Image by Hitesh Sharma from Pixabay “[The success of Blade] proved to Marvel that you could make a successful franchise using a tertiary or secondary character. So suddenly they weren’t just sitting on a half dozen characters that might be marketable, they were sitting on these treasure troves.” – David S. Goyer “When we read stories of heroes, we identify with them. We take the journey with them. We see how the obstacles almost overcome them. We see how they grow as human beings…or show great qualities of strength and courage and with them, we grow in some small way.” – Sam Raimi Several weeks ago, I kicked off my summer blog mega-series on the evolution of the comic book movie genre by examining its two pillars: Richard Donner’s Superman and Tim Burton’s Batman. But, as I hope my next few blogs will make clear, we’ve come a long way since these two foundational superhero movies. So, I thought my next foray into this history should look at some of the more iconic, important, and high-quality comic book movies that preserved the more admirable aspects of the genre before it became mainstream cinema with the launch of Marvel Studios’ cinematic universe in the late 2000s.
So, without further ado…LET’S GET STARTED!! [NOTE: This blog contains spoilers for several movies. You have been warned.] Blade (1998) As early as the late 1980s, various studios developed versions of a project centered on the infamous vampire hunter Blade first introduced in the 1970 comic book “The Tomb of Dracula.” First, Roger Corman’s very own New World Pictures worked on a western starring Richard Roundtree (Shaft, Se7en) in the title role. A few years later, before officially even existing, Marvel Studios looked to make a Blade movie starring rapper LL Cool J. However, New Line Cinema ended up securing distribution rights and hired David S. Goyer (Dark City, Batman Begins, Man of Steel) to write the screenplay. While the studio initially sought to parody the Blade character, Goyer managed to convince them otherwise and take a more serious direction against the grain of the popular comic book movies of the decade such as Joel Schumacher’s Batman Forever and its lambasted sequel. To achieve this, Goyer wanted to inject some reality into Blade’s world by making vampirism into a biological disease and demythologizing the vampires by stripping any romanticism away from them and treating them like serious, villainous threats. Several actors were suggested by the studio for the lead role, from Denzel Washington (Glory, Malcolm X, Fences) to Laurence Fishburne (Boyz n the Hood, The Matrix, Contagion). However, Goyer always supported casting Wesley Snipes (Jungle Fever, Dolemite Is My Name) for the part. Fortunately, Snipes failed to produce a film centered on the character Black Panther by 1996 and thus was available for the role. By the time the final draft was completed, Snipes was the only actor seriously being considered to play Blade. Principal photography began in Los Angeles in February of 1997 largely on constructed sets. After the original 140-minute rough cut of the movie was negatively received by test audiences, post-production focused heavily on editing and incorporating reshoots which delayed the release more than six months. However, some of the cut or trimmed-down plot elements would end up playing integral roles in the sequels (i.e. giant blood bags filled with human victims of the vampires factored into the story of Blade: Trinity). Made on a budget of forty-five million dollars, Blade was released in August of 1998 to commercial success. Earning over 130 million dollars, it became Marvel’s first successful movie at the box office which laid the groundwork for the company’s future of adapting their iconic characters (i.e. the X-Men, Spider-Man) to the big screen. The film received mixed reviews from critics, who praised the visuals, action sequences, and intense style but found the story and characters to be lacking much depth or intrigue. Still, Blade remains a popular cult superhero flick among general moviegoers and is now credited as helping lay the foundation for the modern comic book movie genre. Based on when the original Blade movie came out (only one year after Joel Schumacher’s Batman & Robin), I certainly appreciate how it essentially reinvented the aesthetic of comic book movies. No longer did audiences have to be mired in the gothic fantasy world of Burton’s vision for Gotham nor the cartoonish atrocity of Schumacher’s vision. Instead, director Stephen Norrington went for a gritty, grunge-inspired aesthetic for the world of Marvel Comics’s human hybrid vampire hunter. And, despite the film’s many weaknesses, this look was surprisingly ahead of its time. Such a commitment to a darker look, tone, and style shows that the creative team behind Blade had some idea of where the genre was going (at least for DC, if not Marvel as much). Something else that this film helped Hollywood realize is that putting a nonwhite character front and center in a superhero story was by no means a risk. Quite the opposite, in fact; doing so could be well received by audience and, therefore, profitable. Without question, Blade set the stage for other comic book blockbusters with actors of color in the lead roles (Gamora and Drax in Guardians of the Galaxy, Shang-Chi in Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings), most notably the Oscar-nominated film Black Panther with an all-black leading and supporting cast. That being said, I do appreciate that the story of Blade is not one bothering with themes about racial prejudice or America’s history with discrimination. I want to be very clear: there is a place for stories focusing on such themes in film, including in superhero movies (Black Panther is a prime example, or the Disney+ series The Falcon and the Winter Soldier). However, given the time that Blade came out I think its successful longevity as a cult movie hindered on showing that a superhero action flick could star a black or brown actor without their story relating solely to the color of their skin and what they (or anyone else, for that matter) think about that. In other words, any comic book movie nowadays with an ethnically and culturally diverse cast that kids look up to as role models is indebted to one mainstream movie from over twenty years ago: Blade. To wrap up, I could devote an entire blog to criticize the forgettable plot, stoic performances, and lackluster character growth in Blade. But sometimes there are lower-quality films that retain a sense of historical or cultural significance (Tim Burton’s first Batman flick proves that), and I confidently place Blade into that classification of foundational films of the comic book genre. In spite of its flaws (and there are many of those), I do think Blade has value as a movie that foreshadowed the kinds of darker and grittier comic boom films that would come to captivate audiences’ imaginations in the movie theater for now multiple generations and, quite possibly, many more to come. X-Men (2000) As early as 1984, writers at Marvel Comics drafted a screenplay based on the team of superhero mutants created by Stan Lee and Jack Kirby in the 1960s. But development stalled for many years due to financial troubles with Orion Pictures (the studio who held film rights to the X-Men at the time). By 1990, Stan Lee himself was working with Carolco Pictures to continue developing the film; James Cameron (The Terminator, Aliens, Titanic) would produce, while Kathryn Bigelow (Point Break, The Hurt Locker, Detroit) was in mind to direct. Early on in the process of writing a treatment for Bigelow, Cameron shifted his attention to producing a Spider-Man movie. Meanwhile, Carolco declared bankruptcy and thus the film rights to X-Men reverted to Marvel. They shopped the rights around to a number of studios (notably Columbia Pictures) before 20th Century Fox, who were impressed by the success of the animated X-Men television series, became interested. So, their producer Lauren Shuler Donner (Pretty in Pink, Free Willy, You’ve Got Mail), the wife of the late Richard Donner, purchased the film rights in 1994. Donner hired Andrew Kevin Walker (Se7en, Sleepy Hollow) to write a treatment, which ended up focusing more on Magneto’s backstory and the Sentinels but retained some elements of the final film such as Wolverine’ rivalry with Cyclops and Professor Xavier recruiting Wolverine into the X-Men. A rewrite on Walker’s second draft was done in 1995 by screenwriter Laeta Kalogridis (Shutter Island, Alita: Battle Angel), who injected a romance between Wolverine and Storm. One year later, Michael Chabon (John Carter, Star Trek: Picard) wrote a six-page treatment which focused more on developing the main X-Men characters and did not even plan to introduce the main villains until a sequel film. The studio offered directorial duties to both Robert Rodriguez (From Dusk till Dawn, Spy Kids) and Paul W.S. Anderson (Mortal Kombat, Event Horizon), but they turned it down. After the success of his neo-noir mystery thriller The Usual Suspects, Bryan Singer (Superman Returns, Valkyrie) was looking to direct a sci-fi flick. While initially hesitant to adapt a comic book for the big screen, Singer resonated with the themes of prejudice in the X-Men’s storylines and thus signed on to the project by December of 1996. In August of that year, another script was written; this time by Ed Solomon (Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure, Men in Black). His script was revised later on by John Logan (Gladiator, The Aviator, Skyfall) and James Schamus (The Wedding Banquet, Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon) who focused on fleshing out the characters more. By 1998, however, comic book writer Chris Claremont (who created X-Men characters such as Rogue, Shadowcat, Mystique, and Emma Frost) learned just how much trouble the writing process was. So, he sent the studio a four-page memo synthesizing the core concepts and ideas behind the X-Men that differentiated them from other superheroes. Around the same time, Singer sent the studio a treatment that, he believed, took the themes of the X-Men seriously as well as the analogy of Xavier and Magneto’s relationship dynamic to that of Martin Luther King, Jr. and Malcolm X. Furthermore, Singer’s treatment turned Rogue into a more central character because he felt that her mutation—which prevents her from making physical contact with other people at risk of their life—best embodied the movie’s theme of alienation. 20th Century Fox, however, rejected Singer’s treatment because they felt it would cost five million dollars more than the $75 million budget they had previously set for the project. Thus, several special-effects-heavy character (notably, Beast, Nightcrawler, and Pyro) were cut before Fox officially greenlit the film. Later in the year, Singer brought on Christopher McQuarrie (Jack Reacher, Mission: Impossible – Fallout) to do some more rewrites. Before the year was out, Joss Whedon (Toy Story, The Avengers) was hired to rewrite the third act but instead he oversaw a “major overhaul” and thus changed the ending to include Jean Grey as the “Phoenix.” Whedon’s draft, however, was rejected because of its “quick-witted, pop culture-referencing tone.” The final screenwriting credit for the movie went to David Hayter (The Scorpion King, Watchmen), who was working as Singer’s assistant in the late 1990s. He was hired to do rewrites due to his extensive knowledge of X-Men comic book storylines. Despite studio pressure, Hayter insisting on retaining many of the core elements of the source material (i.e. Wolverine’s Canadian heritage). Singer and producer Tom DeSanto (Apt Pupil, Transformers), who had co-written Singer’s original treatment, were given story credit while McQuarrie voluntarily removed his credit since he felt the final draft of the screenplay was more Hayter’s than his own (there is some controversy to this day as to how much of the final movie was written by Hayter or McQuarrie). Russell Crowe (Gladiator, A Beautiful Mind, Cinderella Man) was Singer’s first choice to play Wolverine. However, Crowe turned it down and recommended his friend Hugh Jackman (The Prestige, Prisoners, The Greatest Showman) who was relatively unknown at the time. Furthermore, Jackman was competing with several more established performers for the film—including Viggo Mortensen (A History of Violence, Captain Fantastic, Green Book)—and even lost the job to Dougray Scott (Ever After, Deep Impact) who ended up dropping out due to scheduling conflicts with shooting John Woo’s Mission: Impossible 2. Ultimately, Jackman was cast after filming had already been going on for three weeks after his audition was received well by the studio. Singer first approached Patrick Stewart (Star Trek: First Contact, The Prince of Egypt) while the actor was filming Richard Donner’s political thriller Conspiracy Theory. Singer also cast Ian McKellen (The Lord of the Rings) in the role of Magneto based on his performance in Singer’s previous movie Apt Pupil. McKellen greatly resonated with the subtextual LGBTQ+ allegory of the movie as an activist and gay man himself. Due to some shifting release dates with other films, Fox pressured Singer to finish production of the project six months ahead of the initial schedule in order to meet a new July release date. Thus, principal photography commenced in Ontario, Canada in September of 1999 and lasted until March of 2000, with several Toronto locations utilized for interior and exterior sets. Due to his claim of taking medication for back pain, Singer reportedly often arrived to set late and experienced mood swings and tantrums. After several cast and crew members complained to the studio, associate producer Kevin Feige was flown to Toronto to keep Singer in line. Furthermore, Singer was accused of giving small roles to younger actors in exchange for sexual favors. Other elements of production were nightmarish for the actors, from Jackman having hundreds of pairs of plaster claws built for him to Rebecca Romijn-Stamos wearing over 100 individual silicone prosthetics for the role of Mystique which took over six hours to apply each time. Romijn-Stamos later commented that, for her, making the movie was “hell.” Released on July 14, 2000, X-Men earned just under 300 million dollars on a final budget of 75 million dollars making it the ninth highest-grossing film of that year. It was also well-received by critics, who praised the streamlined storytelling, action, and special effects. However, some felt that much of the ensemble cast (notably Halle Berry) were underutilized. Nevertheless, X-Men helped the resurgence of mainstream comic book cinema in the early 2000s and spawned a massive franchise of films that, in total, have grossed over six billion dollars (making it the ninth highest-grossing film franchise of all time). My very first blog was about 20th Century Fox’s X-Men franchise, and the overall sentiments that I expressed back then I agree with now: people look back at the first two X-Men movies with intense nostalgia and should really revisit them through a modern lens given how much the genre has grown and evolved since the year 2000. But, I do want to shine some light on what does work about the movie and why it remains an important part of the foundation of this genre. As I said in that blog, most people emphasize the rapport between Professor Charles Xavier (Patrick Stewart) and Erik Lehnsherr/“Magneto” (Ian McKellan) as the best part of the first X-Men flick. While I don’t deny their excellent chemistry as former best friends who became archrivals, I never found their characters to be the crux of why this movie is remotely enjoyable. Rather it was how the filmmakers handled some of the darker, more mature themes that the X-Men deal with. On the one hand, you have the political subtext of ostracization and prejudice towards the “other” involving the government aiming to rid its society of mutants who they deem dangerous and, in some cases, inhuman. This, of course stems from the opening scene involving a young “Magneto” being separated from his family in a concentration camp during the Holocaust (which is expanded on, to great effect, in Matthew Vaugh’s prequel X-Men: First Class). In addition, the character of Rogue (Anna Paquin) was a solid choice for a deuteragonist who embodies the film’s central metaphor about having an identity crisis and social isolation. But, in my humble opinion, the strongest character (and performance) in X-Men is Hugh Jackman as Logan/“Wolverine.” Not only does he perfectly embody the gruff loner archetype of the character, but the hints of his backstory as a military man who has lived many lifetimes and was physically abused in order to be weaponized play very well into the tragic lives of these characters and what makes them different than other hero teams such as the Avengers. Aside from the mature themes, X-Men feels different than the Batman movies of the 1990s or the original Blade film in how it uses relatable “outsider” characters like Rogue and “Wolverine” as a bridge for the audience to cross into the world of mutants. This seems specifically apt at a time in modern cinematic history when such films were not being released every few months and the concepts inherent to comic book storytelling were household words. From there, the movie manages to build a team that people were invested in and thus set the stage for better “team-up” superhero flicks like The Avengers and Guardians of the Galaxy