A Serious Case of Cinephilia

Mia Farrow with a serious case of cinephilia in Woody Allen’s Purple Rose of Cairo

When I applied to graduate school in Cinema Studies back in 2001, I knew that I didn’t necessarily have the relevant educational experience, so I decided to put myself out there in the application’s personal statement. In my last semester of undergrad, I thought I was going in one career direction, but life had different plans, and I was stuck not knowing where I was going or what I wanted to do. After graduation, I decided to try an internship at a local film and TV production company and spent a year as assistant to the general manager, who also happened to be a producer. I walked away knowing that production’s long hours and intense demands weren’t a good fit with my personality, but I did realize that I wanted to take my love of movies (my cinephilia) and study film from a scholarly perspective, ideally in a city I loved. I was lucky to be able to do just that when my first-choice graduate program accepted me. And even though 9/11 almost sidetracked me, it didn’t stop me.

My department held weekly movie screenings all day Saturdays, during which actual films from the archives were shown to anyone who was interested, including members of the public. You could tell that like me, the regulars, who were mostly older members of the public, had serious cases of cinephilia, but they took it to a whole other level. Encased in the dark, cramped room, I was only able to sit through maybe two movies before needing to be let out into the sunlight. But some of those folks stayed all day each and every week. You knew it was serious when the sound of plastic bags being rummaged through for smuggled-in food would break the silence of an emotionally pivotal scene or piece of dialogue. Annoying, yes, but I had to tip my hat to their dedication and conviction. However, one day, something minor went wrong with the film’s projection, and one of the regulars decided the best thing to do would be to yell at the student projectionist. I decided the best thing to do would be to state that that wasn’t necessary before quickly exiting. I didn’t go back because while I could understand how the abrupt interruption of a filmic moment could lead to frustration, I couldn’t understand treating a student projectionist like that.

A few years later, I saw a small, digitally made documentary that I believe was called Cinephilia, but I’m not sure since I can’t seem to locate it now. Cinephilia (I’ll go ahead and call it that until I hear otherwise) showed a group of movie buffs, much like the Saturday morning regulars, who were so into movies that not only did they attend all-day screenings throughout New York City (Film Forum, Museum of Modern Art, etc.) but some of them considered it there full time jobs as well as their social lives. Who knows – some of those Saturday morning regulars might have been featured in Cinephilia; I just didn’t recognize them in the light!

Doubt: A McGuffin in an Unlikely Place

Meryl Streep and Philip Seymour Hoffman in Doubt

“It might be a Scottish name, taken from a story about two men in a train. One man says ‘What’s that package up there in the baggage rack?’, and the other answers, ‘Oh, that’s a McGuffin.’ The first one asks, ‘What’s a McGuffin?’ ‘Well,’ the other man says, ‘it’s an apparatus for trapping lions in the Scottish Highlands,’ The first man says, ‘But there are no lions in the Scottish Highlands,’ and the other one answers, ‘Well, then that’s no McGuffin!’ So you see, a McGuffin is nothing at all.”

And so, during a 1966 interview with French director Francois Truffaut, Alfred Hitchcock explained just what a McGuffin (sometimes spelled “MacGuffin”) is. In other words, it’s something, usually a physical object, that seems at first glance to be important to a film’s plot but is really just a pretense for the wider themes and character relationships.

Of course, Hitchcock’s films are rife with McGuffins. For example, in North by Northwest, everyone wants a statue that contains microfilm (what’s on the microfilm, we never find out). The Lady Vanishes’ McGuffin is a secret code embedded in a musical tune, while uranium in wine bottles is on everyone’s mind in Notorious.

McGuffins also appear outside the Hitchcock universe. What other purpose does the sled in Citizen Kane or the suitcase in Pulp Fiction serve?

But sometimes, the McGuffin isn’t an object at all, which is what I considered as I watched the film Doubt for the second time a couple of weeks ago. To give a very rough sketch of Doubt (the movie is similar to the play but on a larger scale), a very strict, disciplined nun (Meryl Streep) believes that a progressive, humane priest (Philip Seymour Hoffman) has sexually abused one of his male students.

While watching Doubt on stage and then the movie for the first time, my mind was jumping back and forth between “did he” or “didn’t he” as each new development arose. By the end, I didn’t know which way to think.

