Showing posts with label Billy Wilder. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Billy Wilder. Show all posts

Thursday, July 19, 2007

Goodness, Gracious, Great . . .


While watching a Billy Wilder documentary that accompanied Ace in the Hole, I was reminded that Wilder and Charles Brackett had done the screenplay for Howard Hawks's screwball comedy Ball of Fire. Since that was in my stack of DVDs-to-be-watched, I pulled it out and had a wonderful couple of hours watching a movie in which an English professor gets to be the romantic lead--and played by Gary Cooper, no less.

Of course, much of the comedy lies in listening to the normally laconic Cooper deliver the professor's sesquipedalian verbiage in his clipped bursts; much of the rest lies in the gulf between the slang that Cooper's character is trying to nail down and his own vocabulary, as well as that of the other seven dwarfs--I mean, professors. (The resemblance of its plot to that of Snow White is intentional; "Heidy Ho!" says Barbara Stanwyck as she greets the professors). Some of this humor must have flown in under the censors' radar, as Cooper explains the slang etymology of "Sugarpuss" O'Shea's first name as referring to her face, while those with more lecherous minds muse upon a more venereal location.

What was surprising--and also delightful--about the movie was its cinematography by Gregg Toland. He employs his deep-focus technique very effectively, such as in the still above, with Cooper and Stanwyck in the foreground, three professors in varying degrees in the middle distance, and one sneaking down the stairs in the background--all clearly in focus. The scene in which Coooper first mentions his attraction to Stanwyck is even more striking: Cooper confesses this attraction just as he is about to throw her out, that he particularly noticed her the previous day when she was standing in the window and the light hit her hair. Stanwyck moves back a few feet until she is framed by the window, and poof! it glows. No CGI, just a knowledge of light, lenses, and film, and how to combine them.

Wilder said that after he wrote the script, he hung around the set to watch Hawks direct the film, a kind of "working vacation." Wilder admitted that he became a director to have ultimate control over his scripts, and told the anecdote about Charles Boyer and the cockroach again ("If he won't talk to the cockroach, the sonovabitch won't talk to anybody!"). But he also said that he became a director because that's where the fun in movie-making is. Writing, he tells the interviewer, is, "to quote Winston Churchill, 'blood, sweat, and tears.'"

Amen, Billy.

Tuesday, July 17, 2007

Ace [in the] Hole?



One director I find myself enjoying more and more as I grow older is Billy Wilder--not only for his dialogue, but for his candor in discussing his works, such as Cameron Crowe caught in Conversations with Wilder, and in the interviews he did on film with Volker Schlondorff in Billy Wilder Speaks. And now finally Criterion--who else?--has released its edition of one of the few Wilder flops in the 1950s, Ace in the Hole.

It's not hard to see why it bombed. Its hero is a reporter, played by Kirk Douglas, who prolongs the length of time a cave-in victim must spend trapped so as to build his own reputation back up. The victim's wife is a tramp, immediately signaled by Jan Sterling's hair being bleached to the same shade as Barbara Stanwyck's in Double Indemnity. And for the most part, the public is portrayed as gullible yobs, eager to vicariously participate in a story, uncaring after it's over, and preyed upon by scavengers of every size and shape. The few good people include the victim's parents, and the newspaper publisher who initially hires Douglas--he's portrayed in the still above, with the crucifix over his shoulder, while Kirk somehow defeats the laws of time and channels his son Michael.

The real fault of the picture is its ending--it doesn't know whether it wants to be Double Indemnity (lovers clash); Stalag 17 (antihero not as selfish as he appears to be); or Sunset Boulevard (what you sow, you reap). And it takes too long. Maybe it was because Wilder was between his strongest writing partners, Charles Brackett and I.A.L. Diamond. But it has its moments: more visually composed shots than one usually associates with Wilder (including Douglas's face lit from underneath in the cave that turns him into a troll), and the usual Wilder touch in the dialogue:

Sterling (to Douglas): I've met some hard-boiled ones. But you're twenty minutes!