to come along. All that being said, the original X-Men is undeniably too campy and bound to its own time to truly transcend and earn its reputation as a great comic book movie. However, it also undeniably helped convince regular moviegoers that comic book movies were worth their time and energy by not being unabashedly cartoonish. So, it deserves credit for that, at least. And, if nothing else, it (like Blade) helped establish Marvel’s reputation for making good comic book movies. Spider-Man 2 (2004) Immediately after production wrapped on the first Spider-Man film, director Sam Raimi (The Evil Dead, A Simple Plan) committed to the sequel and enlisted screenwriters Alfred Gough and Miles Millar (Lethal Weapon 4, Shanghai Noon) to write the first draft of the screenplay. The sequel was officially announced only five days following the first film’s highly lucrative debut at the box office with the working title The Amazing Spider-Man. Later that year, Michael Chabon was hired to do rewrites, which included aging Dr. Otto Octavius down in order for him to fall for Mary Jane Watson while Harry Osborn worked with the Daily Bugle to put a ten-million-dollar bounty on Spider-Man’s head. With multiple drafts from Gough, Millar, Chabon, and David Koepp (Jurassic Park, Mission: Impossible), Raimi sifted through them in order to pick and choose what he liked from all of them. He was adamant that a sequel to the first film needed to explore the inherent conflict of reconciling being a superhero with the daily responsibilities of normal life. Ultimately, Raimi decided to keep Octavius as the villain because he found him to be potentially visually appealing who could physically spar with Spider-Man but was also sympathetic. Raimi added the notion that Peter Parker hero-worshipped Octavius as well as making Spider-Man’s struggle about saving Octavius from his demons as opposed to killing him. Despite having a three-movie contract, Tobey Maguire (The Cider House Rules, Brothers) began suffering from a pre-existing back condition upon wrapping filming for Seabiscuit. Jake Gyllenhaal (October Sky, Brokeback Mountain, Nightcrawler) was temporarily cast to replace him. However, Maguire’s girlfriend’s father Ronald Meyer—the head of Universal Studios from 1995 to 2013—helped him get the role back (and a $17 million salary in the process). Several actors were considered for the part of Octavius, such as Chris Cooper (A Time to Kill, American Beauty) and Christopher Walken (The Dead Zone, Catch Me If You Can), before Alfred Molina (Raiders of the Lost Ark, Boogie Nights, Promising Young Woman) was cast after Raimi saw his performance in Julie Taymor’s Frida. As Molina is a big fan of Marvel Comics, he committed himself to retaining Octavius’s signature sense of humor from the source material. Principal photography began in New York City and Chicago in April of 2003 (after being pushed back to accommodate Maguire’s filming schedule on Seabiscuit) before moving to Los Angeles the next month. After an eight-week hiatus was needed to build Doctor Octopus’s lair on the pier (inspired by the work of German expressionist filmmaker Fritz Lang). A special camera system, nicknamed the “Spydercam,” was created to allow Raimi and his team to shoot more footage from Spider-Man perspective while swinging from buildings. It was dropped as much as fifty stories to film at least 2,400-foot-long shots, but these shots were pre-planned using digital versions of the location cities. Reshoots for the movie went on until the end of 2003. Octavius’s mechanical tentacles were made from a corset, metal-and-rubber girdle, rubber spine and four foam rubber tentacles eight feet in length and weighing approximately twenty-five pounds each. Puppeteers controlled each of the tentacle’s claws, while it took four puppeteers to control just one of the tentacle arms. They would intensely rehearse with Molina in order to get the movements down (Molina ended up nicknaming his tentacles “Larry,” “Harry,” “Moe,” and “Flo”). Made on a budget of two hundred million dollars, Spider-Man 2 was released in June of 2004 and grossed 789 million dollars. Despite being the lowest-grossing Spider-Man flick until 2012, it ended up being the third-highest-grossing film of the year. It was also well received by both critics and audiences, who praised the visual effects, emotional weight of the storyline, and Molina’s performance as Octavius. Nominated for three Oscars, the film won Best Visual Effects at the Academy Awards. Today, it is considered by nerds and cinephiles alike to be one of the most important (and best) superhero films ever made. For my thoughts on Sam Raimi’s Spider-Man films overall, click here. But, for now, I’ll dive into the significance of the middle film in this trilogy to the genre as a whole. Simply put, Spider-Man 2 is a solid improvement on the original film in multiple ways. Perhaps most evident is Sam Raimi’s handling of the CGI-heavy action sequences involving Spider-Man swinging around, which look much better than the original film. Furthermore, the standout set pieces involving “Doc Ock” escaping the bank and on the train remain both compelling and believable despite being nearly twenty years old. Not only is this movie’s action unquestionably better than anything in the original X-Men trilogy, but it arguably rivals comic book movies that came out years afterwards. Aside from just the action, Raimi seemed to recognize the need for a villain that was more than just psychotic but actually empathetic and relatable. In comes Otto Octavius (Alfred Molina), who is far better developed than Willem Dafoe’s take on Green Goblin (let alone the wastes of space in Spider-Man 3) as a tragic figure whose ambitions and drive in his pursuit of knowledge end up causing chaos and lead to multiple deaths (including that of his wife). Thus, his story gives him a (somewhat) satisfying redemption arc by sacrificing himself to save New York City from his own destructive powers. Certainly, villains in other comic book movies (from Heath Ledger’s Joker in The Dark Knight to Thanos in Avengers: Infinity War) have surpassed Molina’s performance in virtually every way. But, Molina was unquestionably one of the first comic book movie villains that was pretty good. Of course, Spider-Man 2 being a Raimi movie means it has echoes of his signature style of filmmaking. While much of his editing style doesn’t work as well as it should, the horror vibes (particularly on display during the hospital scene) help distinguish the film’s tone from the other two in the trilogy and from many other comic book movies. And by having a director impose his style onto a genre that some argue nowadays is too formulaic, you allow for it to breathe more by a diverse array of filmmakers in terms of backgrounds and sensibilities make their mark on this malleable genre of movies. There’s more I could discuss, but I think these elements represent the best of what Spider-Man 2 has to offer. While it’s by no means one of the best comic book movies ever made, it deserves its spot as an important landmark of the genre. Not only does it improve on its predecessor, but by doing so it serves as the model for how to do a sequel right alongside films of superior quality like The Dark Knight and Captain America: The Winter Soldier. Batman Begins (2005) A couple of years after the release of his Oscar-nominated sophomore feature Memento, Christopher Nolan (The Dark Knight, Inception, Dunkirk) was hired by Warner Brothers to direct a Batman movie that would reboot the franchise nearly ten years after the critical failure and middling commercial performance of Joel Schumacher’s Batman & Robin. Two months after Nolan was hired, David S. Goyer was hired to write the screenplay. Together, Nolan and Goyer aimed to reinvent the franchise by portraying the character’s origin story which, up to that point, had never been done before in live-action film (shocking, right?! 😊). Furthermore, they wanted to invoke intense empathy for Batman/Bruce Wayne from the audience by grounding his struggles in a “recognizable” and “contemporary” world to contrast with the emergence of a “heroic figure.” Notably, Nolan cited Richard Donner’s original Superman film as key inspiration for guiding him and Goyer to focus the story on the character growth of Batman rather than the style and flair of Gotham City and Batman’s rogues’ gallery. In developing the story, Goyer took inspiration from Jeph Loeb and Tim Sale’s limited comic book series “Batman: The Long Halloween” (specifically the portrayal of crime boss Carmine Falcone). Intending to include Harvey Dent in the narrative, Nolan and Goyer felt they “couldn’t do him justice” and instead wrote an original character—Rachel Dawes—while also injecting a version of GCPD Sergeant James Gordon inspired by his portrayal in Frank Miller and David Mazzucchelli’s story arc “Batman: Year One.” In deciding on the film’s primary antagonists, Nolan and Goyer decided to use Scarecrow and Ra’s al Ghul since they had never been featured in a live-action Batman movie nor in the 1960s television series starring Adam West. In crafting the logic behind Batman’s creation, Nolan ignored the common trope in the comic books of young Bruce Wayne being inspired by a Zorro movie because he felt that the idea to become a superhero had to be an original concept (thus explaining why no other superheroes exist in the world of the film). Furthermore, he felt that this allowed the poignant symbolism of bats to become more integral to the storytelling. Principal photography began on location in Iceland in March of 2004. In line with Nolan’s vision (and a standout from either Burton’s or Schumacher’s versions of Gotham City as a fantastical setting), exteriors were filmed in London, New York, and Chicago in order to make Bruce Wayne’s home recognizable to audiences. Many of the interior sets (including the Batcave) were built at Shepperton Studios in England, while Mentmore Towers (a 19th-century country home in Buckinghamshire) served as the filming location for Wayne Manor due to its white floors which Nolan felt acted as a memorial to Thomas and Martha Wayne. Meanwhile, the Tumbler chase scene was filmed on the streets of Chicago. In filming the action and violence, Nolan was fine sticking to a PG-13 rating and thus filmed nothing gory or bloody. This was also due to him wanting to appeal to a wide age range in order to make a film that he “would have loved to have seen” during his early adolescent years. Filming was completed on a 150-million-dollar budget. Released in June of 2005, Batman Begins earned a retrospectively modest 373 million dollars in theaters but was critically appraised. Nolan’s direction and Christian Bale’s performance in the lead role were widely praised, with critics highlighting the emotional weight of the story as pivotal to helping viewers dig into the psychology behind who Batman is as a character (something that the Burton-Schumacher movies were sorely lacking). Walter C. Pfister (Memento, Inception) was nominated for an Oscar for Best Cinematography. The film is now recognized as the model for doing a reboot well, and is also considered one of the bets and most important comic book movies of the 2000s, having inspired films such as Iron Man, Logan, and Joker, just to name a few. Since I’ve already dived deeply into Christopher Nolan’s first entry in the Dark Knight trilogy (click here), I’ll keep my discussion of Batman Begins here relatively brief. Simply put, there are few movies that stand up to Batman Begins as a superhero origin flick. Arguably, only Iron Man comes close in terms of achieving the level of success in its objective of introducing mainstream audiences to a brand-new interpretation of a comic book character that transforms into a hero. But Favreau’s film that kickstarted the Marvel Cinematic Universe was lighthearted and silly by comparison. Nolan’s first Batman flick, on the other hand, sensitively deals with compelling themes via a character study that most comic book movies back then (and even now) barely touch. When it comes right down to it, however, the thing that Nolan did to pull off such an incredible feat of filmmaking is he designed a version of Gotham City that feels like it belongs in our reality. Even more grounded than the fictional universe of Blade, his hyper-industrial take on a modern city plagued by crime, poverty, and chaos makes for a fantastic setting for a dark action thriller and prime breeding ground for the “Caped Crusader” to reveal himself to the world. To this day, Nolan’s version of Gotham in Batman Begins is more believable than most other fictional universes in other comic book movies despite having been released over fifteen years ago. Combining how exceptional Bruce Wayne’s character growth is in the film with the heightened realism and sense of place, Batman Begins is truly a triumph of modern cinema (not just for the comic book genre). It more than deserves its place as one of the best examples of what a great superhero movie can be, despite still not getting the credit it deserves due to being overshadowed by its first sequel. So, these are just some of the important comic book movies that preceded a pivotal turning point in its evolution: the rise of Marvel Studios and its critically and commercially successful cinematic universe. Will this be the subject of my next blog in this series? Tune in soon to find out. 😊 Which of these formative comic book movies do you think still holds up today? What are some other pre-2008 superhero movies that you think people should check out? What opinions of mine do you find absolutely ridiculous? Let me know in the comments below. Until next time, this has been… Yours Truly, Amateur Analyst
0 Comments
“I'm not shy about saying, Richard Donner’s Superman I still think is the paradigm by which we all still should follow. It's all there.” – Kevin Feige “I liked parts of [1989’s Batman], but the whole movie is mainly boring to me. It's OK, but it was more of a cultural phenomenon than a great movie” – Tim Burton When looking back at different eras of modern cinema, it is often clear what types of movies dominate the box office and the cultural zeitgeist. For example, sci-fi movies captured audiences’ imaginations during the late 1970s and 1980s with undeniable classics like the original Star Wars trilogy, Steven Spielberg’s E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial, and Robert Zemeckis’ Back to the Future. And if you asked most people today what genre is primarily responsible for filling theater seats these past several years, I can’t imagine anyone giving but one answer: comic book movies. Despite this, there was a time when filmmakers looking to comic strips detailing the adventures of spandex-wearing superheroes like Superman and Batman for inspiration was not only uncommon but viewed as a ridiculous waste of talent and resources. And yet, their instincts paid off at the time in terms of the success of (some of) their movies as well as laid the groundwork for what is perhaps the most lucrative film genre in history. Thus, I propose that in order to understand how the comic book movie genre has evolved we must revisit its roots. Specifically, the two films that (in my humble opinion) are most responsible for laying said groundwork: Richard Donner’s Superman from 1978, and Tim Burton’s Batman from 1989. So, without further ado…LET’S GET STARTED!! [NOTE: This blog contains spoilers for 1978’s “Superman” and 1989’s “Batman.” You have been warned.] Image by Satheesh Sankaran from Pixabay Superman (1978) Film producer Ilya Salkind (The Three Musketeers, The Prince and the Pauper) first conceived the idea of a movie centered on the “man of steel” back in 1973. Together with his father Alexander Salkind (Austerlitz, The Trial) and their partner Pierre Spengler, Ilya successfully purchased the film rights to Superman from DC Comics in November of 1974. From there, he and his team went to work on finding a writer, director, and lead actor. Regarding the former, Leigh Brackett (Rio Bravo, The Empire Strikes Back) and William Goldman (Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, All the President’s Men) were initially considered to draft a screenplay. The award-winning science-fiction author Alfred Bester even started writing a treatment, but Alexander Salkind deemed him not famous enough and thus persuaded Mario Puzo (The Godfather, The Godfather Part II) to write the script in exchange for a $600,000 salary. Despite liking Puzo’s scripts for a two-part film, the Salkinds deemed them too long and thus hired Robert Benton (Kramer vs. Kramer) and David Newman (What’s Up, Doc?), who had co-written the 1967 crime drama Bonnie and Clyde, to come in and do some rewrites. Since David became busy with some television writing, his wife Leslie came on to help finish up the rewrites with Benton. Several directors were considered, from Francis Ford Coppola (The Godfather, Apocalypse Now) and William Friedkin (The French Connection, The Exorcist) to Sam Peckinpah (The Wild Bunch, Straw Dogs) and George Lucas (American Graffiti, Star Wars). Ilya wanted to hire Steven Spielberg despite but his father wanted to see how Jaws performed both critically and commercially. Due to its success, Spielberg was approached but he had to turn down the offer as he was committed to direct Close Encounters of the Third Kind. Ultimately, however, the late Richard Donner (The Goonies, Lethal Weapon) was hired to direct after the producers