On my second viewing of the film, I had come to my own 95%-certain conclusion about the priest’s guilt or innocence (which might have been influenced by the fact that Hoffman, an actor I like, played the priest). However, does it really matter what I thought, or what other audience members thought? (However, Doubt playwright/screenwriter/director John Patrick Shanley did tell Hoffman and his New York stage counterpart the truth.) What does matter is the how the McGuffin brings up themes as well as character nuances and interactions in the midst of the situation at hand.

Or maybe as Hitchcock said, “It’s only a movie.”

Thanks to the members of my DVD discussion group (within a larger Charlottesville movie meetup group) for helping spark ideas for this post during our recent discussion of Doubt.

Whatever Happened to… Nuwanda and Spot?

Gale Hansen in Dead Poets Society

After watching Dead Poets Society this past weekend (as an English-literature nerd in school, I can’t get enough of it!), I got to thinking about two of my favorite “whatever happened to” actors.

So, whatever happened to…Gale Hansen, who played Charlie Dalton (AKA “Nuwanda”) in Dead Poets Society? Charlie was the smug rebel in his group of friends at Hilton, the private school at which Robin Williams’ Mr. Keating challenges his students with his non-traditional take on poetry (“Carpe diem, boys,” “Yawp!”). Some of DPS’ other more well-known alums, including Ethan Hawke, Robert Sean Leonard, and Josh Charles were teenagers at the time, but Hansen was already in his late twenties. According to Wikipedia, after DPS, Hansen did some television work, including Murder She Wrote; he also had a bit part in Woody Allen’s Zelig. Imdb.com states that Hansen serves as a creative executive at Film Finance Company in Beverly Hills. However, after further googling, I found that Hansen, who is actually a vice president of creative affairs at Relativity Media in L.A., is alive and well, tweeting with fans about Dead Poets Society at https://twitter.com/Montagsdayjob.

Gabriel Damon in Newsies

Which got me thinking…whatever happened to Gabriel Damon, Newsies’ very own Brooklyn representative, Spot Conlon? I remember seeing him on an episode of ER from the 90s, but that was it. On the Newsies’ DVD commentary, director Kenny Ortega says that he is out of touch with Damon and would love to hear from him again. In addition to a film role in RoboCop 2, his other television credits include Star Trek: The Next Generation and Baywatch. According to Wikipedia, Damon currently works as a producer, while imdb.com says he works in post-production and would like to pursue acting again. In my dream world, Kenny Ortega would direct a film version of Gilmore Girls (he directed some of the show’s episodes after all), and Gabriel Damon would show up as a possible love interest for Rory. And Gale Hansen could be Lauren Graham’s leading man (not sure what happened to Luke).

Roger Ebert

To say that I was sad to hear about Roger Ebert’s passing yesterday would be an understatement.

I wish I had met Ebert or gotten the chance to hear him speak, but bad timing prevented that. Every other year, he would conduct a shot-by-shot analysis of a film at the Virginia Film Festival in Charlottesville. However, the year I started volunteering for the festival (one of the years he was scheduled to come), Ebert learned that another film festival was giving him an award, so he had to postpone until next year. That next year, he was diagnosed with cancer and was never able to come back to the Virginia Film Festival.

Roger Ebert is a hero, not only because of his intelligent, accessible writing (his zero-star reviews are especially creative) and his deep, passionate cinephilia, but because he was doing what he loved up until the very end. And that’s a not a bad life to have led.

Oz Never Did Give Nothing to the Tin Man…

Near the end of The Wizard of Oz (1939), before she is about to click her heels back to Kansas, Dorothy whispers in the Scarecrow’s ear that she thinks she will miss him the most. I guess, like old army buddies, the two had spent the most time together and so had the deepest connection of the foursome (not including Toto, of course). For some reason, I always preferred the Tin Man. I’m not sure if it was the character himself, Jack Haley’s interpretation of him, or both.

Born in Boston in 1898, Jack Haley started out on the vaudeville stage as a singing and dancing comedian. Ray Bolger (the Scarecrow) and Bert Lahr (the Cowardly Lion) also got their starts in vaudeville before they transitioned to Broadway and Hollywood. In addition to Oz, Haley would appear in more than 30 movies for various studios, including musicals with Shirley Temple, Frank Sinatra, and a pre-Oz Judy Garland.

