Yearly Archives: 2011

Happy Halloween, everyone!

Well, here is the final installment of Hitchcock Halloween, and I have picked probably Hitchcock’s most twisted tale. A creepy motel, multiple personalities, an Oedipus complex, and a whole lot of chocolate syrup take center stage in this immortal (!) thriller, in which Janet Leigh takes most famous shower in cinema history.

If lighting was the cornerstone of Rebecca, the genius of this film lies in the music. How can anyone forget those screeching violins (as a matter of fact, I’m listening to the crickets outside and as I write this post, they’re beginning to sound like the screeching violins…) and the suspenseful theme of Psycho? The composer, Bernard Hermann, disregarded Hitchcock’s request for a jazz soundtrack and instead composed one of cinema’s most memorable scores using a small string ensemble, making use of the film’s small music budget. To be frank, the movie isn’t particularly exciting for the first half an hour or so, but Hermann keeps the audience on their toes by providing a riveting, suspenseful undertone that seems to tell the viewer “Look, we know it’s boring…but it will get better, we promise!”

And indeed it does. Norman Bates, a strange, shy man whom we meet early in the film, has an odd relationship with his mother, who is heard but never seems to be seen. We hear her and Norman arguing about his relationship to Janet Leigh (her name is Marion in this film, but no one cares–she’ll always just be Janet Leigh), and suddenly, while Janet is taking a shower…

The scene in its entirety is just over 3 minutes, but uses close to 50 camera cuts (and yes, I counted). When I first saw it, I didn’t see what all the fuss was about, it’s not a particularly scary scene. But when you analyze it for more than its scariness, it’s remarkable how artful it is and how carefully planned.

The effects of the shower scene were achieved through a variety of clever methods–the sound of the knife puncturing flesh was made by a knife cutting through a melon, and the blood that runs down the shower was actually chocolate syrup, having a more realistic density than stage blood and showing up better on black-and-white film. There was a pervasive rumor for some time that the famous sound of the screeching violins were actually bird calls instead of real violins, but this has been proven false.

Anyway, so Norman Bates’ mom is a weirdo, right? More than anyone knows.

Norman finds Janet Leigh’s body and throws it, along with all her other things, into a car and throws the car in a swamp. Because no one’s trying to cover anything up here…

After a series of events, a revelation comes out. It turns out that Norman HAS no mother–Norman’s mother has been dead for 10 years. So who is this we’ve been hearing so much about?

Norman himself. Norman is both himself and his dead mother. Who, by the way, still hangs out in the basement, as we find out in a VERY freaky scene. You’ve been warned:

Norman is taken to the police station where a psychiatrist deconstructs his split personality, while Norman (now in the “Mother” personality) sits in the cell. The ending scene is chilling, as Norman/”Mother” recites an internal monologue, in the voice of a woman.

And what is particularly scary, is the vision of a skull, for a split second, on Norman’s face as it fades into the car being pulled out of the swamp.

This is one CREEPY MOVIE.

That’s it for Hitchcock Halloween! Thanks for reading, and I hope you have a fun and safe night partying, trick-or-treating, or doing whatever it is you do on Halloween. Stay tuned for more posts tomorrow!

I have been wanting to write a post about Rebecca for some time now, as in the list of the top 10 most brilliant Hitchcock films, this one takes the #1 spot in my book. It is the perfect thriller and mystery, one that stays with you long after you’ve finished the last scene. For years after I saw the film for the first time, I couldn’t shake the image of Mrs. Danvers’ face as she watches a piece of the burning house fall down on her, and I must say that it still haunts me.

Those who are familiar with my blog know that I am a total sucker for anything related to the de Havilland sisters (either Joan Fontaine or Olivia de Havilland), but the brilliance of this movie has nothing to do with my bias toward Miss Joan. Her presence certainly doesn’t hurt, but I legitimately think that this is one of the best movies that has ever been made. I love to praise, but I never come out and say “This is one of the best movies that has ever been made” unless I really mean it. And I do here.