saw his 1976 horror movie The Omen. Once Donner came onto the project, he found the 550-page screenplay from Puzo, Benton, and the Newmans to be extraneously long (and thus impossible to shoot, even in two movies) and possessing a campy tone. Thus, he hired screenwriter Tom Mankiewicz (Diamonds Are Forever, The Man with the Golden Gun) to come on as a “script doctor” and perform rewrites. Despite being unable to give him official credit as a writer, Donner did list Mankiewicz as a creative consult in the final cut. The first major casting decisions, announced in 1975 only days apart, were for Superman’s father Jor-El and the main antagonist Lex Luthor. The former role was given to Marlon Brando (A Streetcar Named Desire, The Godfather, Apocalypse Now), who ended up earning $19 million (approximately $80.6 million in 2022) thanks to his contract granting him nearly 12% of the gross box office profits on top of his salary. For the latter role of the villain, Gene Hackman (The French Connection, Mississippi Burning, Unforgiven) signed on. Both Brando and Hackman were given top billing over Christopher Reeve, the actor who ultimately was hired to play the titular protagonist. Initially, the producers wanted an A-list star to play Superman. Actors such as Robert Redford, Burt Reynolds, Paul Newman, and Dustin Hoffman were all considered. However, when Donner joined the project, the decision was made to cast a relatively unknown actor. Reeve was suggested early on, but Donner and the producers deemed him too young and not physically intimidating enough for the role. After over 200 unknown actors (including Ilya’s wife’s dentist) auditioned and several others were offered the role (from Bruce Jenner and Warren Beatty to James Caan), Donner and Ilya were finally convinced to give Reeve a screen test in February 1977 (at which point pre-production was already underway in Europe). Despite impression with his acting chops, he was initially instructed to wear a muscle suit but flat-out refused. Instead, Reeve underwent a script exercise regimen (supervised by fellow actor David Prowse) to help him bulk up from 188 to 212 pounds. Due to his lack of A-list status, Reeves was only paid $250,000 to film the first two Superman movies (while Brando and Hackman both received salaries at or exceeding two million dollars). With a director, finished script, and cast, the project kicked off principal photography on March 28, 1977 and lasted over a year and a half since both movies were shot back-to-back. Thus, filming did not wrap until October of 1978 (only two months before the first movie was released in theaters). Pinewood Studios in England were used for the scenes on Krypton, while New York City served as the primary location for shooting the Metropolis scenes and much of the Smallville scenes were shot in Alberta, Canada. Production faced many issues, which quickly skyrocketed the film’s budget (much to the discontent of the producers). When all was said and done, the first movie alone cost 55 million dollars which made it the most expensive movie ever made up to that point in history. This sparked tensions between Donner and the Salkinds, the latter of whom reportedly grew frustrated with Donner due to his transparent hatred of fellow producer Pierre Spengler. The relationships became so counterproductive that Richard Lester, who had directed films for the Salkinds before, was brought in to mediate between Donner and them. This saga would continue after the first movie was released, when the Salkinds ultimately fired Donner from the sequel (even though Donner had already filmed seventy-five percent of the sequel) and replaced him with Lester as director. Given the time period when the film was made, it contained several impressive visual effects sequences which relied on full-scale models and matte paintings for sets like the Golden Gate Bridge and the Fortress of Solitude. Famously, however, it was the flying effects that defined much of the effects team’s time (so much so that, according to Ilya Salkind, two million dollars were spent on failed flying effects experiments in Rome well before filming actually started). To achieve the effect of a man flying, wire flying riggings suspended from tower cranes (or rigs of the ceiling when in the studio) were used for landings and take-offs. Reeve did much of the stunt work himself, being suspended as high as fifty feet in the air to achieve the flying effect. To eliminate the wires from final shots during post-production, rotoscoping techniques were employed (sometimes, however, lighting conditions in specific shots made such intensive editing unnecessary). For shots where Superman is flying away from or towards the camera, the special-effects team utilized blue screens by suspending Reeve against the screen and rigging a special device to flap his cape (thus creating the illusion of movement) while the camera mixed long zooms and dolly movements to cause Reeve to become either smaller or larger within the frame of the shot. Finally, the blue background of the blue screen was photochemically removed with Reeve’s isolated image being inserted into the matted area of a background plate shot. All of the specialized camera work that went into crafting this iconic special effect led to the creation of the Zoptic system (a new front projection effect). After a strenuous production process, Superman (stylized as Superman: The Movie) was released in December of 1978 after being pushed back six months from a June release date (which would have coincided with the 40th anniversary of Action Comics 1 in which the character first debuted. For Donner, however, this delay was not enough as he preferred another six months for post-production. Upon release, Superman became a massive box-office success. Grossing 300.5 million dollars worldwide (including re-releases), the film ended up being the highest-grossing movie in North America that year, the sixth-highest-grossing movie of all time at the time, and Warner Brothers’ largest box-office gross at the time. Critically, Superman was largely received well despite its obvious flaws. It also received three Oscar nominations for Editing, Original Score, and Sound, but won none. Instead, it was given a Special Achievement Award for Best Visual Effects. In addition, the film was selected for preservation by the Library of Congress in 2017. Not only did Superman spawn a franchise with three commercially-successful sequels (and a spin-off Supergirl), but it is now credited with spawning the mainstream popularity and success of the modern comic book movie genre. Despite its evident flaws given its age, Richard Donner’s original Superman film is (as Kevin Feige himself put it) the “paradigm” by which any other comic book movie tries to live up to. For one thing, it tells the story of Kal-El (Christopher Reeve), an alien from the planet Krypton, who finds a life on Earth being raised by Jonathan and Martha Kent (Glenn Ford and Phyllis Thaxter). Despite his extraterrestrial and superhuman origins, this boy—known as Clark Kent—learns humility, kindness, and love for mankind ever before he discovers the true extent of his Kryptonian powers. Thus, the story of Superman is one of recognizing your true potential and choosing to use it to help others because of the love you were shown as a child. This origin story for any comic book hero is so pure that it only makes sense for the film that laid the foundation for this genre today stars such a character. And Donner’s Superman exceptionally nails that story given the time in which they were working. Thus, in that sense, virtually every other superhero origin film models itself (in one way or another) after this movie. However, the movie isn’t without its flaws. Personally, the character of Clark Kent/Superman has always come off as “too good.” Not necessarily in terms of skill, but rather in his moral compass. Simply put, I find it very hard to believe that any alien child from another planet with godlike strength, speed, and invincibility would not at least be teased by the darker path you could go down with said abilities. And despite how much Donner’s direction and Reeve’s performance tries to ground the character in a very smalltown America kind of upbringing (with the façade of Kent the reporter embodying a quirky, geeky man), it remains difficult for me to buy that such a purely benevolent soul exists in such a powerful being. To this extent, Superman comes off to me as more of a clear metaphor as opposed to a relatable human character. That being said, something else that Donner’s Superman (and, in fairness, its sequel) did for many other comic book movies to work off of is how it integrates the extraterrestrial aspects of its protagonist. Whereas the Clark Kent part of Superman helps ground him in our reality, the Kal-El part of him could have easily felt way too out there (no pun intended). Instead, Donner takes a more delicate approach by making the politics and society of Krypton more the backdrop of this movie’s story as opposed to the centerpiece while also highlighting Superman’s parents—Jor-El (Marlon Brando) and Lara (Susannah York)—devotion to their son’s future which adds a much-needed layer of relatability to Superman’s story of family. Without a doubt, such a tackling of this kind of extraterrestrial origin paved the way for so many iconic superheroes today whose stories are based out of (if not almost exclusively focused in) the space beyond Earth (Marvel Studios’s Thor and Guardians of the Galaxy come to mind). The fact that audiences can walk into a movie theater and watch a new comic book movie about someone from another planet without being utterly distracted or laugh at such a story is largely thanks to Donner’s Superman. Of course, I can’t discuss the historical significance of this film without touching on its production design and special effects. Regarding the former, I do appreciate how Donner decided to use real-world locations as doubles for iconic sites of Superman’s story (i.e. New York City as the visual basis for Metropolis). This almost certainly adds another level of grounding this rather ostentatious origin story by placing such fantastical events in an easily identifiable place and context. But perhaps the thing that most evidently places the film in its specific time and place are the special effects. Nowadays, seeing Superman fly around looks pretty hokey. But, such efforts to innovate special effects (seen in other movies of the time like Star Wars and Alien) are so important for movies of this genre today because they just wouldn’t look as good if such efforts weren’t taken back then to try and push the technological boundaries of effects-heavy filmmaking. As a movie compared to other comic book movies, Donner’s original Superman is by no means my favorite (my god, is it slow!). But, you simply cannot deny how crucial it is to the bedrock of the comic book genre booming today. From its handling of the hero’s journey to its meticulous visual storytelling with the setting and action, Superman is unquestionably one of the most important superhero movies ever made. Given how many of them have been released in this century alone, that’s saying something. Batman (1989)
More than a decade after the successful Batman television series starring Adam West came to an end, film producers Benjamin Melniker and Michael E. Uslan purchased the film rights to the characters from DC Comics. They pitched the idea of reinvigorating Batman’s popularity by crafting “the definitive, dark, serious version” of the character that co-creators Bob Kane and Bill Finger envisioned back in the late 1930s. However, the studios initially turned them down because they preferred the campy tone from the TV show. Disappointed, Uslan wrote a script titled “Return of the Batman” to give industry people a clearer idea of what his vision for a new Batman-centered movie could be. Around the same time, fellow producers Jon Peters and Peter Guber (An American Werewolf in London, The Color Purple) joined the project. Together, these four thought their best chance was to model the project’s development after Richard Donner’s Superman film from 1978. This strategy ended up working by finally convincing a studio, Warner Brothers (the same studio that financed Donner’s Superman movie), to back the project. By 1983, a second screenplay was written by uncredited Superman writer Tom Mankiewicz who focused on Batman’s origin story and involved the Joker in the plot. Furthermore, comic book artist Marshall Rogers was hired to create some concept art for the project. Later that year, the project was officially announced for a 1985 release date and a budget of $20 million. Around this time, Ivan Reitman (Stripes, Ghostbusters) and Wes Craven (A Nightmare on Elm Street, Scream) were being considered the direct with the former wanting to cast Bill Murray in the title role and Eddie Murphy as his sidekick Robin. But with the successful box-office run of his adventure comedy film Pee-wee’s Big Adventure, Tim Burton (Beetlejuice, Edward Scissorhands) was hired by Warner Brothers to direct the movie. Once Burton got his hands on Mankiewicz’s screenplay (which had undergone nine different rewrites but still retained much of the original spirit from Mankiewicz), he had his now-ex-girlfriend write a new treatment because he felt that the script was too campy. Despite not being a comic book fan himself, he was impressed by the 1986 comic book miniseries “The Dark Knight Returns” for its darker and more serious tone and thus aimed his version of the film to take more from that. Thus, he hired comic book fan Sam Hamm to write a new screenplay based on his more mature vision for the film. Meanwhile, Warner Brothers hired Steve Englehart to write his own screenplay (which took similar inspirations found in Mankiewicz’s original screenplay). By the fall of 1986, both Englehart and Hamm’s scripts were finished. Despite Warner Brothers’ positive reception to Hamm’s approach, they remained hesitant to move forward until the critical and commercial success of Burton’s comedy film Beetlejuice in 1988. Once the project was officially given the greenlight in April of that year. Thus, the casting search was underway. Similar to the process for finding the title character for Richard Donner’s Superman, the studio first sifted through several A-list stars for the role of Batman. Several notable actors from the time were considered such as Mel Gibson (Gallipoli, Lethal Weapon, Braveheart), Kevin Costner (The Untouchables, Field of Dreams, Dances with Wolves), Charlie Sheen (Red Dawn, Platoon, Wall Street), and Harrison Ford (Star Wars, Raiders of the Lost Ark, Blade Runner). But producer Jon Peters, having seen his performance in Glenn Gordon Caron’s drama film Clean and Sober, suggested that Michael Keaton (Night Shift, Birdman, Spotlight) should play the role. Burton, having worked with Keaton on Beetlejuice, agreed to the idea. When Keaton was announced to play Batman, the controversy stirred amongst comic book fans resulted in about 50,000 letters being mailed to the offices of Warner Brothers protesting the decision. There was a fear among fans that Burton (due to his work on Pee-wee’s Big Adventure) casting Keaton (who was largely known for comedies like Mr. Mom) indicated that the movie would be more akin to the campy tone of the 1966 Batman film starring Adam West. Even Batman co-creator Bob Kane heavily questioned the decision to have Keaton play the titular role. Regarding the main villain role, actors such as Tim Curry (The Rocky Horror Picture Show, Clue) and Ray Liotta (Field of Dreams, Goodfellas) were considered to play the Joker. However, the studio’s top choice since development on the project officially began was Jack Nicholson (Chinatown, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, A Few Good Men) who had some intense demands for his contract (including top billing and being given time off from filming to attend home games of the Los Angeles Lakers). Furthermore, he agreed his standard $10 million salary be cut nearly in half in exchange for a percentage of the film’s earnings (including merchandise), resulting in him ultimately taking home more than $50 million. When it came to crafting the look for the project, Burton was impressed with production designer Anton Furst’s work on Neil Jordan’s gothic fantasy horror movie The Company of Wolves and was able to hire him to work on this movie. Furst has since spoken out on just how productive and positive his working relationship with Burton on the set was. Together, they aimed to make Gotham City look like “the ugliest and bleakest metropolis imaginable” due to being run by criminal interests and lacking any cohesive architectural planning. When it came to designing the Batmobile, Furst looked for inspiration in jet planes and war machines before ultimately basing the look for the car off of race cars from the 1930s and 1950s. Regarding the costumes, designer Bob Ringwood (Dune, Empire of the Sun, Alien 3) admitted the biggest challenge was to make Keaton (whose build was average) look larger than life in the Batsuit. Furthermore, Keaton’s mild claustrophobia made donning the suit difficult for his personal comfort (although he channeled the discomfort into his performance as Batman). Over the course of filming, $250,000 was spent on building over a dozen latex suits and capes and six head pieces. Finally, Nicholson’s contract stipulated that he had final approval over his makeup design which involved acrylic-based makeup paint for his chalf-white face as the Joker. Principal photography lasted from October of 1988 to February of 1989, utilizing a 51-acre backlot at Pinewood Studios in England for the Gotham City set (one of the biggest sets every built at Pinewood). Burton referred to filming the movie as “torture” and “the worst period” of his life due to problems with secrecy from the press and the production budget increasing by several millions of dollars. Furthermore, a writers’ strike that was going on during filming made it very difficult for rewrites to occur during production. Notably, the climactic scene in the cathedral was conceived of on the spot (which cost an additional $100,000) despite Burton not approving of it and initially having no idea how to end the scene. Released in June of 1989, Batman broke several box-office records upon release and ending up making about $411 million beating out Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade at the domestic box office. Furthermore, it was the highest-grossing film based on a DC Comics character until Christopher Nolan’s The Dark Knight was released in 2008. Critics were generally positive about the film, although it did receive some negative attention for its dark tone. However, it was argued by some that Burton seemed more interested in the look of the sets and the Joker’s story than his superhero protagonist in terms of his characterization or arc. Furthermore, comic book fans at the time were unhappy with the Joker being the murderer of Thomas and Martha Wayne as well as Alfred letting Vicki Vale into the Batcave. However, fans generally praised Keaton’s portrayal of the “Caped Crusader.” At the Oscars that year, Batman won the only Academy Award it was nominated for (Best Art Direction). Furthermore, the critical and commercial success of the film sparked a multi-film franchise with three sequels (sound familiar? 