Tokyo Story (1953)

The canon of great movies can sometimes feel imposing. During the first twenty minutes of Tokyo Story (1953), as the elderly couple settle into their eldest son’s home during their visit to Tokyo, I did think, “This is one of the most acclaimed movies?” Less a reaction to the film being boring or bad, but more just a reaction to continued exchange of polite pleasantries between people (barring the little boys acting rude). This is the second film I’ve seen of director Yasujiro Ozu (Late Spring being the first) so I knew his style was slow and that this was an accumulation, beginning with the ways in which people put on good manners and small talk, particularly within an extended family. By the end of the two hour and twenty minute film, I had tears welling up in my eyes. This is one of the most acclaimed movies, and deservedly so.

Even though Tokyo Story speaks to specific aspects of Japanese culture and the post-war transition to commercial growth, the film still remains very human and empathetic. It doesn’t stop at the obvious melodrama of an elderly couple being palmed off between their adult children during their Tokyo visit. As the narrative progresses, further details are revealed, shining new light on the relationships, from the history of the family and even that the elderly couple are not idealised, with the husband often being rude to the wife in private moments. Even with a film that ends on two characters agreeing that life is disappointing, the film doesn’t feel depressing or dispiriting, just complicated and nuanced, allowing for tenderness and kindness to remain even as characters remain alone in the frame. Great performances, particularly the transcendent Setsuko Hara as Noriko, the daughter-in-law, and Chieko Higashiyama quietly heartbreaking as the unassuming mother.

A beautiful film which gave me a certain warm glow of satisfaction – that I’d finally watched Tokyo Story and that it was as great as they say. Watched a copy on Kanopy. Recommended.

The Tingler (1959)

I grew up with a copy of the Cinemania 97 CD-ROM as a kid, which featured a John Waters commentary all about 1950s filmmaker William Castle who was a great influence on Waters and other filmmakers (including Joe Dante who made a fictional tribute to the guy in the John Goodman comedy, Matinee). A sort of bargain basement Alfred Hitchcock, Castle was known for his sense of showmanship and applying gimmicks to the low-budget horror and thriller B-movies he made. Watching The Tingler (1959) now, one of his most notorious horror movie gimmicks, there are obvious markers of its original cinema context; from Castle’s own intro to the camera at the start where he explains to audiences that screaming is the only defence against the titular monster (it feeds on fear, yet is released by screams) – to the ‘interactive’ scenes where the screen goes dark and we hear Vincent Price yell at us i.e. the cinema audience in the movie (one of the major suspense set pieces takes place in a repertory cinema) to “keep screaming!” I found all of this to be a lot of kooky fun, even divorced from its original context, which was for The Tingler to be viewed in a cinema of kids with rigged seats zapping them into believing The Tingler was on the loose. Yes, cinemas showing The Tingler would have cinema seats adjusted with a buzzer, which was promoted as the ‘Percepto!’ and involving an audience plant – a screaming woman – to get everyone on edge and ready to join in. Talk about participatory cinema! This doesn’t even cover the wacky concept of the movie, which is about an undiscovered creature that lives inside all of us and seeks to grip the spine when the body is experiencing waves of fear, or how many times people say the phrase “The Tingler” (which becomes the defacto name for this scientific discovery), or Vincent Price’s vindictive wife who is constantly two-timing him and they seem to be a film noir subplot of their own, just with a squid-like monster in the mix, or the hapless cinema owner and his deaf-mute wife, or the use of colour within a black-and-white film in one memorable sequence (recently quoted in the Ethan Hawke movie The Black Phone). Or my favourite part when Vincent Price wants to experience fear, tells his colleagues that nothing scares him, and then proceeds to lock himself into his lab in order to self-dose on medical ‘acid’ and freaks the hell out (“The walls!! The walls!!”). In conclusion: I love Vincent Price! Available to stream on Tubi in Australia. Recommended.

Written On The Wind (1956)

Quite a contrast to grow up with Robert Stack as an older guy in a trenchcoat walking out of the night to host Unsolved Mysteries on TV and to see him young as the alcoholic, suicidal son of a Texas oil baron in Written On The Wind (1956) with the most intense eyes ever. Directed by Douglas Sirk, the opening sequence sets the tone with Stack as Kyle Hadley tearing through the night in a yellow sports car while necking a bottle of booze as the Four Aces sing the movie’s theme. Then we get introduced to the quartet of main characters, actor’s names listed on each meaningful close-up of the stars, all in a lofty mansion on this fateful night and as the blowing leaves trail through the opened door, Sirk’s style is in full tilt; this is Melodrama with a capital M. Rock Hudson plays Mitch Wayne, best friend to Kyle, also working for Kyle’s father, Jasper Hadley (Robert Keith) but from a lower class upbringing, and thus also more capable, a rugged saint. While keeping Kyle company in New York City, Mitch introduces him to a secretary Lucy (Lauren Bacall). There’s an intensity to Stack’s performance as he courts Bacall’s character and seems like an immediate red flag, taking her in his plane to Miami while Hudson hangs back as a third wheel, already in love with Bacall and jealous of this developing, impossible relationship. Meanwhile, Kyle’s sister, Marylee (Dorothy Malone) is a blonde nymphet who makes reckless moves all over town even though she is besotted with Hudson who views her more as a sister. This is prime 1950s soap opera in gorgeous technicolor. The film even prefigures Red Desert with the colour contrast between Marylee’s pink convertible in the foreground with the grey oil drills and powerlines in the background. A model oil tower also becomes a prop in certain scenes and ends on some clear symbolism with the way a character handles it. There’s a split between the pure souls who care about others (Hudson, Bacall) and the spoiled brats who take others down with them in their self-destructive passions (Stack, Malone); all the actors are great, but Stack and Malone make the most impact with their showy, scenery-chewing performances. Complete archetypes with memorable lines of dialogue and dramatic actions. Much like All That Heaven Allows, with the fact that it’s set in the 1950s and the era’s interests in masculinity and virility, and how they are portrayed and amplified, it feels like a projection from another universe; another place, another time. I really enjoyed its overheated quality and the continual strife inflicted down this chain of family relations and secret loves. Available to stream on Binge in Australia. Recommended.