The genius of this movie is in its use of visuals above anything else. Hitchcock, in his first American production, not only employs his well-known skill with lighting, but also some very subtle but very spooky photographic tricks. One of my favorites is during the scene in which the Second Mrs. de Winter notices the flickering shade across the house, and Mrs. Danvers moves in to talk to her. After the SMdW becomes frightened and runs off, Mrs. Danvers continues to herself, “Listen…listen to the sea…” As the camera fades out, the image of Mrs. Danvers is eerily frozen onscreen for a split second. If this had been directed by any other director, I would say it was a flaw in the camerawork. But not in a Hitchcock film. His perfectionism didn’t allow for problems with camerawork. Moreover, the illusion is so spooky, that if Hitchcock for some reason didn’t intend for it to be there, he definitely succeeded in creating an almost anachronistically creepy tone for that scene.

All throughout the movie, Mrs. Danvers is just really, really weird. We see her creepiness right from the beginning, in a fantastic entry shot that sums up her character perfectly.

And just when we thought she couldn’t be creepier, she shows this almost erotic fascination with the dead Rebecca de Winter, showing the SMdW all the lingerie she keeps folded in her drawers. “Look,” she implores the SMdW, as she holds up a garment to her, “You can see my hand through it!”

I’m not sure how that scene got past the Hays Office.

(By the way, in this clip, look for Mrs. Danvers’ frozen frame that I referenced earlier in this post. It comes in at the very end of this clip.)

I’m not sure how a lot of things in this movie got past the Hays Office, actually. In one scene, Mrs. Danvers tries to lure the SMdW off the balcony to suicide. I suppose they were allowed more liberties because Mrs. Danvers is given an unhappy demise. Under the code, the audience should “never be thrown to the side of the crime, wrong-doing, evil or sin” (Motion Picture Production Code; Reasons Underlying the General Principles; Section I), which generally necessitated the ultimate punishment of any wrongdoing. Still, it’s a pretty racy movie for 1940, and it undoubtedly gave the Hays Office a lot of grief.

The film was a smashing success and was nominated for 9 Academy Awards, becoming the only Hitchcock film ever to win Best Picture. Joan Fontaine’s future of “firsts” with Hitchcock continued when she won the Academy Award the next year in Suspicion, the only performer who has ever won for a Hitchcock performance.

I leave you with a funny story about my connection with this movie. It was always one of my favorites, and I felt ashamed that I didn’t have a copy, so I ordered one on Amazon for a dirt cheap price (I was a starving college student). When the movie came, I thought the cover looked very strange…it was really flimsy plastic, and the cover looked like it had been printed from a computer printer. I thought “Oh, ok…it’s a bootleg.” I didn’t really think much of it, as long as the DVD worked, I didn’t care. So I put the DVD in…and Korean subtitles come on. I had ordered a Korean bootleg of Rebecca. I watched it so much that I began to pick up what characters corresponded to what words were being said, and thus I learned how to write some things in Korean, which is a pretty neat thing to be able to do, if you’re not Korean (which I’m not).

Thanks for reading, and thank you, Rebecca, for teaching me Korean!

How’s that for a still?

This scene is the marker for the beginning of the action in Dial “M” for Murder, a film that I think is far too overlooked in the Hitchcock pantheon. When most people hear the name “Alfred Hitchcock,” they tend to think of Rear Window or The Birds–if the person is slightly more versed in classic film, he or she might think of Rebecca or Vertigo. Rarely is Dial “M” for Murder included in the list of “essential” Hitchcock greats, and I think this oversight is massively unfair.

The story is really a brainteaser. When going over the plot here, I’m going to go over the bare basics, because if I told you every single detail, we’d be here all night. The main character (played by Ray Milland) is a cunning, brilliant criminal, who carefully plans every step of his crime to be one step ahead of the people on the other end.

The crime is that of getting rid of his wife (played by Grace Kelly), who had embarked on a secret affair with a crime novelist. His plan included getting an old college buddy over and convincing him to strangle her while he was out, leaving behind absolutely no trace of his ever being there, owing to his elaborate plan. However, he left one potential situation unplanned…

What follows is what can only be described as an elaborate game of “Clue.” A talented detective arrives, who questions everyone at the scene and through a series of circumstances, is convinced by Ray Milland that his wife murdered the man deliberately. Grace Kelly is taken to court, is convicted of murder, and is sentenced to death. The bit in court is brilliant, and features one of the most fantastic uses of color I have ever seen. Grace Kelly says not one word during the whole scene, and yet we FEEL her terror. It’s a real shame that the clip is not available on youtube. Even the still pictures give me goosebumps.