😊) as well as inspired Warner Brothers to have its animation department to create Batman: The Animated Series which ran from 1992 to 1995. Burton himself credits the film for helping spawn the modern comic book genre, saying: “It was like the first dark comic book movie. Now everyone wants to do a dark and serious superhero movie. I guess I’m the one responsible for that trend.” For my full review of Tim Burton’s original Batman movie, click here. In short, I don’t like its approach to telling Batman’s story or much of its characterization. It is perhaps the pinnacle of “style over substance.” That being said, I want to focus on the positive contributions it made to the genre in the form of style. Simply put, this movie’s undeniably got style. Much more so than Donner’s Superman, Burton recognized the opportunity in making a comic book movie to take strong visual inspiration from the graphic novels that it’s based on. While there is perhaps no movie that’s done this better than Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse, this movie certainly took the first leap to bring the aesthetic of comic book to live-action on the silver screen. In its portrayal of Gotham City and its shady nooks and crannies, 1989’s Batman uses environment to flesh out the corrupted political scene and almost unbelievably unstable cityscape of Batman’s hometown. Of course, many fans of the superhero movie genre nowadays (especially children) go see them in theaters for the thrills of watching cool characters do cool things with cool weapons and gadgets. It seems Burton was prescient in this respect, because so much of the look of Batman (Michael Keaton) aims to embrace the inherently cool aesthetic of so many superheroes. Not only are his gadgets meant to impress, but Burton’s color palette for Batman’s suit and famous Batmobile blending well into the shadowy ambience of Gotham City adds some texture to the character (even if the dialogue doesn’t 😊). And one cannot highlight the use of colors in Batman without bringing up Joker (Jack Nicholson), whose unabashedly over-the-top insane purple-and-green villain suit very clearly lets the audience know what this movie is going for in terms of “style over substance.” If only Burton and his creative team put a little more effort into developing the psychology of these two iconic comic book characters. With a few notable exceptions, so many scenes in Batman disappointingly lack any kind of character development for either the hero or the villain. Aside from the utterly trash comic book movies of the last few decades (lookin’ at you, Suicide Squad!), this movie is perhaps the most atrocious example of having cool-looking characters do and say cool things without any kind of depth or meaning behind it. But, to end on a positive note, one thing that 1989’s Batman (in my humble opinion) isn’t given enough credit for is how it’s not an origin story. Other than a few brief flashbacks surrounding the deaths of Bruce Wayne’s parents, the audience is never given much clue as to the sequence of events that pushed Wayne to don the cape and cowl to become Gotham’s “Dark Knight.” Not only is this a bold storytelling choice for the time this came out given general moviegoers’ relative lack of intimate knowledge of comic book stories back then, but this also paved the way for other non-origin comic book flicks like Spider-Man: Homecoming, Black Panther, and The Batman from Matt Reeves. Needless to say, both the 1978 Superman from Richard Donner and the 1989 Batman from Tim Burton remain two key components of the foundation upon which all other comic book movies since have built upon. Whether it’s the emphasis on superhero-defining aesthetics and distinctive atmosphere or telling a captivating story with strong morals about doing good for others, both of these movies have (mostly) earned the credit they’ve received from cinephiles and comic book movie fans for what they did to bring this genre to life. For better or worse, these films kickstarted one of the most significant eras of popular cinema ever. The question I’m left with, however, is where does the genre go from there? I’ll leave that for a future blog. 😊 Which of these two early comic book movies do you think is more important to how the genre has evolved since? What are some other foundational superhero movies that you would recommend that people check out? What opinions of mine do you find absolutely ridiculous? Let me know in the comments below. Until next time, this has been… Yours Truly, Amateur Analyst Image by Roberto Lee Cortes from Pixabay “When people ask me if Michael Sullivan was a good man, or if there was just no good in him at all, I always give the same answer. I just tell them…he was my father.” – Michael Sullivan, Jr. (played by Tyler Hoechlin) “Revenge is never a straight line. It’s a forest…it’s easy to lose your way…to get lost…to forget where you came in.” – Hattori Hanzō (played by Sonny Chiba) To say that violence has been a staple in cinema since its early years is an understatement. Despite a particular sector of American society purporting to uphold Puritanical virtues about shielding peoples’ eyes from blood and gore in the movies, it’s clear based on the kinds of movies that have made money at the box office for decades that audiences enjoy seeing death and destruction on the big screen. From Commando and Cape Fear to John Wick and Mandy, filmmakers with highly varied sensibilities put their own unique stamp on the action genre and keep viewers coming back for more in the process.
But, in my humble opinion, there is a particular kind of violence that can elevate what would otherwise be a standard action, crime, or adventure flick to a critically and commercially successful piece of art: a character-focused journey for revenge. There are certainly numerous potential reasons as to why moviegoers gravitate to stories about characters betrayed, cheated, or otherwise personally wronged who risk it all to seek some distorted sense of vigilante justice and retribution from those that wronged them. My hope with today’s blog is to examine several movies with distinctive identities that fit within the revenge subgenre in order to explore what exactly is enticing about this kind of story. So, without further ado…LET’S GET STARTED!! [NOTE: This blog contains spoilers for several movies. You have been warned.] Road to Perdition (2002) Within a year of its initial publication, the graphic novel “Road to Perdition” by author Max Allan Collins was already being eyed for a film adaptation. Collins’ agent managed to get the novel in front of the eyes of legendary producer Richard D. Zanuck (Jaws, Driving Miss Daisy, Deep Impact) who brought it to the attention of director Steven Spielberg. Despite his full directing slate, Spielberg showed interest by setting the project up at DreamWorks for development. Meanwhile, up-and-coming film director Sam Mendes (Jarhead, Skyfall, 1917) was coming off of his Oscar-winning directorial debut American Beauty looking for another project. When DreamWorks sent Mendes the pitch for adapting Collins’ graphic novel, he was immediately attracted by its simple narrative yet complex themes (specifically its exploration of the impact of violence on children) despite lacking any absolute moral stance about the characters actions. With more drafts of the script were written, the film became more and more detached from sticking closely to Collins’ graphic novel. While several core elements of the narrative were retained, everything from character names to subplots were taken out or changed. Notably, the character of Harlen Maguire (Jude Law) was injected into the screenplay to help keep up the tension of the Sullivans being on the run. Furthermore, cinematographer Conrad Hall (Cool Hand Luke, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid) encouraged Mendes to avoid gratuitous violence in favor of poignant, meaningful moments. Mendes, meanwhile, sought to focus on the graphic novel’s essence through emphasizing the “nonverbal simplicity” evident in the films of Sergio Leone and Akira Kurosawa. (This ended up causing the final twenty minutes of the movie to have only six lines of dialogue) Throughout the writing process, Collins remained a consultant but chose to not be directly involving in screenwriting due to his respect for how different the medium is from literature. While he praised several changes from his novel to the film (i.e. Law’s character, the minimalist dialogue, the characterization of Paul Newman’s role), he criticized others (i.e. the excessive vulgarity, Michael Sullivan, Jr. not killing anyone, the narrative framing device). Tom Hanks, who ended up playing the protagonist Michael Sullivan, was busy filming Cast Away with Robert Zemeckis when Spielberg sent him a copy of Collins’ graphic novel. But it was the first draft of the screenplay that caused him to get very hooked into the story (specifically as a father of four). Tyler Hoechlin, who played Michael, Jr., was hired out of a crop of over 2,000 candidates, whereas Paul Newman (The Hustler, Cool Hand Luke, The Color of Money) was the unanimous ideal choice for Sullivan’s father figure John Rooney. Principal photography took place over the course of several winter and spring months of 2001, concluding in June. To craft an authentic atmosphere for the movie, Mendes filmed on location in Chicago and had interior sets built in order to better control the lighting environment. In collaboration with Conrad Hall, Mendes sought to create a “violent and magnificent” atmosphere to serve the story of father and son “in the last period of lawlessness in American history.” In crafting the lighting for the film, Mendes looked to the artwork of American realist and New York native Edward Hopper by following a “less is more” mantra. When exterior scenes were shot, Mendes incorporated real-world weather conditions such as rain and snow to reflect the emotional states of the characters. In another impeccable example of visual storytelling, Hall specifically positioned the camera a ways away from Hanks during the first half of the movie in order to capture Michael, Jr.’s ignorance of his father’s true nature. Furthermore, Hanks’s entrances through doorways were shot partially obscured and in shadows. Finally, Hall’s wide lens helps sufficiently distance Hanks’s character from the audience over the course of the movie. Released in July of 2002 (an uncommon release window for a drama alongside the action blockbusters typical of the time), Road to Perdition grossed over 183 million dollars on an 80-million-dollar budget and received widespread acclaim from critics. The central performances from Hanks and Newman were praised, as was Hall’s cinematography, even though some critics felt Mendes detrimentally kept audiences emotionally distanced (and thus uninvested) from many of the characters (Michael, Jr. being the exception). The film was nominated for six Oscars, winning only Best Cinematography for Conrad Hall (who had passed away barely two months before the ceremony that year). Notably, this was Newman’s final Oscar nomination (Best Supporting Actor) before his death in 2008. Of all the movies directed by Sam Mendes, Road to Perdition (in my humble opinion) is the best of his movies that has received the least positive attention in the mainstream since it came out. It remains on my working list of underappreciated and underrated flicks that I recommend to friends and family whenever I get the chance. While there’s a lot to like about the film, I want to focus on the enduring relatability of its narrative: a father seeking revenge for the deaths of his family. While not a father myself, the plight of mobster Michael Sullivan (Tom Hanks) as he hunts down his adoptive father figure John Rooney (Paul Newman) for murdering his wife Annie (Jennifer Jason Leigh) and second son Peter (Liam Aiken) is such a compelling story to watch unfold. Undoubtedly, Hanks delivers what might just be his most morally corrupt performance to date. Obviously, the ingrained criminal nature of Sullivan makes for an uncharacteristic archetype for Hanks to play. But what I think Hanks does to excel in this role beyond peoples’ expectations of him are how much he counters the popular perception of him as a charming and lovable man. Hanks, instead, plays Sullivan as an admirable and respectable father whose thirst for Rooney’s blood complicates his relationship to violence and, therefore, the viewer’s relationship to Sullivan. But the added narrative twist that makes the revenge thrills of Road to Perdition transcend their genre trappings is Sullivan’s other priority following Annie and Peter’s deaths: keeping his eldest son, Michael, Jr. (Tyler Hoechlin), from following in his father’s footsteps. In sharp contrast to the scenes involving Sullivan tracking down Rooney and killing anybody that gets in his way of doing so, watching Michael, Jr. develop a more intimate and loving bond with his father on the road than they ever had during their normal lives is heartbreakingly tragic and ironic. It is this strand of the film’s narrative that turns it from very good to great. Whereas most revenge flicks evoke catharsis in the audience simply by showing the person who’s been wronged achieve their goal of getting back at the person or people that wronged them, Road to Perdition establishes the true stakes as Sullivan doing everything in his power to shield his son from any desire to kill while simultaneously allowing himself to be consumed by it. A simple thematic premise, but a powerful one nonetheless. Aside from the main narrative, it is the other elements of moviemaking on display that incite Road to Perdition to transcend greatness into its status as a modern, underrated classic. On the one hand, Mendes skillfully structures the story to inject enough levity between Hanks and Hoechlin so as to keep this dark, violent drama from becoming overbearingly so (I always loved the scenes involving Michael, Jr. learning to be a getaway driver) Aside from the writing and direction, the lighting and cinematography are often applied to sheer perfection. Notably, the standout climactic scene occurs on the rainy streets of Chicago when Sullivan (cloaked in urban shadows) guns down several of Rooney’s men before confronting Rooney face to face and killing him. As an end to the closest thing Sullivan had to a father-son relationship, it serves as the tragic end to one of the last things tying him to life. The other thing, of course, is Michael, Jr. whom he wants to keep alive and sheltered until his dying breath. Ultimately, he is successful despite having to kill assassin Harlen Maguire (Jude Law) after being fatally shot by Maguire himself. Bleeding out on the floor of a beach house, he dies being held in his son’s arms but not before managing to proudly assure Michael, Jr. that he knew his son was incapable of killing. All in all, Road to Perdition will always be one of my favorite gangster movies and one of the prime examples of how emotionally complex and thematically rich the revenge subgenre can be. Its exploration of the consequences of violence is great and its cinematic techniques on display are captivating. But I’m grateful that the film exists, first and foremost, as a story reminding fathers to show love towards their sons while also reminding sons the lengths their fathers will go and what they will sacrifice for them. Kill Bill (2003-2004) While filming his sophomore feature Pulp Fiction, Quentin Tarantino (Reservoir Dogs, Django Unchained, The Hateful Eight) collaborated