is alone. Thus begins her process of transformation.
For those familiar with Victorian literature (or even films made about Victorian literature), note the parallels to the story of Jane Eyre. They are so marked that I truly wondered if DuMaurier approached the writing of the text with the Bronte novel in mind. Consider: the plain young first person narrator (in an interesting twist/inversion, DuMaurier's narrator is far more self-effacing, to the point of never revealing her name--even the book has been named after the woman by whom she felt so overshadowed. Jane, by contrast, despite her plain appearence, is strong and stubborn--one would imagine her proud to be the eponymous character in the text), the brooding hero with the dark past, the wife whose presence continues to haunt the relationship of the couple, the large, forbidding house. The list goes on. In case you hadn't noticed, I enjoy making connections--aka intertextuality.
A few more noir titles which are worth checking out (I'll try to get links etc. For them later):
The Petrified Forest
And others which I can't think of at the moment. But I still have to
say, Sunset holds a special place in my heart.
And here are a few non-noir works which I also enjoyed:
The City of Lost Children
As with the other, I'll add more as I think of more...
...since May 17, 2000
Ignore this stuff.