On the day of her execution, though, the detective comes to realize that there is evidence that would clear Grace of her crime. The final sequence is an absolutely brilliant mastery of suspense.

When people ask me my favorite Hitchcock film, I reply with this one and Rebecca. The first time I saw Dial “M” for Murder, I was literally on the edge of my seat the entire time, and when it was over, I wanted to watch the whole thing again. The fascination has not waned, this movie still holds me in rapture every time I see it. If you haven’t, you’re missing out. Given that it’s a major Hitchcock film, it is widely available, and you will be able to find it easily on Netflix or at the movie store.

Stay tuned for tomorrow’s installment of Hitchcock Halloween!

Starting later today, I am going to start what I am calling Hitchcock Halloween, which will be a 3-day countdown to the big day, Hitchcock-style. A new poll will show up in the “Polls” section, asking readers what they think is the scariest Hitchcock film, and I will profile what I consider to be the best. Feel free to leave your comments about the films profiled, and don’t forget to vote in the poll!

Here is Mr. Hitchcock on “What’s My Line?” I can’t wait!!

You may recall that when I made Myrna Loy the Star of the Week a few weeks ago, I discovered mid-week that there was to be a new biography, in fact the only biography ever written about Myrna Loy (aside from her own autobiography, Being and Becoming). This was a monumental coincidence, and I found myself tickled to death that 1) we were finally going to be able to read a biography of Myrna Loy, and 2) I had something important to report regarding the Star of the Week. Suffice it to say, I was really excited about this bio.

Fast forward a few weeks, and I discover from one of Backlots’ awesome and informative followers on Twitter that Emily W. Leider, the author of aforementioned biography, would be giving a reading on October 27….at the BookShop West Portal in San Francisco.

I’m from San Francisco.

BookShop West Portal, San Francisco.

So this evening at 6:30 (half a hour before the lecture was supposed to begin), I found myself perched in a folding chair in that tiny, picturesque bookstore, clutching my newly purchased copy of Myrna Loy: The Only Good Girl in Hollywood. I was rapturously reading the first few pages when the author, a very intelligent-looking woman in gigantic black glasses, came through the door with a huge entourage. It seems that she brought all her family and friends to the lecture! The people were all lovely, and I enjoyed listening to them talk about books (many of them seemed to be authors themselves) and Ms. Leider’s previous works before the lecture began.

(By the way, as a side note, I was literally the only person there under the age of 65. I’m not even exaggerating.)

After an introduction by the host of the evening, Neil of BookShop West Portal (which is a really lovely bookstore, make sure to check out their website, they do great things for the community), Emily W. Leider took the stage to talk about Myrna. She noted the makeup of the crowd, mostly friends or friends of the shop, saying “We filled the house!” She began by discussing Myrna’s early life and career up through The Thin Man, enriching the story with slides and video clips corresponding to the eras she was discussing. The technology was all handled by family members of hers and there were a few technical slip-ups that she seemed to barely notice. Her ease about the whole thing made me take note that this is a very down-to-earth, casual woman–to me, the perfect person to write about Myrna Loy!

After her presentation, Ms. Leider took some questions from the crowd. One attendee asked what Myrna’s favorite role was, and Ms. Leider very astutely responded that Myrna would have said The Best Years of Our Lives. I wholly agree. Everything I’ve read indicates that Myrna held that film far above anything else she ever did.

Another attendee asked what Myrna’s later career was like. Ms. Leider responded with a brief summary of Myrna’s post-war films, noting that Myrna found “Baby Jane” type roles degrading and refused to play them in her later years. She continued working into her 70’s, but always playing respectable roles in films that held women in high regard.

I wanted to ask her about Myrna’s transition from silent actress to sound actress, and how she was one of only a few stars who made that transition seamlessly, but after the second question she said very enthusiastically “Thank you!” and everyone started clapping. Oh well.