with star Uma Thurman (Gattaca, Paycheck) to conceive of “The Bride” character which led to Tarantino working approximately eighteen months on the script during his time in New York City in the early 2000s. Nearing completing on the script, Tarantino realized that his protagonist’s child could be alive (it was spending time around Thurman, who had recently given birth to her first daughter Maya Hawke, that influenced Tarantino regarding this decision and his approach to “The Bride” character overall). In conceptualizing the film, Tarantino aimed to pay homage and respect to the “grindhouse cinema” of the 1970s (specifically martial arts, samurai, and blaxploitation films, and spaghetti westerns). Notably, the yellow tracksuit, helmet, and motorcycle worn by Thurman’s character were inspired by Bruce Lee’s outfit in 1972’s Game of Death. Furthermore, the animated sequence is largely drawn from violent anime movies like 1987’s Wicked City. As production was set to begin, Thurman became pregnant with her son Levon so Tarantino delayed production. Principal photography lasted just over five months, and Tarantino shot the movie sequentially despite the final edit showing scenes out of chronological order. Additionally, martial arts choreographer and Honk Kong native Yuen Woo-ping (The Matrix, Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon) was hired to advise the action scenes. Despite making Kill Bill as a single movie, Tarantino succumbed to pressure by producer Harvey Weinstein to release it as two films as a compromise to cut less scenes. Tarantino himself has said that his biggest challenge in making the movie was creating his own unique spin on action as opposed to relying more heavily on dialogue as he had done in previous projects. Given the time period when he was filming, Tarantino forewent CGI to instead rely on practical effects (particularly those used in Chinese cinema from the 1970s). As filming was wrapping up, Thurman was injured in an auto accident after requesting that a stunt driver do the scene in her stead. She sustained a concussion and damage to her knees as a result of the crash, incentivizing her to request Miramax to release the crash footage which they agreed to on the condition Thurman legally absolve them of any permanent damage to her person. The crash tainted Thurman and Tarantino’s relationship for years, and Thurman has expressed that her acting and career have been affected ever since. Made on a combined budget of approximately 60 million dollars, the two parts of Kill Bill (subtitled Volume 1 and Volume 2, respectively) were released less than a year apart in October of 2003 and April of 2004. Their box offices combined, Kill Bill grossed roughly 333 million dollars and received largely critical acclaim for its style and respectful parody of grindhouse cinema. Thurman’s performance was well received, although neither of the Kill Bill flicks received any Oscar nominations. However, Tarantino’s female-led revenge duology is highly regarded as two of the best action movies of the 21st century. Also, the first film’s use of Tomoyasu Hotei’s song “Battle Without Honor or Humanity” has become a staple of pop culture and was also used in films like Shrek the Third, Team America: World Police, and The Mitchells vs. the Machines. Generally speaking, I consider myself a fan of Tarantino. Aside from Pulp Fiction, which unquestionably remains my favorite directed feature of his, I also quite enjoy Jackie Brown, The Hateful Eight, and Once Upon a Time in Hollywood. And while I don’t love Inglorious Basterds or Django Unchained as much as many Tarantino fans do, I can appreciate their sheer entertainment value. But when it comes to the Kill Bill movies, I don’t quite understand what the big deal is. Upon reflection of my experience watching the Kill Bill duology, I think it ends up being more disappointing than unenjoyable. Going into these movies after seeing how Tarantino had evolved as a filmmaker in his early years, I was hopeful that his signature dialogue combined with over-the-top, heightened action scenes and a layered emotional journey for “The Bride” (Uma Thurman) could make for his best example of cinematic storytelling yet. What ended up happening, however, was Taratino’s biggest strengths and flaws as a filmmaker clashing to subpar effect. For starters, I’ve always found my favorite part of Tarantino’s distinctive and eccentric style to be the dialogue-driven mingling among his protagonists. Essentially, the action and plot of his stories are (almost) always propelled forward by his exceptionally strong, well-written characters whose banter back and forth is just as (if not more) entertaining to watch as his gratuitous hyper-stylized violence. And out of all of his movies, I think Tarantino relies least on this defining strength in the Kill Bill films. Sure, there are some superb scenes that rely more on character interactions (notably Bill’s monologue about Superman in Vol. 2) but they are few and far between when compared to much of Tarantino’s other work. Which gets to my least favorite part of these movies: the action. Maybe I should’ve checked my expectations before watching Kill Bill, but I’m just not as entertained by swashbuckling sword fights and martial-arts beatdowns in the style of the iconic wuxia and chanbara action genres of China and Japan, respectively, as I am by tense, dramatic dinner scenes in Django Unchained or a bunch of angry assholes holding each other at gunpoint in The Hateful Eight. Beyond that, however, this style of violence in movies (particularly in live action) is simply too cartoonish for me. While I can appreciate and enjoy it in small bits (like the animated sequence in Vol. 1 that works surprisingly well), the major fight scenes in both parts of Kill Bill (like “The Bride” facing off against O-Ren’s Crazy 88 in Vol. 1) just don’t do it for me. I do get what Tarantino is doing in paying homage to East Asian cinema that he grew up watching and loving, and I’m sure if I was in his position, I’d have some intense nostalgia for these kinds of movies. But I don’t, and thus much of what Kill Bill relies on to hook the audience into its four-hour-plus epic revenge tale. And this gets to my biggest complaint about these movies: why couldn’t Tarantino just grit his teeth and edit it down to one super-sized film? I greatly admire him as an artist and filmmaker, and have always found his overtly egotistical personality somewhat endearing. But I just wish he would’ve convinced Harvey Weinstein to submit a three-hour-ish cut to the studio and said, “That’s the movie. Take it or leave it.” Instead, what we got was a movie more than four hours long edited into two halves that, when combined with the regular cutting back and forth through time, makes for what ultimately comes off to me as a jumbled mess of a story. Uma Thurman’s “The Bride” probably deserves better than what Tarantino ultimately released in the Kill Bill duology. Her desire for revenge is incredibly sympathetic (the “church slaughter” scene makes for one of the genuinely dramatic and emotional sequences between both movies), but the movie that surrounds her just doesn’t add up to the sum of its parts. I know my opinion is unpopular, and hopefully when I rewatch the two Kill Bill flicks at some point in the future when Tarantino announces his last film, I’ll enjoy them more. For now, though, I watch them and end up feeling very “whelmed.” The Revenant (2015) As early as 2001, Hollywood was trying to adapt Michael Punke’s novel “The Revenant” (in turn based on the 1915 poem “The Song of Hugh Glass”) into a feature film. Several producers, such as screenwriter Akiva Goldsman (The Client, A Beautiful Mind, Cinderella Man) and writer/director Park Chan-wook (Oldboy, Snowpiercer), picked up and dropped the project over the course of nearly a decade. By August of 2011, Mexican director Alejandro Gonzáles Iñárritu (Babel, Birdman) signed on to direct the movie with several production companies such as New Regency joining the effort as well. By this point, Iñárritu was seeking out Leonardo DiCaprio (Titanic, The Aviator, The Wolf of Wall Street) for the lead role of Glass. Once hired, Iñárritu worked on rewrites with screenwriter Mark L. Smith (Overlord, The Midnight Sky), who had penned an initial drift ten years prior. Smith himself admits that he was apprehensive if Iñárritu would be able to film some of the sequences they were writing but went along with it for the time being. After the production was put on hold from 2012 to 2014 while Iñárritu filmed (and won a Best Picture and Best Director Oscar for) Birdman, the budget and casting were finalized with DiCaprio signed on but Tom Hardy (Black Hawk Down, Warrior, Mad Max: Fury Road) taking the other lead role that Iñárritu originally wanted to be played by Sean Penn (Casualties of War, Mystic River, Milk). Principal photography kicked off in October of 2014. Several conditions of filming stretched out the shooting schedule for almost a full year. First off, Iñárritu utilized natural lighting and real-world locations which required using “40% of the day” to simply travel to, light, and stage every scene which could often be hampered by weather conditions. Furthermore, several crew members either quit or were laid off by Iñárritu himself. DiCaprio has said that at least 30 sequences in the movie were “some of the most difficult things I’ve ever had to do.” Despite all of these obstacles, Iñárritu managed to shoot the movie chronologically per his desires (despite doing so increased the film’s budget by at least seven million dollars). By the time production wrapped in August of 2015, the cost of the movie had more than doubled to 135 million dollars. Released on Christmas Day in 2015, The Revenant earned over 530 million dollars at the box office and was mostly warmly received by critics. While DiCaprio’s performance and Iñárritu’s direction received universal and near-universal praise, respectively, some critics took issue with the screenplay and runtime. Ultimately, The Revenant earned a leading twelve nominations at that year’s Academy Awards (including Best Picture). In addition to Emmanuel Lubezki winning Best Cinematography, Iñárritu became the third director in history to win Best Director two years consecutively (following John Ford for The Grapes of Wrath and How Green Was My Valley, and Joseph L. Mankiewicz for A Letter to Three Wives and All Above Eve). Notably, DiCaprio won his first acting Oscar after being nominated four times prior (five counting his producer credit on The Wolf of Wall Street). The Revenant was actually the first of Iñárritu’s films that I saw. I distinctly remember going to the theater with my dad around New Year’s Eve the year it came out, and we both left the theater stunned by what we’d just watched. It was an incredibly harsh yet cathartic viewing experience, and remains one of my most memorably moviegoing experiences of the last decade even though The Revenant is not a big blockbuster episode of a mega-franchise like Marvel or Star Wars. And despite some initial apprehension on my part when I rewatched it over a year ago, I underwent a similar thrilling and emotionally draining experience seeing The Revenant again that (almost) matched my first unforgettable time seeing it. While I really like Birdman, I do think that The Revenant is Iñárritu’s best film. Among other reasons, I think this is partially due to the fact that it’s surprisingly his most accessible film. For one thing, the story is simple: fur trapper and frontiersman Hugh Glass (Leonardo DiCaprio) is nearly mauled to death by a bear in the American wilderness of the early 19th century and, due to his injuries, ends up being left for head by his less courageous contemporary John Fitzgerald (Tom Hardy) after watching his son Hawk (Forrest Goodluck) get stabbed to death by Fitzgerald. Over the course of the next nearly two hours, the audience watches Glass endure hell on Earth to return to the trappers’ home at Fort Kiowa and, with the help of Captain Andrew Henry (Domhnall Gleeson), track down Fitzgerald and kill him as retribution for Hawk’s murder. Simply put, in virtually every scene it is evident that Iñárritu and the creative team both in front of and behind the camera wholly committed to immersing the audience in the unforgiving world of The Revenant. Aside from the plot itself, Iñárritu’s reliance on natural lighting combined with his staging of the action (notably the opening skirmish between the trappers and local indigenous tribe) and the breathtaking cinematography of Emmanuel Lubezki (Children of Men, Gravity, Birdman) perfectly captures the ruthless ambiance and life-threatening environment of the setting. When it comes to seeing Glass or any of the other characters interacting with their surroundings, never once does the audience fail to suspend their disbelief which allows them to be fully immersed in the world that Iñárritu creates for us. For a movie like this, the believability of the environment is perhaps the most important thing to get right. Of course, nobody that sees The Revenant comes away from it without being fully aware of the impression that DiCaprio’s powerful, transcendent performance has left on them. Similar to Iñárritu’s fully immersive atmosphere of the American frontier, DiCaprio’s inspiring and admirable commitment to every part of Glass’s story of survival only enhances the viewing experience. And when you remember that his fight to live is motivated purely by a desire to avenge his son’s death, the movie takes on a more empathetic and heartbreaking tone than what it would’ve had if this strand of the narrative was absent in lieu of Iñárritu making a straightforward survival flick. I tend to enjoy movies that seamlessly integrate the three major sources of narrative conflict, which The Revenant does to a tee. First, Glass’s struggle to survive the wilderness in an effort to return to Fort Kiowa still breathing perfectly encapsulates “man vs. nature.” Second, the hostiles that Glass encounters along the way (and, of course, the final confrontation between Glass and Fitzgerald) makes for some solid “man vs. man” entertainment. Finally, Glass’s internal struggle over his relationship with violence and his lust for revenge, in contrast to acting out of honor for his son’s memory, serves as the “man vs. self” cherry on top, so to speak, of the film’s layered yet easy-to-follow story. In my humble opinion, this is what sets The Revenant apart (or at least helps it stand out) from most other films in the revenge subgenre. To be fair, the film is by no means perfect. At over two-and-a-half hours, it does feel slightly drawn out without needing to be. Certainly, a handful of scenes could’ve been slimmed down (and maybe one of two even cut) to make for fifteen minutes less and thus allow the movie to work even better and the littlest bit less of a hardship that some viewers find it to be. That being said, The Revenant is one of those rare movies that I think works in spite of its runtime. Simply put, the potential exhaustion you’ll feel by the time the credits roll is more than worth it. And hey, at least it wasn’t split into two movies like Kill Bill. 😊 Each of the movies I’ve discussed here today utilize revenge, either adequately or spectacularly, as a motif of storytelling to ingratiate the audience to a diverse array of protagonists with distinct personalities yet a shared bloodlust to make right the wrongs done to them and their loved ones. In a way, like many film genres and creative outlets in general, revenge stories are a prime method of vicarious fantasy and escapism for consumers of such art to emotionally live out how they would act if who they cared about most in this world were taken from them. Whether you fear what you would become in such a predicament—like Hugh Glass in The Revenant—or your primary concern is the legacy you leave behind for your offspring—like Michael Sullivan in Road to Perdition—revenge will likely always be a one-way ticket to death and destruction. But, thanks to movies, we can just fantasize about taking such a path rather than suffer the trials and tribulations of it ourselves. If you’re interested, I’ve written about several other notable revenge movies: Brian de Palma’s Carrie, the Coen Brothers’ True Grit, Mel Gibson’s Braveheart, Denis Villeneuve’s Prisoners, and Christopher Nolan’s Memento. Just to name a few. 😊 What is your favorite revenge movie that I discussed today? What are some other revenge movies that you recommend? What opinions of mine do you find absolutely ridiculous? Let me know in the comments below. Until next time, this has been… Yours Truly, Amateur Analyst “When we look at the content of Oscar-winning roles by actors of color…we see that many were awarded for performances that conform to racist views on what makes for an authentic and believable performance.” – Matthew W. Hughey “Why should I complain about making $700 a week playing a maid? If I didn't, I'd be making $7 a week being one.” – Hattie McDaniel Effective storytelling relies on certain conventions that, if used too often or not in an intelligent or unique fashion, cane become derided as “tropes.” While the word doesn’t have an inherent negative connotation, it is often weaponized by film critics and historians to deride the storytelling methods of a movie for an overreliance or forceful handling of a trope (or tropes) which, in their minds, weakens the artistry and craft behind the movie in question.
