David Niven and June Allyson gives dazzling performances in this 1957 remake of the 1936 original starring William Powell and Carole Lombard. Godfrey G. Godfrey (Niven) is an illegal immigrant from Austria who has recently jumped ship. He is found by Irene Bullock (Allyson) hiding around the docks. The first shot of Godfrey is startling. He's ragged and unshaven--he looks like an old sea captain after 30 years too many. Soon, however, he is dapper and groomed--all thanks to the rambunctious pride of Irene (Allyson) who offers him a job as her butler. Godfrey is immediately thrust straight into the heart of a fierce sibling rivalry between Irene and her snotty sister Cordelia (Martha Hyer). He also gets to deal with the dry pinings of the maid, a rather lazy bunch who never rise before noon, and a most glamourous ex-landlady (a stunning, crime-worthy Eva Gabor).

Basically, this film demonstrates the cruel power of love. All along Irene longs to be with her Godfrey. At first, she merely hired him to spite her family, so she could have something of her own. As played by Allyson, Irene is a hilarious knot of confused desire and devotive insistence. Her saga is both touching and sad. She sees Godfrey as her chance at a real life and clings to her fantasies of their life together with fierce determination. It is her conviction that she and Godfrey are meant for each other that drives the film.

Overall, this is one of the sweetest and wackiest films released from a major studio. Particularly inspiring is the warm delirium of Mrs. Bullock (Jessie Royce Landis). Robert Keith is cool and capable as Mr. Bullock, trying to keep his business above water despite virtual bankruptcy. Altogether, the Bullock home is a most difficult place to maintain employment as a butler. The previous butler quit because he apparantly could not bear having to feed the horses. Others had quit practically before getting started. Add a bassett looking hound that howls whenever anyone starts singing and you have basically a perfect, light comedy that will appeal to all ages.

This film is quite different in tone from the original. That film is more political and considerably darker. Both films are considered classics and should be viewed according to their own individual merits.

Nico's music is often gloriously terrifying--especially some of her live recordings. Desertshore demonstrates the "many moods of Nico" and is expertly produced by John Cale. Cale is a man who understands how to make evocative music. From the harrowing beauty of "Abschied" to the delicate and mournful "Afraid", this is an album of great feeling. The mood of this record is quite melancholy. It is very much music to listen to alone in the dark. However, this is still a Nico album. There are moments that are legitimately creepy and fully capable of bleeding into your dreams. Just be aware, that is all.

Desertshore is liturgical and very sombre in places. I keep thinking of cloisters of excommunicate nuns and priests indulging in their lusts while Nico plays her tunes to get them in the mood. There is a warmth to even her most abstract compositions that feels like a cold hand on the shoulder from someone you adore.

I quite enjoy John Cale's playing on this album--especially on "Abschied". The interplay between his viola and Nico's harmonium is exquisite. Indeed, the instrumentation on this album gives it the feel of a collection of chamber pieces. I've always thought that Nico's music would provide an excellent accompaniment to silent horror films. Or, perhaps, a high Gothic opera...

Eduardo Ciannelli gives an wonderful, controlled performance as the gangster heavy, Vanning in "Marked Woman". His studied calm nicely offsets the histrionics of the hostesses in his employment. Betty Davis, naturally, is given the most screen time reacting hysterically to her myriad sorrows and complaints. The rest of the girls just stand around mostly like mannikins in stolen designer dresses. One of them actually sings for her supper at Club Intimate. These songs prompted me to suggest a name change: Club Irritate. The music is fluff, filler--that doesn't do anything to move the story along.

Overall, the story is quite predictable in some parts. What makes the film work is the brilliant dialogue and the unobtrusive direction. The actors are allowed to speak. The result is nonstop clever banter that never gets too serious until the end. The courtroom scene gets pretty heavy--particularly when the sentence is handed down to Vanning and his henchmen. The "message" of the film is clearly expressed by the judge during sentencing. His venomous hatred towards Vanning is made entirely too explicit.

The film presents a low opinion of the entire underground milieu. A clear distinction is made between the 5 hostesses and Mary Dwights tender, mopey sister Betty. Betty is esentially void from the moment she arrives to surprise her sister. Typically, the prey is introduced as innocent and sweet before her inevitable fate is sealed. In this case, it is the terrible realization that her college education has been payed for with dirty money that drives her to act out of character (like her sister). Naturally, it is this behaviour that gets the poor stupid girl killed. The rest of the film is built around absolving the death of this pure, guileless creature. The film suffers, despite the exellent oratory by Bogie in the courtroom. It requires the sinister machinations of the Vanning gang in order to sustain its corrosive ambience of gloom and terror. That all gets lost in the courtroom, and the verdict is a foregone conclusion. Still, the film offers a sharp script and excellent acting by the entire cast. The plot is rather pedestrian and offers no surprises. The film relies on its actors to make it plausible and for the most part, this is done with the utmost craftsmanship. 4/5

"La Notti Di Cabriria" is a fine showcase for the goofball charm of Giulietta Masina. I have no doubt that it has reduced many a mighty soul to tears and trembling. The story is tight and conveyed with authority and conviction. I am certain that this is a "good" movie that most people enjoy thoroughly. I'm going to back and watch it again, but as it stands, it just didn't move me like I expected it to. I can't very well give it a higher rating until it impacts me emotionally.

