And we’re back! It’s been a bit of time since Angela (of The Film Confessional Podcast) and I have recorded an episode of the Cabin in the Woods Film Festival Podcast but this time we are back with a film about awkward, teenage vengeance, that film being Teeth.

Now, this isn’t what I would call a great horror film, but it does cover some common ground in a relatively novel way, and for me felt like a good way to wrap up a trio of “feminist” horror films. ranted none of the films paint women in a particularly good light, but Teeth at least makes an attempts to make its protagonist a fully realized character. Sure she may need to be sexually assaulted a few times for her to realize her own self-worth, but sometimes you can’t make an omelet without biting off a few penises.

And while Angela may not have had much fun watching this film, I sure had fun recording this episode, and really that is what matters. Well that and you guys enjoy listening to her getting annoyed and dumbfounded by me.

As always, thanks for listening!

Opening Theme – Help, I’m Alive by Metric
Closing Music – Trust Me, I’m a Doctor by The Blizzards

Cabin in the Woods Film Festival Podcast - Teeth 
[ 42:22 | 19.47 MB ] Download

Where the Long Tail Ends - Watching what no one else does Copyright 2013 Where the Long Tail Ends

And we’re back! In spite of a early May shower, James braved the elements and once again we have put out an episode relatively on time. It’s a Minnesota miracle! But besides that we have a jam packed episode of High and Low (Brow) as James and I discuss the Minnesota State Legislature, I give him two assignments for James Gillham: Pop Culture Guru and we all finally learn why James is afraid of naked women. Yeah, it’s going to be that kind of sure.

Besides the extra curricular activities, James and I get down to brass tacks and tackle this episodes theme, Psycho Biddies. For those of you who have no idea what that is,it is essentially a movie about a crazy old woman. What? I totally swear it is! Anyways, in this episode of High and Low (Brow) we review two Psycho Biddy movies, the first being the Hammer film The Nanny, starring the great Bette Davis. Follow that we track down the lesser known Lady in a Cage, which starts the always great Olivia de Havilland and an incredibly young James Caan.

One thing before we finish, if you have listened to the Twilight Commentary track that James and I recorded last month, we’d both love feedback on it. What you liked or didn’t like, and what you’d like us to focus more or less on when we do future commentary tracks. In spite of hating the film I had a lot of fun recording it so I’m hoping we’ll work it into our repertoire on a more frequent basis.

If you have any recommendations for films we could watch for High and Low (Brow), or want to suggest a potential theme for us to use, or simply want to tell James how awesome he is, feel free to email us and tell us your ideas. If you enjoy the show make sure to subscribe through any of the feeds in the right hand column so you can catch every new episode. Also, please friend James on Facebook, Letterboxd and his second attempt at Twitter. Because it will frighten and confuse him. And while you’re there be sure to join our relatively new Facebook group devoted to Where the Long Tail Ends.

One more thing, if you enjoy the show feel free to donate to it through PayPal in either a single installment or as a recurring donor. We’ve done some upgrading to our equipment in recent months, and every little bit helps as we continue to try ans stay ahead of the curve.

And, as always, thanks for listening!

Opening Theme – Adonai by Ennio Morricone
Closing Music – Iko Iko by The Belle Stars

High and Low (Brow) - Psycho Biddies [ 1:11:38 | 32.89 MB ] Download

Where the Long Tail Ends - Watching what no one else does Copyright 2013 Where the Long Tail Ends

THE STRANGER (1946)

The Stranger holds two distinctions in Welles’ filmography: 1) It was his most financially successful film, and 2) It was his least favorite. Given the rushed look of the final cut, neither of those two observations is surprising.

After the box-office failures of both Kane and Ambersons, Welles needed a project that showed he could bring a film in on time and on budget. In other words, he wanted to prove he was capable of following studio orders. And that’s appropriate given that the plot of The Stranger centers around the hunt for a former Nazi who, when confronted by his pursuer, pleads the old Nazi defense that he “was only following orders.”

But that connection is more a coincidence than intentional, as the project found him. Producer Sam Spiegel had liked Kane and came to Welles with an offer to play Franz Kindler, the Nazi, under the direction of John Huston. The script was written by Victor Trivas, who had previously penned two films, Mirage de Paris and Song of Russia, a war romance starring Robert Taylor. Welles offered to direct the film himself, and Spiegel, not wanting to lose Welles as the lead, accepted, with conditions. Welles had to agree to the cuts made by editor Ernest Nims, and if he got out of line, he’d be fired as director but remain as the star. If the film ran over budget, Welles would have to pay out of his own pocket the added expenses. And he had to cast Edward G. Robinson as the Nazi hunter, instead of Welles’ original choice, Agnes Moorehead.