I went up to her after the lecture and asked her to sign my book, which she very kindly did. We started a small conversation when she asked me if I was a longtime fan, and I told her about Backlots and the Star of the Week coincidence. She seemed amused and wrote in my book: “To Lara, Viva Myrna Loy! Emily W. Leider.”

(Photo coming soon, my camera is broken!)

Thank you to Ms. Leider for writing this book, and to BookShop West Portal for hosting this event!

Upon falling asleep last night after a relatively uneventful evening, I had a dream about Carole Lombard. Mind you, I have not seen any of Lombard’s movies for about a month or so, and wasn’t particularly thinking about her yesterday, so this was a rather strange occurrence.

The dream consisted of my volunteering for a dinner party at a swanky restaurant in San Francisco (my hometown) with some friends. We were given our duties and then told by the host: “When Carole Lombard gets here, be sure to let me know.” I waited and waited for Carole Lombard to get there, and when she arrived, she was dazzling as usual.

But what really struck me about this dream was that this was not the Carole Lombard at the age she was at the peak of her career–in fact she never reached the age at which I was seeing her. This was Carole Lombard around age 50, looking radiant and beautiful, with her angel face and blonde hair unmistakable.

She came over to us and started a conversation filled with one-liners and jokes, and she stayed with us the entire evening, making us laugh. Carole Lombard was so captivating that we forgot to tell the host she was there, preferring to keep her for ourselves that evening.

I wonder what this means. Her birthday was on October 6, but now that it’s almost November, it has been nearly a month since the Carole Lombard internet birthday celebrations. Given the fact that she was nearly 20 years older than she was at the time of that tragic plane crash in the Sierra Nevadas, I like to think that she’s checking in to tell us that she’s all right and happy. I hope so.

Anyway, I close this little blurb with Carole as she probably would want to be remembered–for her hilarious antics, both onscreen and off. Thanks for reading!

For the last day of Rita Hayworth week. I hope you enjoyed the Rita theme this week–I actually think I’m going to change Star of the Week to Star of the Month, starting in November. That way I can have more time to really go in-depth with each star. But for now, here is a photographic tribute to lovely Rita!

Just a small note.

So as not to make you think you’re seeing things, I have added a “Backlots on the Web” section to the sidebar. In this section I have added a button leading to Backlots’ Twitter page and, after much ethical and moral deliberation, a PayPal button.

Times are tough for everyone, and classic film fans have recently been hit with a small 1929 with Netflix’s nearly 2-fold price hike. I completely understand if funding a classic film blog is low on your priorities list, but the button is there if you want to throw this author a bone–you can contribute as little or as much as you would like. Please know that your comments mean just as much to me, and Backlots will continue to operate as usual. The only difference is that the button will be there if a reader wants to make a financial contribution.

I hate money. I’ll just let Bette Davis talk about it.

I always feel so bad for those kids. Imagine your mother telling you “Yeah, we could get you that bicycle you’ve been wanting all year, but the only present you’re getting this year is a war bond.” What.

Thanks for reading, and for all your wonderful comments and support!

Turning 94 today is the beautiful, multi-talented stage and screen star, Joan Fontaine. One of my personal favorites, Joan now lives in Carmel with her secretary and her dogs, and continues to sign autographs and answer fan mail.

Primarily known as a “Hitchcock actress,” having starred in Rebecca in 1940 and garnering an Oscar nomination for her performance, Joan is the only actor ever to win an Academy Award for a Hitchcock film, for Suspicion, released the following year. She is noted for her striking beauty, and her excellence portraying shy, ingenue characters often abused by their male counterparts, as she did in both Rebecca and Suspicion, and in other noteworthy films such as the comedy classic The Women (1939) and the tragic Letter From an Unknown Woman (1948).

Born Joan de Beauvoir de Havilland  in Tokyo, Japan, Joan was raised with her older sister Olivia de Havilland in Saratoga, CA, in the San Francisco Bay Area (and, incidentally, not too far from where I live). Their English parents separated when the girls were very young, and their mother took them to Saratoga from Japan when it became clear that the climate was not conducive to their health. Joan spent part of her adolescence with her father in Japan and attended the American School in Tokyo, before returning to Saratoga and finishing her schooling at Los Gatos High School.