When it comes to the “white savior” trope, a phrase at the center of sociologist Matthew Hughey’s 2015 article “The Whiteness of Oscar Night,” the criticism generally lies in how roles of nonwhite actors in cinema tend to strip away their agency in their own stories by instead being physically helped, “or at least morally redeemed,”[1] by a white person or group of white people. The films that Hughey identifies as being prime examples of this trope in action include, but are not limited to: Edward Zwick’s war drama Glory, Steven Spielberg’s legal drama Amistad, Clint Eastwood’s urban crime drama Gran Torino, and James Cameron’s sci-fi epic Avatar. As Hughey lays out, there are essentially three characteristics that qualify a film as following the “white savior” trope:[2]
Out of a desire to better understand how this trope functions in narrative films, as well as Hughey and other film scholars’ belief in the extent to which it has plagued Hollywood for centuries is actually founded on truth, I wanted to devote today’s blog to answer the following questions. First, does a film fitting the above criteria automatically mean that it embodies the “white savior” trope per Hughey’s above prescription? Second, if so, does the “white savior” trope inherently send the racially-charged message to the audience that Hughey and others believe that it does? So, without further ado…LET’S GET STARTED!! [NOTE: This blog contains spoilers for several movies. You have been warned.] To Kill a Mockingbird (1962) The inspiration behind the story of a racist criminal justice system in the Jim Crow South, as depicted in Harper Lee’s 1960 novel “To Kill a Mockingbird,” is multifaceted. Lee’s own father, Amasa Coleman Lee, defended two black men accused of murder in 1919. Unsurprisingly, they were convicted, hanged and mutilated (supposedly convincing Lee’s father to never take another criminal case for the remainder of his law career). However, the specific character of Tom Robinson in her book could have come from multiple real-world examples. For one, a black man named Walter Lett was accused a raping a white woman near Monroeville, Alabama (Lee’s hometown) when Lee was ten years old. According to reporting from Lee’s father’s local newspaper, Lett was convicted and sentenced to death. In addition, Robinson’s strenuous journey from arrest and trial to imprisonment and death echo that of the Scottsboro Boys which involved nine black men convicted of raping two white women despite evidence supporting their guilt lacking credulity. Finally, the murder and lynching of teenager Emmett Till, a Chicago native, in Mississippi in 1955. While Lee has said she was aiming for a non-sensational portrayal of Tom Robinson, she admitted that both his story and that of the Scottsboro Boys equitably serve “the same purpose” of displaying Southern prejudices. To the first criteria, the 1962 To Kill a Mockingbird (which, in turn, is an adaptation of Lee’s 1960 novel) is not blatantly purporting to be a true story. However, it is clearly inspired by events in both the author’s life and (to some extent) by other notable examples of black men being falsely accused of crimes at the hands of the inherent racial prejudices of the Jim Crow South. Make of that what you will. As to the second criteria, To Kill a Mockingbird unquestionably qualifies. While not told from his point of view, the film’s second act focuses on the criminal trial of local field hand Tom Robinson (Brock Peters) who has been falsely accused of rape by Mayella Ewell (Collin Wilcox), the victimized and unhappy daughter of chronic “welfare king” and alcoholic racist Bob Ewell (James Anderson). The lawyer who works as Tom’s defense is Atticus Finch (Gregory Peck), the widowed father of our protagonist Jean Louise “Scout” Finch (Mary Badham) whose life and the safety of his children are put at risk in standing up for the strong sense of ethics that he instilled in them. Unsurprisingly, the fact that Robinson is being put on trial in 1930s Alabama for rape of a white women puts his life in danger. The all-male, all-white jury stacked with prototypical Southern racists given the time and place stack the odds squarely against Robinson’s moral character and Atticus’s legal defense. Yet, they both go to trial to reveal the truth about what happened between Robinson and Mayella. That, in fact, Tom tried to reject Mayella’s advances and when her father discovered what she tried to do he “cried wolf” so as to protect both his own honor and his daughter’s reputation. Finally, the extent to which the supposed “white savior” of To Kill a Mockingbird—Atticus Finch, that is—either physically save or morally redeem Tom Robinson, the “black victim” of the movie? Well, the answer is clearly no to both. Let me explain. Atticus’s entire legal defense of Tom is by showing to the judge, the jury, and the audience in the courthouse that to accuse him of being able to physically or sexually assault anybody is improbable (if not impossible). He highlights the discrepancies between Tom’s disability in his left arm and much of Mayella’s physical scars being placed on her right side. In doing so, he points out that Bob Ewell is right-handed before making his major argument: that, in actuality, Mayella was beaten by her father after Bob Ewell discovered her trying to seduce a black man. In his closing arguments, Atticus pleads with the obviously-biased jury to recognize Tom’s unquestionable innocence and acquit him of any wrongdoing. But they don’t listen, Tom is found guilty, and ends up being killed by prison guards trying to escape incarceration. So, in that sense, Atticus (who arguably fits the description of the “man of principal” as it aligns with the “white savior” trope) fails in his mission to save Tom’s life. But what about his moral redemption? Well, he only has to prove Tom’s innocence in the eyes of the racist jury who the audience never doubts for a second will convict him. Why? Because they’ve been conditioned by the time and place that they live in to be ignorant out of fear and prejudice for that they deem as different from—and thus inferior to—them. But the audience knows that because that’s one of the core themes of Lee’s novel! For anyone watching the movie that is not on Tom’s side, perhaps there is no movie out there that could sway them to think differently. Simply put, there is no need for the filmmakers to have Atticus morally redeem Tom in the minds of the audience because he is symbolic of innocence being destroyed by systemic evil despite the evident malevolence behind such an act. You could even say that Tom Robinson is the “mockingbird” of the film, and thus helps teach the audience the lesson that the story is trying to get across. So, the big question: does the narrative of To Kill a Mockingbird qualify as a “white savior” film? I’ll be honest, I am surprised to say that (in my humble opinion) it does not qualify. While there are some overtones with the image of a well-educated, well-spoken, and virtuous white man defending a simple, humble, plain-spoken black man in a court of law. But, according to the criteria outlined in Hughey’s article, it simply does not fit the mold of the “white savior” trope. Music of the Heart (1999) Based on an Oscar-nominated documentary from 1995 called Small Wonders, Wes Craven dramatizes the story of Roberta Guaspari (Meryl Streep) whose work as a music teacher in East Harlem helped inject, preserve, and foster music programs for underprivileged public-school children in New York City. Initially a substitute teacher for violin, Guaspari’s program expands to multiple schools but is threatened when the local Board of Education eliminates funding for it. This inspires Guaspari, with the help of her two sons Alexi and Nick (Kieran Culkin and Michael Angarano), her mother Assunta (Cloris Leachman), and several members of the East Harlem community (including former students and their parents), to organize a benefit concert called “Fiddlefest” to raise enough money to save the music program. So, Music of the Heart is based on a true story of a white school teacher inspiring (mostly) black and brown children in the inner city to love music in an effort to instill in them a love of the arts. Based on this description alone, I can see how people conclude that the film exploits the “white savior” trope to tell its story. That being said, I think the picture is a little more complicated than that. For starters, while Guaspari does largely exhibit the “inspirational teacher” paradigm her efforts are not explicitly about physically saving or morally redeeming the children in her classroom. Sure, one can argue that Guaspari sees her role as using the arts as the foundation for a moral framework for her students. But I don’t see it that way. As a musician myself, I never felt that learning an instrument or an appreciation of music translated to developing my moral character as far as it affects the world around me. Can it develop peoples’ self-esteem and work ethic? Absolutely. Aside from that, however, music (in my humble opinion) primarily acts as giving people, such Guaspari’s students, a creative outlet and (for some) a lifelong passion. Simply put, the impact of Guaspari’s actions has less to do with morally redeeming these children than with helping them feel self-worth and excited about life. Furthermore, one can interpret the plot of Music of the Heart as being heavily reliant on Guaspari’s drive to preserve the arts for these inner-city school communities. Without question, it stems from her. But my viewing of the film taught me that one of its core messages is less about the impeccable actions of one person than how people within a community can inspire each other and work together to accomplish a shared goal. In this instance, Guaspari and her family aren’t alone in their efforts to save Harlem’s arts programs. On the one hand, you have former students and parents joining her efforts to organize and put on “Fiddlefest,” as well as the black female school principal (Angela Bassett), which aptly exemplifies its message of “It takes a village” as I said earlier. Second, the benefit concert is nearly loses its venue until several famous musicians offer their support in securing Carnegie Hall for the concert. Among these musicians are three female violinists Karen Briggs, Diane Monroe, and Sandra Park, each of whom are people of color. Their presence in the final concert feels equitable next to the several white male musicians performing alongside them. At the end of the day, is Music of the Heart a fair example of the “white savior” trope? From a certain point of view, sure. But, in my humble opinion, it has several elements of its storytelling that keep it from fully relying on such conventions. Particularly in its emphasis on the importance of community organizing rather than simply following in the footsteps of one person, the film does a decent enough job injecting more nuance and diversity (both literarily and culturally) so as to avoid completely succumbing to such a pitfall as the “white savior” trope. Radio (2003) The story of James Robert “Radio” Kennedy was originally told in a 1996 article in Sports Illustrated, entitled “Someone to Lean On,” by Gary Smith. At the center of this story is South Carolina high school football coach Harold Jones (Ed Harris) establishes a strong mentoring friendship with Radio (Cuba Gooding, Jr.) by welcoming him into the fold of his school’s football program as an unofficial mascot and assistant coach. Despite pressure from parents of the student athletes and some of the school administrators, Jones increasingly involves himself in Radio’s life and care out of his guilt for neglecting an intellectually disabled child when he was younger. Ultimately, Jones is able to prevent Radio from being put in an institution by relinquishing his coaching duties so that Radio can finish earning his high school diploma without any harassment from players and their parents inflicted upon him as retaliation for Jones’s inability to help the school’s football team win a game. Unquestionably, our African-American protagonist in Radio lives a difficult and strenuous life due to how members of his South Carolinian community perceive and treat him for his “otherness” as a disabled person. It is not only his social ostracization but the physical and emotional humiliation he is put through several times throughout the film that make him a victim. This is more evident by the fact that Coach Jones saves him on multiple occasions, from getting him out of the gear shed after several students locked him inside to breaking him out of jail for being mistakenly arrested by an ignorant police officer. It goes without saying that Radio is physically saved more than once by the white “inspirational coach” of the movie. But is he morally redeemed? While this is a murkier question to answer, I would ultimately say that he is. To be clear, Radio is never a morally gray character by his actions or demeanor. Rather, because of his disability he is constantly portrayed as a victim who regularly relies on the interference of caretakers (mostly Coach Jones) looking out for him to keep him out of trouble. While he has family to look out for him some of the time, the death of his mother Maggie (S. Epatha Merkerson) around halfway through the runtime results in Radio being unofficially adopted by Coach Jones. The result: a potentially demeaning layer of racial paternalism coats Radio’s primary mentor relationship, adding more credence to the notion of Radio encapsulating the “white savior” trope. That being said, I do think that the motive for Coach Jones taking Radio under his wing is more compelling and character-driven than Atticus Finch defending Tom Robinson in To Kill a Mockingbird or Roberta Guaspari teaching children in Music of the Heart. Since Coach Jones feels burdened by a mistake from his childhood, he tries to make up for it by befriending Radio and looking out for his standing in the community as well as his future. This doesn’t necessarily save the movie by the end, but I appreciate it relative to other films like it that never fully flesh out the motivations of characters like this. All in all, Radio certainly embodies the “white savior” trope but I actually don’t think that is the primary reason why the story being told the way it does feels cheap and exploitative. Rather, how it portrays a person with a disability comes off much more problematic. This is largely due to the fact that Coach Jones repeatedly takes advantage of Radio under the guise of befriending and mentoring him by making Radio what is essentially an unpaid intern and spokesperson for his football team. This strips much of Radio’s agency away from him, and (im my humble opinion) is part of how the story of a disabled person is told than the story of an African-American person. This is also evident by the fact that the film never highlights race-based prejudice towards Radio as a result of his actions. Instead, the townsfolk (such as the cruel football players and harsh, unsympathetic parents) see Radio as a burden on the team because of his disability rather than his skin color. This adds up to the sad reality that Radio is not so much a story about an intellectually-disabled man overcoming adversity (like the death of his mother and social isolation) to become an active and popular member of his community as much as it is the story of a high school football coach ignoring his own family to mentor Radio in a misguided effort to make amends for a past misdoing. Thus, Radio’s character serves Coach Jones’s story arc rather than the other way around. And for me, that is the biggest issue with the film as opposed to its reliance on the “white savior” trope as a storytelling device. The Blind Side (2009) Unlike Radio, the story of well-to-do interior designer and socialite Leigh Anne Tuohy (Sandra Bullock) adopting the young disenfranchised boy from the ghetto Michael Oher (Quinton Aaron) does a better job of avoiding the “white savior” trope (or at least more sufficiently addressing it). But it still doesn’t succeed. Let me explain why. For the unfamiliar, The Blind Side is based on journalist Michael Lewis’s novel about Oher escaping poverty with the help of his adoptive parents the Tuohys to become a successful offensive lineman in the National Football League (NFL). The film depicts his initial academic and social struggles at the majority-white Wingate Christian School before joining the football team and how his burgeoning mother-and-son relationship with Leigh Anne, as well as his strong sibling bonds with Leigh Anne’s children “S.J.” (Jae Head) and Collins (Lily Collins), lay the foundation for Oher coming into his own before going to college. So, how does The Blind Side utilize the “white savior” trope? For one thing, Oher’s story is essentially the prototypical example of a person of color trapped in the ghetto escaping it due to the intervention of some charitable white people who feed, clothe, house, and (in this case) adopt him as one of their own. Several scenes in the film undeniably depict the violent, dangerous, and drug-infused reality of Oher’s home life where the only genuine prospects in life are to become either an addict or a violent criminal. Perhaps a better film could’ve handled this subject matter more delicately by emphasizing the individual nature of Oher’s story rather than allow the audience’s predispositions to color (no pun intended) how they view Oher as an example of this kind of phenomena that has been depicted in the movies time and again. Furthermore, Leigh Anne and her wealthy husband Sean (Tim McGraw) superbly fit the mold of principled, well-off