100 Film Watchlist: Progress Report
I watched 57 hours of films, and you'll never guess what happened next!
Back in January, I made a list of 100 films to watch this year. I figured that since everyone was setting up helpful new year’s resolutions like “exercising regularly” and “spending time with loved ones,” I should follow suit and commit to hundreds of hours of sitting flat on my ass and watching movies alone. Since then I’ve watched 32 of those films, and only some of them have made me want to walk into the ocean. Here are some brief thoughts on four that I found interesting, if not always great.
Finian’s Rainbow (Francis Ford Coppola, US, 1968)
Burton Lane and E.Y. Harburg’s score is one of the Golden Age of Broadway’s most underappreciated, and it deserves a better film adaptation than the one we have. Petula Clark’s singing as Sharon McLonergan is very good, but her acting is stiff and lacking in conviction. Francis Ford Coppola’s direction tries to split the difference between extravagant Hollywood roadshow musical and New Hollywood anarchy but never commits to either, and he relies too much on montages for staging the musical numbers. The only moment with any emotional resonance is the ending. This was Fred Astaire’s final movie musical, giving his bittersweet exit to a reprise of “How are Things in Glocca Morra?” a meta-textual significance where the audience bids farewell to both the character of Finian and the film musical icon Fred Astaire. The less said about the show’s racial politics, the better.
Nights of Cabiria (Federico Fellini, Italy, 1957)
As someone who is already well-acquainted with Sweet Charity (both the stage show and the film), I enjoyed going back to the source. Cabiria (Giulietta Masina) is much less plucky and optimistic than Charity (Gwen Verdon/Shirley MacLaine). Masina’s performance has extremely effective moments—the final sequence in particular packs a huge emotional punch—but she plays everything slightly too broad, which doesn’t mesh well with the film’s mostly neorealist style. The film is most interesting when it breaks away from the neorealist style and ventures toward the surreal, particularly in the sequence when Cabiria enters Albert Lazzarri’s (Amedeo Nazzari) mansion. I’m definitely interested in checking out Fellini’s later films that more wholly embrace surrealism.
Watermelon Man (Melvin Van Peebles, US, 1970)
Of the two films here that involve a racist white man magically becoming Black to learn a lesson, this is the clear winner. Godfrey Cambridge gives a tour de force comedic performance as racist insurance agent Jeff Gerber, landing both the physical and verbal jokes without sacrificing the pathos of the final act. Estelle Parsons is also a standout as Jeff’s wife, Althea. I also love how Melvin Van Peebles and set decorator John Burton extend the screenplay’s satire into the film’s locations. Every room of the Gerbers’ house looks artificial and unlived in, more like a Sears catalog than an actual home.
What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? (Robert Aldrich, US, 1962)
This was a major blind spot for me, both as a fan of camp cinema and an admirer of both of the film’s leads. As expected, Bette Davis and Joan Crawford are spectacular in their roles as faded stars and feuding sisters. Davis takes full advantage of her flashier role, fully embodying Jane Hudson’s being with every part of her body. However, Crawford’s performance as Jane’s wheelchair-bound older sister Blanche is just as compelling. She tells entire stories with her eyes, and her restraint is the perfect counterbalance to Davis’s increasingly wild eccentricities. Where the film falters is when it leaves Jane and Blanche to focus on the other characters. While technically necessary to serve the plot in the final stretch, neither the Edwin Flagg (Victor Buono) nor the next-door neighbor subplots are very interesting; and the film would have better momentum if it cut out the sequences that try to flesh them out. Billy Wilder handled the social commentary on studio-era Hollywood’s treatment of actresses with more intelligence in Sunset Boulevard, but Crawford and Davis transcend the film’s weaker moments and create something really special.