Sister Olivia left Saratoga for Hollywood shortly after graduating from high school, and Joan followed her after her own graduation. The beginning of her career was bumpy, compared to Olivia’s very smooth road to success in Hollywood, but eventually she began making a name for herself, starring in A Damsel In Distress opposite Fred Astaire in 1937, and The Women in 1939, before hitting the big time with Rebecca, filmed just after her marriage to first husband Brian Aherne. By the following year, Joan had gotten so much attention for Rebecca, that her career was soaring. 1941 saw Joan and Olivia pitted against each other at the Academy Awards, with Joan nominated for Suspicion and Olivia nominated for Hold Back the Dawn. Never having particularly gotten along, the tension between them that night was enormous. However, when Joan won for Suspicion, Olivia was the model big sister, photographed hugging Joan and looking at her with great pride.

From there, Joan’s career grew as she starred in 11 more prominent films throughout the 1940’s, including Jane Eyre (1943), The Constant Nymph (1943, recently remastered beautifully by the Library of Congress), and Letter From an Unknown Woman (1948). Her marriage to Brian Aherne fell apart in 1945 and she married William Dozier in 1946, by whom she had a daughter, Debbie. Later, she adopted a little girl from Peru by the name of Martita with her third husband Collier Young (Martita later ran away from home, a painful incident that Joan recounts in her book, No Bed of Roses).

At home with her children, circa 1954.

In the 1950’s, Joan’s career became more stage-oriented. She appeared in Tea and Sympathy  on Broadway in 1954 opposite Anthony Perkins and in the 1960’s she appeared in Private Lives,  Cactus Flower, and a production of Lion In Winter in Vienna, Austria. Though her last film was The Witches in 1966, she continued working on stage and on television through the 1980’s, writing her memoir, No Bed of Roses, in 1978.

No Bed of Roses did not speak kindly of her sister Olivia, and is said to have permanently caused a rift between the two legends. Each sister disapproved of how the other treated the death of their mother in 1975–Joan claims that Olivia didn’t make efforts to contact her on the road, telling her of their mother’s passing. Olivia says she did, but Joan brushed her off. Joan recounted her side of the story in No Bed of Roses, and speaks of her anger and frustration with what she perceives to be her older sister’s lack of consideration. To me, it seems like a simple miscommunication that solidified a decades-old problem between the sisters, and though we can’t know for sure, it seems as though they haven’t had much communication at all since 1975. At ages 95 and 94, it seems unlikely that they will resolve their conflict.

I am a huge fan of both Joan and Olivia, and have had contact with both. I have recounted my story of Olivia here, but last year I wrote to Joan after reading No Bed of Roses, which is a remarkably well-written, elegant book. She is a very, very talented writer, and I wanted to write and tell her so. I wrote a letter telling her how much I enjoyed the book and her films, and she sent me an autographed picture in the mail.

I also have a coat that belonged to her, thanks to a great friend in Norway who collects costumes and is in contact with Joan’s secretary. He had purchased a coat from Joan a while back, and sent it to me as a very generous gift, along with many of her DVDs and some magazine articles.

From what I hear, Joan lives a very happy, comfortable life in Carmel with her 5 rescue dogs, and she is in good health.I send her a card on her birthday (well…I’ve only started it last year, so I’ve done it twice), and this year I found a beautiful Japanese-print card with a dog on the front–perfect for Joan, who loves Japan and loves dogs.

When the silent era finally gave way to talkies in 1927, an art form was lost–the art of meaningful expression without words. When we look at the films of the great silent stars, for example those of Clara Bow, Norma Talmadge, or Lillian Gish, we see a wholly separate kind of film, one where actors are comfortable using their bodies to convey meaning and their eyes to show emotion, rather than relying on words. The filmmakers of the silent era were masters of “show rather than tell,” and as soon as the talking era came in, all that was lost in the novelty of sound onscreen.