Haley stepped into the Tin Man’s shoes when original portrayer, Buddy Ebsen, was dropped by MGM after suffering an allergic reaction to the aluminum dust makeup’s fumes. He almost died but after the Oz fiasco, would go on to a supporting role in Breakfast at Tiffany’s with Audrey Hepburn and various television series, most notably The Beverly Hillbillies. The studio switched to paste for Haley’s makeup. To play the Tin Man, Haley modulated his voice to a softer tone and volume (maybe that’s one of the reasons I liked the Tin Man best?); you can hear his natural voice when he portrays Hickory.

In 1974, Haley’s son, Jack Jr., married Judy Garland’s daughter, Liza Minnelli; Jack Jr. and Liza divorced in 1979, the same year that Jack Sr. died in Los Angeles. I wonder what those family gatherings would have been like had Judy lived past 1969!

Margaret Hamilton (the Wicked Witch of the West), Ray Bolger, and Jack Haley in 1970

The Bathroom in the Museum

Roddy McDowall’s bathroom at the Hollywood History Museum

In the Hollywood History Museum is a bathroom. This “half-bath,” which includes a sink and toilet, sits in the midst of “Old Hollywood” movie costumes and props. The bathroom’s walls and surfaces are plastered in framed photographs, mostly of friends of the bathroom’s owner. Some of these friends happen to be Elizabeth Taylor, Julie Andrews, Johnny Depp, and other famous names. The bathroom’s owner is a talented photographer, although that’s not his “day job,” which is acting. As you stand in this bathroom in the middle of this museum, close your eyes. Now, open them. Now, open the door. When you walk out the door, the museum has turned into a house, and you find yourself in the middle of a party, and at the center of it is the bathroom’s owner: Roddy McDowall.

A child actor from England, Roddy made an amazing comeback as an adult actor in the 60s and 70s, most notably in the Planet of the Apes series (1968-1973) and The Poseidon Adventure (1972). He got a front row seat to the adulterous affair between his good friend Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton during the filming of “Cleopatra.” Roddy was known as a trustworthy confidante to Liz and other female stars looking for a sympathetic yet fun ear. However, Roddy died in 1998 never having shared with the world that he was gay.

 

Roddy photographing Julie Andrews

My Top Five Roddy McDowall Movies

Lord Love a Duck (1966)

Fright Night (1985)

How Green Was My Valley (1941)

Poseidon Adventure (1972)

Cleopatra (1963)

Honorable TV Mention: Twilight Zone episode “People Are Alike All Over” (1960)

Taking a break during shooting of one of the Planet of the Apes films

Malcolm McDowell’s Seemingly Rebellious Smirk

Malcolm McDowell's rebellious smirk in If...

I was excited to see Malcolm McDowell’s name in the opening credits for The Artist (2011), which I saw this weekend. Although I enjoyed the movie overall, disappointment enveloped me when I realized that his role was merely a cameo near the beginning; I kept thinking that he was going to pop up again, but that was not to be.

My first exposure to Malcolm McDowell, who has unfortunately become more famous for his villainous roles, happened in an undergraduate Cinema Studies class, which was supposed to be a “gut” course. I walked away with a B and a fascination with Malcolm McDowell, the star of three of the films on the syllabus. The class watched A Clockwork Orange (1971, traumatizing for me the first time, but now, I can’t live without it) as well as If… (1968) and O Lucky Man! (1973), both punctuated titles directed by Lindsay Anderson. (For more anecdotes about these films and his friendship with Anderson, check out McDowell’s filmed performance, Never Apologize (2007).)

Several years later, I traveled to New York City to attend a three-day film festival in honor of McDowell, who would appear in tandem with some of the screenings, at the Lincoln Center. I bought tickets for five or six screenings, including Clockwork, If, O Lucky Man, Figures in a Landscape (1970), and Caligula (1979). McDowell conducted Q&A’s after most screenings with the glaring exception of Caligula, which promptly replaced Clockwork as my new (and still-intact) traumatic McDowell film experience. I had several chances to meet McDowell at the festival but didn’t grab the opportunity, including when I could have introduced myself to him and his wife during a break, but something held me back for the sake of their privacy.

Malcolm McDowell's congratulatory smirk in The Artist

My fascination is with the smirk. McDowell’s persona is usually that of a punishing-and-punished little boy who turns on a rebellious, “screw-you” smirk when the heat is on and he wants to say, “I’m still here. What else have you got to throw my way?” He wears this smirk ever so briefly in The Artist but more as a gesture of “congratulations, job well done” toward the heroine. Maybe that’s what his seemingly rebellious smirks have been all this time, only turned in toward himself.