All That Heaven Allows (1955)

Seeing the doco series, A Personal Journey with Martin Scorsese through American Movies, on ABC when I was a teenager was the kind of uber-text that sets you up with a list of references, of movies to one day track down and understand why they meant so much to Marty and his enthusiastic testifying. In this series, Scorsese showed clips from the Douglas Sirk melodrama, All That Heaven Allows (1955) and in particular one scene was stuck in my memory, which I always thought was the final scene of the movie, where a television is given as a Christmas present. Scorsese saw this moment as an example of cinema responding to the growing competition of television in the 1950s and how the framing of the TV set, reflecting sadly a lonely character in its blank screen, was an indictment about its place in the family home, a substitute for human connection. All That Heaven Allows is an uber-text itself and I’ve seen more movies referencing it (such as Todd Haynes’ Far From Heaven) and the Sirkian style – where emotion and meaning are played out in the total frame and overall style from colourful set design and costuming. Finally seeing this movie for the first time, between its vibrant technicolor film stock and its evocation of 1950s small town suburbia, it felt like a transmission from another planet, another time and place. The vibrations are different here, to quote Sun Ra. Yet the emotions are clear and relatable as a lonely widow, Cary (Jane Wyman) steps outside of her social circle in a romance with a younger, more iconoclastic gardener, Ron (Rock Hudson). This becomes, unfortunately, the talk of the town for venomous country club gossips like Mona (Jacqueline Dewitt) and Cary’s ungrateful young adult children, Kay (Gloria Talbott) and Ned (William Reynolds). From this distance, the story feels like a period drama (based on a novel by Edna L and Harry Lee; adapted by Peg Fenwick) and the heightened aesthetic ensures the soap opera confrontations and narrative turns has an artistic impact. Everything appears lush and picturesque, even as its fabrications hold darker sentiments. I was quite taken by it, particularly Wyman and Hudson’s performances. Available to stream on Binge. Having only seen Imitation Of Life at uni, I’m keen for the other key Sirk texts like Magnificent Obsession and Written On The Wind. Recommended.

The Hitch-Hiker (1953)

It’s all a matter of time. You hear about a film, you see it pop up (particularly if it’s in the public domain – so everywhere, public access TV, crappy DVDs, free on YouTube), and know that at some point you’ll eventually see it. The Hitch-Hiker (1953) was always beckoning on the side of the road, renowned as the first film noir directed by a woman, actor-turned-director Ida Lupino. A low budget, independently made thriller based on a real life ‘hitch-hiker’ killer, the story reshapes names and details. Two buddies played by Edmond O’Brien (White Heat) and Frank Lovejoy (In A Lonely Place) are heading towards a Mexican town for a fishing trip, aimable working slobs, who run into bad luck when they give a ride to a guy standing next to a broken down jalopy. Turns out this leather jacket wearing, sweaty-looking stranger (William Talman – TV’s Perry Mason) has been robbing and killing people as a hitch-hiker, and is currently on the run from the law. With a gun drawn on them, the two poor fools are stuck in this predicament and we’re stuck there with them as they keep trying to find an opportunity to escape or warn passerbys, but are constantly thwarted. Thankfully the run time is so tight (71 mins) because much like the poor schmoes who have the misfortune to give the title character a ride, I was getting antsy and sick of this sadistic psycho who continually mocks them for being soft. Tense and effective, The Hitch-Hiker still has an impact and I was bolted during one potential escape. I felt in particular the sense of powerlessness of the two guys – they’re not square-jawed, tough guy heroes and are eventually reduced by the exhaustion and fear they’re undergoing, the only warmth to be found in this film is their devotion to each other. Great performances, particularly William Talman’s sweaty, cock-eyed presence as the killer on the road. Shot on location in the outskirts of California and as a film noir, it does feature dark eerie night passages, but the image you walk away from it is the sun beating down on three guys stuck out in the sandy plains and mountainous desert. I’m looking forward to catching up with the other Ida Lupino directed films from this era; The Hitch-Hiker remains an effective thriller that helps define and expand the concept of film noir. Streamed from Amazon Prime but available widely. Recommended.