Still, I recognize that the film has an exceedingly dirty feel to it. Everything from Cabriria's occupation to the filthy beggars crying out for Grace from Maria --reek with a pestilence that cannot be washed off. The film is ugly--and Cabriria is presented like a little beacon of light to guide the viewer through the stinking pit of civilization. Masina does a fine job conveying the sufferings and triumphs of her character. I'm just not a big fan of these types of stories--I watched it because it is a Fellini film and I am trying to work my way through all his work. I will watch this again after I've made more of a dent in his output. I'll probably see it in an entirely different way and perhaps may even like it more.

Ultimately, if you love rooting for the little gal, this film is for you. She is very much like Chaplin's "little tramp" and you will enjoy observing her gritty determination to climb every mountain with a song in her heart. Watch it when you are not cynical, open to sweetness, and not afraid of the tyranny of the sun.

This film offers excellent portraits of three very different women. Each woman is connected to the clubfoot milquetoast Philip, played exquisitely by Leslie Howard.

Norah (Kay Johnson) is a striking Nordic beauty. She writes Romance novels under a male pseudonym. She is strong, devoted and demonstrates her love for Philip by insisting that focus on his medical studies. This means nothing to Philip because Norah's love takes on mundane characteristics. It isn't full of histrionics or morbid devotion.

Sally (Frances Dee) is quite young and fickle in her way. She seems fascinated with Philip and appears "fond" of him. However, she lacks any passion whatsoever and comes across as merely a mirror image of Philip. She's capable and strong, but ultimately dull. She's not the kind of girl one goes mad over or that causes one to nearly flunk out of medical school because he can't stop obsessing over her.

Those afflictions attack our hero because of Mildred, famously played by Bette Davis and her flickering Cockney accent. Mildred is unencumbered by almost every affectation expected in polite society of the well-bred woman. Mildred is ill-bred, snotty, corrosive, opportunistic and terminally bored. Philip falls into the psycic sewer for her and she gives him nothing for his troubles but frustration and heartbreak. He stupidly loves her and she sees it all to clearly. She sees it as a weakness and despises him for it.

The clubfoot plays an interesting psychological role in this film. There is suggestion that Philip suffers from a clubfoot of the mind--something that has emotionally crippled him and turned him into a pathetic ladies blouse who is quite unmanly in his inability to cast women aside when they no longer serve any purpose.

Overall, it is difficult to recognize love in this film. There is very little affection on screen. Sex is, of course, only implied.

There is a marvellous musical sequence that comes just after one of Mildred's many betrayals. The music fits perfectly with Philip's wan dejection. His depression is expressed with expert clarity, and it is a stunning moment in an thoroughly enjoyable film.

When I saw this film, I was pathologically attracted to the intense longing haunting each of the three main characters. Both Suzannah York and Glenda Jackson project an exquisite pathos that left me tingling with desire I've rarely experienced in front of a television set. Vivien Merchant glows with knowledge of the simple fact of her power over the lives of her filthy, animalistic subjects. She may be a mere mortal, and not royalty, but she nevertheless treats Solange and Claire with an insidious disdain that drives the film. She is one of the elect and they are...whatever, it isn't important.

Solange and Claire never complete their homocidal pantomimes with one another because they rely too heavily upon the pleasure inherent in the acts themselves. The rituals allow them escape and closeness that is otherwise denied them in their daily occupation as maids for an insensitive, psychologically cunning mistress.

Genet's play was based upon the case of the Papin Sisters, Christine and Lea. These were two incestuous sisters who worked as maids in Le Mans France in the early 1930's. Between them, they butchered both the woman of the house and her daughter. Christina dominated her sister yet cried out for her in prison.
The psychological bond between Christina and Lea led no less a personage than Jacques Lacan to write about them just after the murders.

This film is a bit of a conceit, because the dialogue is far smarter than one would expect from such lowly creatures. Of course, the joy is observing the great care and tremendous fun that each actress has with the words. Indeed, words are poison teasingly administered in a game of protracted strangulation that needs no precise denouement to bring on the flowers of oblivion.

Man, I was glad when Johnny Cash got out of the hospital. I've been saying for years that it will be a bona fide National Day of Mourning when he passes on. Now, he must face life without his soul mate. His faith has sustained him and his pain sustains us.

I admit to raw chills when NIN's "Hurt" came on. "Knowing is a dangerous drug", somebody said once. In this case, knowing that Trent's anger found expression through the Soul of A Warrior Priest caused legitimate tears to flow. I probably was crying the most for Johnny's loss of his beloved. I just hope he wants to stick around a bit longer because there are just so many songs I want him to rescue from the infidels.

Honestly, I'd been waiting for his rendition of Hank Williams' "I'm so lonesome, I could cry" with Nick Cave. It was the primary reason I wanted to hear *The Man Comes Around*. On Solitary Man, his cover of Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds' "Mercy Seat" weighs down with the urgency of imminent death while maintaining a grace that few men shall ever know. Sort of like Johnny, himself.

Overall, it is difficult to put into any kind of coherent language what Johnny Cash means to this Country. What he means to anyone who lives in the Spirit and not in accordance to the evil of Mammon. This Man is a Saint; I don't need a Pope to canonize him. I canonize him My Self. The closest living thing to holiness. If every Christian was like Johnny Cash, I would actually consider heaven in my future vacation plans. Regardless, these songs all convey various aspects of the malignency of existence. Johnny has written a testament to suffering and the elusiveness of redemption. We should thank him for it. I say, why wait till he is gone to honour him. We ought to Have a Johnny Cash Day right now!!!