white people who take it upon themselves to reach out to Oher and provide him safety, stability, and possibility for his life. Obviously, the film’s core relationship between Leigh Anne and Oher (while charming) fits this mold almost too well. That being said, I do appreciate how the film shows Leigh Anne’s initial motivation to take Oher in as not someone who sees the athletic potential in a tall, strong-looking, young black man who could achieve greatness. Rather, she simply passes him in the rain one night, recognizes what the right thing to do is, and offers him a place to sleep for the night. In that respect, The Blind Side sufficiently humanizes Oher’s story so as to put up a genuine effort to avoid completely embracing the worst attributes of the “white savior” trope. It doesn’t help the film knowing that Michael Oher himself has criticized how he was portrayed as almost genetically stupid rather than lacking a thriving, stable educational environment that helped him unlock his intellectual potential. To that extent, one could argue that the portrayal of Oher in The Blind Side is a modern usage of the “Uncle Tom” stereotype by making Oher emotionally submissive to his white caretakers most of the time. This certainly doesn’t help the case that the movie avoids the trappings of the “white savior” trope. All of that being said, I do enjoy The Blind Side more as a movie than Radio. The former’s charming principal cast (notably Sandra Bullock, who won an Oscar for her performance as Leigh Anne Tuohy) make up for the hollow friendship between Ed Harris and Cuba Gooding, Jr. in the latter. But it, too, embraces a “white savior” narrative like Radio does. On top of that, I think there is also a “rich savior” trope used in the film that positively embraces the notion of rich people housing, feeding, clothing, and educating poor people in order to earn credit for their future success. Thus, it strips agency away from Oher’s role in his story not only as an African-American man but also as someone born impoverished. I can still enjoy The Blind Side because of the powerful chemistry between Leigh Anne and Michael who put a convincingly selfless, tender mother-son relationship on the screen for the audience to fall in love with. But, that does not make up for how the film is, in fact, an example of the “white savior” trope. Green Book (2018) The winner of the Best Picture Oscar in 2019, Green Book dramatizes the professional and personal friendship between talented pianist Don Shirley (Mahershala Ali) and the bouncer that he hires as his driver/bodyguard, Tony Vallelonga (Viggo Mortensen), which forms during Shirley’s concert tour of the Jim Crow South during the 1960s. Its title is inspired by “The Negro Motorist Green Book” (named after its author Victor Hugo Green), a guidebook for African-American travelers to help them find segregation-free restaurants and lodgings while on the road as well as avoid the “sundown towns” where black drivers would be much more likely to be arbitrarily arrested. Not only is it based on real-life people and events, but Green Book does, in fact, subject its main black character Don Shirley to a variety of physical and social dangers merely as a result of his presence in the Deep South during this particular time period. Not only are there a number of instances where Shirley’s physical safety is threatened, but more often his attempts to entertain prejudiced, upper-class white audiences are stifled by his hosts’ treatment of him. One of the more effective scenes in the film emphasizes this ostracization when Shirley, before his performance begins, attempts to have dinner in the whites-only dining room but is adamantly refused by the white owners who suggest that he find a restaurant down the road more “suitable” to his “station.” So, throughout the movie dies Tony physically save and/or morally redeem Shirley? Well, yes to the first because he is his bodyguard. To that extent, I suppose you can argue that Tony is a “white savior” because of this but don’t forget…THAT IS TONY’S JOB! Shirley hired Tony not only as a driver but also to protect him if anyone acts aggressively towards the pianist. Thus, when Tony aids or defends him, he is doing because that is what Shirley is paying him to do. I think when critics deride Green Book as relying too much on a “white savior” narrative they unfairly ignore how much the central relationship between our two main characters subverts so much of what historically has made this trope racially charged in practice. Primarily, the fact that a working-class, uneducated white man becomes financially dependent on a well-to-do, creative and successful black man. This results in Tony (mostly) becoming subservient to Shirley’s will and whims due to the nature of their relationship. Are there nuances to this dynamic? Absolutely, but not to the detriment of Shirley’s character to conform to the “white savior” trope. Rather, the complexities injected into the story are there to develop Tony and Shirley’s relationship from a strictly professional one into more of an intimate and friendly one. Furthermore, Shirley’s character is not just there to develop Tony’s story arc or vice-versa. Tony’s observations of Shirley’s incredibly talent and tenacity in the face of systemic discrimination and derision cause him to grow and mature because of how he perceives the horribly dehumanizing nature of Jim Crow firsthand. Conversely, Shirley gains humility and a greater appreciation for people unlike him not because of what Tony says or does but instead experiencing this journey in the Deep South with Tony. In other words, Green Book teeters on making the central narrative conform to the “white savior” trope but ultimately avoids doing so by making the progression for both central characters reliant on going on this journey with each other. To that end, Shirley is never written as someone that requires moral redemption beyond simply warming up to Tony’s brash, abrasive, and ignorant nature. Rather, it is Tony—the white character in the movie—that must develop a better moral compass around how he perceives the nuances of race relations. Not only is Tony confronted with Jim Crow to better appreciate what Shirley (and, by extension, all African Americans and people of color) struggle with, but he must also reform how he sees races of people as culturally and intellectually homogenous by recognizing that a diversity of ideas and personalities is more essential to understand than a diversity of ethnic and racial backgrounds. Apparently, some critics of Green Book also argue that Don Shirley is a modern example of the “magical Negro” stereotype whereby he possesses some sort of unique ability to educate his white counterpart an important lesson which is his sole purpose in the story. But, once again, Shirley’s character does not exist solely for that purpose. While being hired by Shirley is the catalyst for Tony’s story arc, it is observing systemic racism in the Deep South firsthand and how the various African-American characters (not just Shirley) around him deal with it that helps him learn and grow. Thus, I don’t think this critique has that much merit. Ultimately, I believe Green Book avoids succumbing to the “white savior” trope by preserving Shirley’s agency as a flawed yet strong character who is not a plot mechanism for the themes or progression of his white co-star but instead goes on an equally compelling journey as Tony does by the end. With a couple specific exceptions wherein Ton performs the duties that he was hired to, he is no more responsible for “saving” Shirley than Shirley is for “saving” Tony. Looking back on all of these films, it remains clear to me that the “white savior” trope—while a useful lens through which to examine films oriented around stories of race relations—is relied on too much as a means of vehemently (and sometimes unfairly) excoriating movies with nobler intentions than they are given credit for. Sure, there have been films in the past (and some still being made) that strip agency from its black character(s) in order to allow a heroic white protagonist to save their lives or their souls in one way or another. But this trope being evident in some movies does not automatically mean that it is evident in most movies. Does the white lawyer of To Kill a Mockingbird, motivated by righteous principles, work tirelessly to prove the innocence of a poor black man? Yes, but that doesn’t mean that the lawyer is morally redeeming his client nor does it mean that he is morally perfect himself. Is the white violin teacher in Music of the Heart helping inspire and motivate black and brown children in underprivileged communities? Yes, but that doesn’t strip away the agency of others from the community who care just as much about these kids’ chances to explore their creative passions. Does a white bodyguard hired by a black pianist in Green Book performing his job to protect the pianist’s life and dignity mean that the pianist no longer has an active role in his own story? No, it does not. But even if Matthew Hughey and others were correct about every single film they surveyed and identified as relying on a “white savior” narrative, is the audience watching these movies more likely to come away viewing people of color in real life as incapable and submissive whose sole purpose is to be saved by white people? I can’t agree to that, because for as cynical as I can be I do have more faith in people than that. I hope I’ve made my point, but I would love to hear your thoughts. Do you agree with my assessments of these films as conforming to or avoiding the “white savior” trope? What other films do you think are worth examining for this storytelling convention? What opinions of mine do you find absolutely ridiculous? Let me know in the comments below. Until next time, this has been… Yours Truly, Amateur Analyst [1] https://contexts.org/blog/the-whiteness-of-oscar-night/ [2] Ibid “The problem with romantic comedies is you know the ending by the poster. So, they're not movies you can keep doing over and over again…” – Ryan Reynolds Romantic comedy seems to be one of those movie genres that can be so easily criticized for endless reasons. Whether it be cheesy or disingenuous performances, poor screenwriting, or unrealistic and pie-in-the-sky notions about love and intimacy, the timeless “rom-com” that has essentially been around since the birth of cinema is (in my humble opinion) one of the most difficult types of films to truly get right.
Can there be rom-coms with good acting but bad writing, or vice-versa? Sure. Are there rom-coms that are absolutely absurd but genuinely fun or, conversely, intelligently crafted and grounded yet don’t have that emotional punch to them? Definitely. In my humble opinion, this genre of moviemaking has nearly infinite pitfalls that, as the quote that opened this blog implies, it is nearly impossible to nail this kind of movie. Let alone nail it repeatedly. So, on this Valentine’s Day, I wanted to examine four old-school romantic comedies that excelled at what they were doing and accomplished the goal they set out to do. From the Golden Age of the 1930s to New Wave Hollywood of the 1970s, here are some of my favorite rom-coms that exhibit the best of the genre despite their age and potential to be stuck in their own time. So, without further ado…LET’S GET STARTED!! [NOTE: This blog contains spoilers for several movies. You have been warned.] Mr. Deeds Goes to Town (1936) Coming off of two critically and commercially successful comedy films in 1934--It Happened One Night and Broadway Bill—director Frank Capra (Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, It’s a Wonderful Life) was looking to make the adventure fantasy movie Lost Horizon starring Ronald Colman (Arrowsmith, A Tale of Two Cities, A Double Life). However, production was delayed a year to accommodate Colman’s other commitments and Capra went to work adapting Clarence Budington Kelland’s short story “Opera Hat” by collaborating for a fifth time with screenwriter Robert Riskin (It Happened One Night, You Can’t Take It with You). While Capra cast Gary Cooper (Sergeant York, High Noon) as his “first, last and only choice” for the title role, he faced a mini-crisis three day before principal photography began when the lead actress he hired, Carole Lombard (Mr. & Mrs. Smith, To Be or Not to Be), quit the production to star in Gregory La Cava’s screwball comedy My Man Godfrey (which ended up garnering her an Oscar nomination for Best Actress). Lombard was replaced with Jean Arthur (Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, Only Angels Have Wings). Capra reportedly treated filming like a workshop or exercise, spending five additional shooting days testing out new angles with multiple takes. This increased the film’s budget by forty-thousand dollars. Furthermore, the film’s working title was taken directly from the short story and was not changed until the publicity department at Columbia Pictures held a contest to replace it. Finally coming in at approximately 845,000 dollars, Mr. Deeds Goes to Town received critical praise and ended up earning two-and-a-half million dollars in theater rentals. Audiences and critics alike generally deemed it Capra’s best film released up to that point, which paid off at the Academy Awards the next year. The film was nominated for five Oscars, including Best Picture (the third for Capra of seven that he would get in his career), but only won Best Director for Capra (his second of three Best Director Oscars). Having grown up watching the 2002 remake of this film starring Adam Sandler, I was pretty familiar with the characters and basic structure of the story of Mr. Deeds Goes to Town. A simple yet kind and humble man from a small town finds himself heading to the “big city” after his deceased uncle left him a large inheritance, and he discovers that his rural mindfulness and eccentric nature clashes with the urban sensibilities of modern American cynicism. So, going into watching Capra’s original cinematic take on Kelland’s short story, I was apprehensive that it would feel outdated and boring compared to Sandler’s over-the-top version. I was happy to discover that not only is the film fantastic despite its age, but rather it is great because of when it comes from. Simply put, Capra’s personification of the nuances and complexities of the “American dream” via the journey of Longfellow Deeds (Gary Cooper) from Mandrake Falls, Vermont to New York City fits perfectly into the 1930s. Much of the essence of what works for me in Mr. Deeds Goes to Town comes from Cooper’s performance as the title character. He manages to moralize to the audience through his performance rather than allow the writing to preach on his behalf. It is through his characterization of Deeds as a genuinely good man who ultimately refuses to let the greed and corruption of the city change his moral and emotional core that allows Capra to tell this story that transcends its own time and remain both enjoyable and socially relevant to this day. But what about the “romance” and “comedy” essential to this film being a rom-com? I’m happy to report that both work. Regarding the latter, Mr. Deeds Goes to Town heavily relies on the “fish-out-of-water” nature of Deeds’s eccentricities clashing with the straight-laced, boorish personalities of the city characters, like Deed’s uncle’s lawyer John Cedar (Douglass Dumbrille), to produce its laugh-inducing moments. Surprisingly, this works once again because of the cultural moment that produced this film. You expect it to be cheesy to a fault, so when it pulls that off without feeling excessive it earns your respect and admiration. At least it earned mine. 