In 1948, another noteworthy silent role came along–that of Belinda in Johnny Belinda, Jean Negulesco’s masterpiece about a deaf-mute farm girl coping with the difficulties of life in an ignorant, rural community. The title refers to Belinda’s son, conceived through a rape by a prominent member of the town who later comes to retrieve the baby, only to be shot by Belinda in defense of her son. Co-starring Lew Ayres as the kindly doctor who befriends Belinda and teaches her to communicate, Johnny Belinda was the winner of the Academy Award for Best Actress in 1948, going to Jane Wyman for the title role, and is regarded as one of the finest pictures to come out of the 1940’s.

The emotional power of the film comes from many sources, but the majority of the power comes from the character of Belinda, who despite her situation retains a lovely heart of gold. Jane Wyman, whose apple cheeks and sparkling eyes always make her look like she’s smiling, was perfect for the role, and for her work she garnered the first Academy Award given to an actress for a non-speaking role since the silent era.

There are so many compelling scenes in this movie, but the one that moved me the most was when Belinda, having been coached by her teacher, signs the Lord’s Prayer at her father’s deathbed. Please start the video at 4:45 to watch the scene.

Wyman redefined what it meant to act onscreen, relying solely on expressions and nonverbal interactions with her environment. It’s a really brilliant performance, and she deserved the many accolades she received from it.

14 years later, another young actress lit up the screen in a role not dissimilar to Belinda. Portrayed by the 16-year-old Patty Duke, the childhood of Helen Keller came to life in The Miracle Worker, and provided yet another chance to revive the lost art of wordless expression onscreen. The story concerns itself primarily with the relationship between Helen Keller and her teacher Annie Sullivan, and how Sullivan broke into Helen’s chaotic world and taught her that “everything has a name,” opening her eyes to the world around her. The film has become a true classic, and the climactic “water” scene is one of the most famous in film history.

The similarities between these two characters are obvious, but the main difference between them is, I think, the fact that Belinda possesses a soft, gentle nature–not wanting to harm anyone or anything. She is calm, almost angelically serene in all her actions, and her character is clear from her first scene–as she bends down to gently pet a newborn calf, we see that this is gentle soul. This scene serves to characterize her right from the start, and also foreshadows the love and tenderness Belinda will show her future son.

Helen, by contrast, is a wild child–untrained and primitive in her actions. She is frustrated by her world, her lack of limits, and the fact that she is essentially alone in the darkness without anyone to show her the way. She often acts out in a way that makes her seem more like a wild animal than a child, due to her lack of knowledge of her world. Patty Duke is absolutely magnificent in this role, and the scene where Annie teaches Helen how to eat breakfast shows especially well the frustrated and angry character of Helen.

Another interesting thing to analyze about these two films is the role of the teacher in each. Fittingly, the kind doctor who teaches Belinda how to communicate has a far easier time than Annie Sullivan does with Helen. Belinda is eager to learn, learns quickly, and has a wonderful relationship with her teacher. Helen is stubborn, obstinate, and refuses to do what she is told.  She hates Annie at first, locking her in her room and hitting her, sticking her with pins, and ruining her things. It takes Helen the entire movie to learn to communicate, while Belinda learns in 15 minutes! This is in keeping with the tone of each film, with Johnny Belinda being a docile, graceful story, and The Miracle Worker being a raw character examination of two strong-willed people.

In all, Johnny Belinda focuses more on the telling of the story rather than the inner emotions of the characters, while The Miracle Worker is more character-driven, with very little actual progression in the plot. A lot happens in Johnny Belinda, there are numerous plot twists and many characters to keep track of, and it is a film that moves along at a steady pace. The Miracle Worker has very few characters–in fact Helen and Annie are the only ones that really matter, and there is very little plot to speak of, the film focuses entirely on one event–Annie getting Helen to communicate.

Johnny Belinda and The Miracle Worker both received a multitude of Academy Award nominations. Johnny Belinda received a whopping 12 Oscar nominations, with Jane Wyman winning as the Best Actress of 1948.

The Miracle Worker was nominated for 5 Oscars, including Best Actress (Anne Bancroft) and Best Supporting Actress (Patty Duke), both of whom won for their portrayals of Annie Sullivan and Helen Keller.

Patty Duke winning Best Supporting Actress for The Miracle Worker.