😊 Certainly, though, the romance subplot of Mr. Deeds Goes to Town doesn’t hold up given modern sociocultural sensibilities around relationship dynamics in films today. Once again, I was genuinely surprised how much the burgeoning love and respect between Deeds and reporter Louise “Babe” Bennett (Jean Arthur) resonated with me. While it does rely on Bennett deceiving Deeds at first, thus having to redeem herself in the end, I appreciate how the storytellers allowed a female character to take action on behalf of her male counterpart to resolve the central conflict. It is her passionate plea during his sanity hearing that propels Deeds’s name being cleared and Cedar’s selfish scheming against Deeds to fail. All in all, please do not judge Mr. Deeds Goes to Town by its age. It is a worthwhile watch this Valentine’s Day if you’re looking for an old-school romantic comedy with enough timelessness to its craft to make it still watchable nearly a century after it initially premiered in cinemas. Bringing Up Baby (1938) In March of 1937, director Howard Hawks (Sergeant York, Red River, Rio Bravo) was trying to get an adaptation of Rudyard Kipling’s poem “Gunga Din” at RKO Pictures off the ground. However, it fell through and so he turned to look for a new project. Upon reading Hagar Wilde’s short story “Bringing Up Baby,” which made him laugh out loud, he purchased the film rights for just over one thousand dollars and hired Wilde and frequent John Ford collaborator Dudley Nichols (The Informer, Stagecoach, The Long Voyage Home) to write the screenplay (albeit with notable differences from the original short story). By the end of summer, Wilde and Nichols (after several drafts) produced a 202-page script. For the two lead roles, Hawks was briefly considering his cousin the My Man Godfrey star Carole Lombard for Susan Vance but producers wanted Katharine Hepburn (The Philadelphia Story, The African Queen, On Golden Pond) due to her New England background. The studio, however, was hesitant due to several of Hepburn’s recent movies offering little in box-office returns. In the end, she was hired and given bonuses for her performance. Regarding the male lead, Hawks disagreed with producer Pandro S. Berman (Top Hat, Jailhouse Rock) about who should play David Huxley. Whereas Hawks wanted silent-film comedian Harold Lloyd (Safety Last!), Berman offered the role to several notable actors, like Frederic March (Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, The Best Years of Our Lives), the part but they turned it down. Ultimately, it was Hawks’s friend and business magnate Howard Hughes who suggested Cary Grant (His Girl Friday, The Philadelphia Story) for the part. Grant was initially hesitant about playing an intellectual character (despite the salary increase that RKO promised him), but he did accept the part based on Hawks’s promise to coach him during filming. Principal photography was supposed to begin on the first of September, but was delayed multiple weeks to secure some rights and add some more comedic scenes. Filming eventually started on September 23 and concluded nearly two months later on a production budget exceeding $760,000. Due to Hepburn’s struggles early on with overacting in an effort to be funny, Hawks had acclaimed Vaudeville performer Walter Catlett coach her. Infamously, Hepburn and Grant delayed filming on more than one occasion due to uncontrollable laughing fits (although Hawks extending shooting schedules by several days played a role, too). Furthermore, Hawks and Hepburn had a strenuous relationship on set. At one point, when Hawks shushed Hepburn and she scolded him by saying that she was friends with most of the crew, Hawks asked a lighting guy who he would rather drop a light on. Apparently, that shut Hepburn up afterwards. Due to the premise of the film’s story, Hepburn and Grant worked intensively with two animals on set. Notably, Nissa the “tame” leopard who had a trainer armed with a whip on set whenever her scenes were filmed. While Hepburn remained unafraid of the big cat, Grant was reportedly terrified. Yet, it was Hepburn that Nissa lunged at the one and only time anything like this happened (due to Hepburn twirling her skirt). But, thanks to the trainer’s crack of the whip, Nissa stood down. However, due to the potential financial and public-relations disaster of having a costly actor like Grant or Hepburn being injured on set by a leopard, he often used rear-screen projection or traveling mattes to shoot scenes with the leopard. The film went through a few cuts despite Hawks utilizing minimal cross-cutting in order to preserve its pacing within the frame rather than actual cutting of the film. Furthermore, there were some initial concerns about the rough cut of the movie passing muster at the Hayes Office (the pre-1968 Motion Picture Association) for its multitude of sexual references (such as Grant’s character saying he “went gay”), double entendres, and crass allusions (like when Hepburn’s character makes a reference to her aunt’s dog George urinating). Released widely in November of 1938, Bringing Up Baby received mostly positive critical reviews upon release. However, it struggled at the box office except in major cities such as Los Angeles, San Francisco, and Washington, D.C. It ended up making 1.1 million dollars during its initial theatrical run, making it a box-office flop which resulted in Hawks being replaced as the eventual director of Gunga Din. Retrospectively, Hawks vowed to never make a movie where “everybody [is] crazy” ever again. Despite Hepburn’s reputation as “box-office poison, many critics were surprised at her comedic chops. While Bringing Up Baby produced lackluster results at the box office at the time of release, it gained popularity and mainstream acceptance when it premiered on television during the 1950s. Within decades, its reputation was repaired and it was selected for preservation in the Library of Congress by the National Film Registry in 1990 (the second year of the Registry’s existence). I confess that I am not a huge fan of Howard Hawks’s filmmaking. In general, I categorize him with the likes of John Ford with an artist stuck in his own time too much to make films that are genuinely great to this day. But there is one notable exception: indeed, it is Bringing Up Baby. While I would not put the film in the same league as Capra’s Mr. Deeds Goes to Town as a genuine classic, it is pretty funny for much of its runtime. Much of the film’s humor relies on the gimmick of paleontologist David Huxley (Cary Grant) and free-spirited Susan Vance (Katharine Hepburn) tending to a tame leopard named Baby and the misadventures that ensue from this. In that sense, it rides the incredibly fine line of nailing physical comedy without succumbing to tackiness or shallowness. And the film (mostly) works on the backbone of its feline star Nissa the leopard who plays Baby (not to understate the efforts of Nissa’s trainer Olga Celeste) because much of the laughs in the movie originate from watching Grant and Hepburn “raising” her and keeping her out of trouble or, more often than not, failing to keep her from getting them in trouble. Unfortunately, the major drawback of Bringing Up Baby is its characterization of Susan Vance. While, in my humble opinion, she nails many of the comedic beats laid out for her I felt that Hepburn had little story besides falling in love with Grant’s character. Her personality feels antiquated for a female lead of her caliber, and her backstory or motivations are underdeveloped at best. This leaves some to be desired in Bringing Up Baby, which keeps me from wholeheartedly recommending the film. All that being said, it is still a very funny movie given that it came out nearly ninety years ago. And while it may not hold a candle to some of the best rom-coms from more recent memory, Bringing Up Baby is a fun-enough ride if you’re looking for a zanier rom-com than some other old classics. Lady and the Tramp (1955) As early as 1937, the creative team at Walt Disney Productions were developing an animated project centered on an English Springer Spaniel (specifically, story artist Joe Grant’s dog) named Lady. But by the early 1940s, Disney himself liked none of Grant’s approaches to the story because of the lack of action and Lady’s excessively sweet personality. But after reading the short story “Happy Dan, the Cynical Dog” by Ward Greene in 1945, Disney convinced Grant to incorporate a love story between Lady and a cynical dog (which had a number of working names before the team settled on “Tramp”). In the original tale, Lady had one next-door neighbors instead of two, Aunt Sarah was a more malevolent and overbearing mother-in-law but was softened for the final film, and her dogs were originally named Nip and Tuck before the team decided on Si and Am instead. Furthermore, Grant and Disney decided to keep the animation from Lady’s perspective (thereby rarely showing her owners’ faces). Also, the rat character was initially more comedic in nature but became scarier in the final film to increase the dramatic tension during the climax. Finally, a love triangle involving Lady, Tramp, and Boris (the Russian wolfhound in the dog found) was cut in order to focus on Lady and Tramp’s burgeoning relationship. Despite Grant leaving the studio in 1949, artists and animators used his original drawings to continue developing the story. When he agreed to write a novelization two years before the film’s release, he lost credit on the final cut of the film which was not rectified until Eric Goldberg included his involvement in the Platinum Edition DVD release of the movie in 2006. For animating the characters of the film, the Walt Disney team studied dogs of many different breeds to capture the essence of their movements and personality. Shockingly, Disney himself was initially going to cut the now-iconic “spaghetti scene” because he felt it was silly. In order to keep the scene in the final cut, animator Frank Thomas created the scene himself (making it more romantic) which impressed Disney and he decided to keep it. Released on June 22, 1955, Lady and the Tramp become a box-office hit and outpaced every other Disney animated feature since Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs). Throughout its lifetime in theaters, the film has earned 187 million dollars worldwide. Critically, the film was initially polarizing. While some felt it could be enjoyed by both children and adults, others deemed its tonal imbalance and flaws in animation to be subpar compared to prior Disney classics. However, in time, Lady and the Tramp has cemented its status as a classic of the Disney catalog as well as of traditional animated cinema. Having gone through much of the Disney animation catalog a few years ago, I was worried after watching several of the older “Golden Age” and “Silver Age” classics like Snow White and Cinderella that I would find little to love about any of these old-school animated flicks. Surely, there were some bright spots (notably Jiminy Cricket from Pinocchio), but all in all I was convinced that nothing from the studio before the 1980s would appeal to me. But then I saw Lady and the Tramp, and my worries were extinguished. There is so much to like about this movie. In terms of the animation, it feels the most “alive” out of any Disney film that came before it. In large part, this is due to the kinetic nature of the dogs that the film centers on. And unlike prior animal-centric Disney flicks like Bambi or Dumbo, much of the audience is so intimately familiar with how dogs walk, run, jump, and lay that the animators at work here have the extra challenge of grounding their depiction of these characters within an environment that is as much relatable as it is cartoonish. Of course, what makes Lady and the Tramp better than most old-school Disney animated movies is its characters. Our two leads, Lady (Barbara Luddy) and Tramp (Larry Roberts), have a very naturally evolving chemistry over the course of the film. In essence, their arcs compliment one another and thus their budding romance works that much more because of it. While Lady learns humility and compassion from Tramp, she is able to teach him a thing or two about civility and selflessness by the end. And unlike some other, more unbalanced rom-coms of this era, I think this one pulls off giving both the male and female leads a satisfying story that allows them to fall for each other. While the two canine protagonists are magnificent, the supporting cast does well here also. The standouts for me are Lady’s neighbors and companions, the Scottish Terrier Jock (Bill Thompson) and the retired bloodhound Trusty (Bill Baucom), who offer some sillier moments of humor when compared to the more situational laughs brought on by Lady and Tramp’s misadventures. I also really like just how genteel and “normal” Lady’s owners are in their affection for each other. It acts as the cherry on top of a movie that celebrates true love in a way that feels both family-friendly but almost emotionally mature and thematically resonant for a film about cartoon dogs. I know that some of you might feel that choosing a Disney animated film as one of my favorite old-school romantic comedies is cheap, but I just couldn’t help it. Lady and the Tramp hit for me in the best ways, and it’s a movie that remains both timeless in its uplifting nature and relevant in its simplistic yet nuanced approach to storytelling. Go watch it, if for no other reason than for that iconic spaghetti scene. 😊 Annie Hall (1977) During the mid-1970s, director Woody Allen (Manhattan, The Purple Rose of Cairo, Midnight in Paris) wrote a screenplay draft about a man in his forties dealing with romance, his own ambitions, and the banality of life and sent it to Brazilian-born screenwriter Marshall Brickman (Sleeper, Manhattan, Lovesick) for feedback. With this project, Allen aimed to move away from relying solely on broad comedy in his movies because he wanted to “sacrifice some of the laughs for a story about human beings.” Once they had a screenplay they liked (which had cut a murder subplot that would later be made into Manhattan Murder Mystery), Allen and Brickman went to United Artists and asked for a four-million-dollar budget. The female lead and titular role of Annie was written by Allen for Diane Keaton (The Godfather, Radio Days, Something’s Gotta Give), with whom Allen had worked with before in films like Sleeper and Love and Death. Despite Allen’s insistence to the contrary, Keaton did confirm that the relationship between her and Allen’s characters was partially inspired by their former real-life romance. However, other elements of the film such as Allen’s character Alvy being a comedian who attended New York University and “Alvy” being a childhood nickname Allen stated were not autobiographical in nature. Principal photography occurred sporadically over the course of ten months, beginning in May of 1976. Much of the screenplay was changed during filming, notably Allen adding in context for Alvy’s childhood home sitting under a rollercoaster (inspired by the real-world Thunderbolt rollercoaster on Coney Island). Despite the two weeks given by the studio for post-production photography, the film went through several cuts as initial versions left Brickman feeling that the movie was too scattershot and not focused enough on the core of the narrative. Released in April of 1977, Annie Hall earned 38 million dollars at the domestic box office. When adjusted for inflation, it outdoes the 2011 fantasy comedy Midnight in Paris as Allen’s highest-grossing film to date. Critics at the film also loved it, with many calling it Allen’s best film at that point. Nominated for the “Big Five” at that year’s Academy Awards, it won four of them: Best Picture, Best Director for Allen, Best Actress for Keaton, and Best Original Screenplay for Allen and Brickman. In 1992, fifteen years after its release, the film was selected by the Library of Congress for preservation in the National Film Registry. The legacy of Annie Hall today is multifaceted. It has been revered for its sophisticated exploration of themes like love and sexuality, Jewish identity, and psychoanalysis. Furthermore, it remains a go-to film as a prime example of a cinematic love letter to New York City. The style created for Keaton’s character in the film by costume designer Ruth Morley (The Hustler, Taxi Driver, Kramer vs. Kramer) influenced the fashion industry of the decade despite Keaton’s dress style nearly being excluded from the movie. Strangely enough, Allen and Keaton have polar-opposite feelings about the film. Whereas Allen has been honest about his disappointment in how the final cut turned out and has rejected the idea of making a sequel, Keaton identified her character as her favorite role of her career and is happy that so many people see her in this role. Within its genre, Annie Hall has been a staple of modern romantic comedies and others in recent decades—from Rob Reiner’s When Harry Met Sally… to Marc Webb’s (500) Days of Summer—have been compared favorably to the film. I don’t consider myself a big fan of Woody Allen as a filmmaker, writer or actor. Many of his movies that I’ve seen are either inaccessible or sorely unfunny despite putting forth every effort to be just that. But, there are some notable exceptions. I wrote about my favorite Woody Allen flick, Midnight in Paris, last year. But a close second, and easily my favorite of his early classics, is Annie Hall. When contextualized within the broader rom-com genre, Annie Hall comes off as a watershed moment that allows the movie to feel very much in its own time but also thematically and culturally pressing if one makes connections to modern times. Much of this has to do with the writing. Allen and Brickman’s screenplay creates a mature and equitable yet playful dynamic between Alvy (Woody Allen) and Annie (Diane Keaton) that allows both characters to breathe and process their thoughts on the relationship on their own terms. In that respect, it is easy to understand why Keaton received an Oscar for her performance in the film. While Alvy’s narration serves as the framing device for the movie’s core perspective, Keaton’s Annie is very much the subject of Alvy’s exploration of what love is at its core. Thus, it is a movie about her but also it is about the idea of her. In exploring the intricacies of Alvy’s neuroses around his in-and-out-of-love journey with Annie, Woody Allen creates a modern comedic and romantic masterpiece which says that sometimes the people we think we are supposed to fall in love with isn’t enough to make that happen. Of the old-school rom-coms I’ve written about here, Annie Hall is undeniably the most modern in how it tells its story and in what it wants to say. Thus, it is indeed a transitional film of the genre that serves as a bridge between the corny and zany ambience of Mr. Deeds Goes to Town, Bringing Up Baby, and Lady and the Tramp with some of the best modern rom-coms. What are some of those films? I might blog about them…One day. 😊 But for now, I leave it with these old classics of cinema that are worth your time for the laughs and the heart. Take your pick. Which of these old-school rom-coms is your favorite (or least favorite)? What are some other rom-coms from way back when do you think are worth checking out? What opinions of mine do you find absolutely ridiculous? Let me know in the comments below. Until next time, this has been… Yours Truly, Amateur Analyst |
Austin McManusI have no academic or professional background in film production or criticism; I simply love watching and talking about movies. Archives
May 2024
Categories
All
|