The Stranger is a decent film, but it’s not the masterpiece of Kane nor even the could-have-been masterpiece of Ambersons. Since Welles had little control over the project right from the beginning, there’s no lost footage that could have made it great — such footage was never shot. Though there apparently was a 20-30-minute sequence of Meinike hunting for Kindler in South America that was cut. Similarly, in the Welles canon, it’s at the bottom of the list, and until I started this series, I was unaware of it altogether. No one discusses it, and it’s difficult to find much of anything written about the film. Even though Huston helped write the script, the sole mention of it in his autobiography is in passing. Despite that, there’s several interesting things going on. The first is that if you were to sit down a gaggle of film students, screen the flick for them, and ask who directed it, the bulk of them would probably say, “Hitchcock.” (And I apologize for the exceedingly poor quality of these stills. They’re taken from YouTube and…yeah.)

The film opens in a government office, the Allied War Crimes Commission, precisely, looking down on an angry Edward G. Robinson, who’s screaming something about leaving the cell door open and letting “him” escape. We don’t know who “him” refers to, but it’s a good guess that since “he” is locked up and since this is the AWCC, “he” is probably a Nazi, and an especially nasty Nazi at that. Robinson’s certainly worked up and, even breaks his own pipe, but the other fellows, particularly the Frenchman, because, dammit, he’s French, object to this idea, claiming it’s too risky. The opening is all of two minutes, and the scene following is  if that, and sets the tone for the frenzied pace that will sustain for the remainder of the film. More on that in a moment — there’s one thing I’d like to get to first.

Now I’m no Nazi hunter, but if I were, I’d think that no self-respecting Nazi would fall for such an obvious ruse. But then again, it works, and that’s probably why, years later, they’d try it again with GOB Bluth. Nevertheless, are we to believe that these are the top agents among the Nazi regime? Much is made of Kindler’s status within the party (and the fact that he never allowed himself to be photographed) — if he were clever enough not to leave any link connecting him to the Nazis in the (correct) assumption that they be defeated, why have such a moron as confidant?

Nazi practices his cover story, “I’m traveling for my health,” an excuse that will be ironic later, to himself, and while it may not be smart to keep reciting your cover story out loud, it nevertheless works. As the customs agents ask his country of origin, there’s an impressive crane shot sweeping up to the top deck, where (presumably) Robinson is telling one of his agents to follow Nazi. And Nazi dutifully heads to a photographer, asking the whereabouts of Franz Kindler — which will be the first name mentioned in the film, and whom we can tell is the bad guy because the music tells us so — and is directed to a small town in Connecticut. For that matter, I can only assume that the title “Nazis in Connecticut” was already taken by whatever the 1940′s equivalent of Asylum Film was — the same guys who had previously made the Welles’ knockoffs Citizen Man and The Savvy Rosenbaums, both of which probably starred William Bendix.

The fades and dissolves, the silhouette of the Fedora-Clad Spy, as well as canted angles and the crane shot are Wellesian touches, as is the quick beat of Nazi practicing his cover story, but there’s no grandeur to the opening. Kane had its newsreel, Ambersons had its vasiline-tinged narration (which I guess is the 1870′s version of the newsreel), but The Stranger doesn’t get the usual Welles’ scene-setting. Worse, it misses a great opportunity for suspense (and this won’t be the first time) with the Gal Spy tailing Nazi. There’s going to be a lot of Hitchcock comparisons flying around here, and we might as well bring him out now — if Hitchcock were shooting the scene, he’d make Gal Spy lose Nazi, or Nazi wise up to the fact that he’s being followed, or have Gal Spy attacked from the side, by the other two Nazis you didn’t even know were there — he’d do something, and if it can be wedged into the plot, hey, great! Of course, we don’t want Welles to be Hitchcock, but is it too much to ask he be aware of the genre his making?

Nazi makes his way to Connecticut by way of bus, with Edward G. Robinson hot on his trail, so hot he hasn’t had time to buy a new pipe. Nazi stores his suitcase at the General Store and skidaddles to the local gym followed again by Robinson. But this time Nazi knows he’s being followed and tries to kill Robinson with a rung, which clearly misses its target but knocks Robinson out anyway. His would-be captor eliminated, Nazi finally gets to Kindler’s boarding house and is greeted by Loretta Young, setting the curtains and going on about her impending wedding, as women do. She directs him to the local boys’ school, where Kindler is posing as a history teacher.

So far, everything’s been pretty straightforward, and the point of that rush seems to be getting to Orson Welles. This is a little confusing, since he’s the guy everyone has been searching for up to this point and, if it’s a Welles film, it’s pretty likely that Welles is going to play the protagonist — he was the protagonist in Kane and it’s not a leap to figure that he would have played George in The Magnificent Ambersons. Heck, he‘s even the “stranger” they refer to in the title! But the protagonist isn’t Welles, or rather “Franz Kindler,” Kindler spends the film reacting to everyone else; when Nazi informs him of his conversion, Kindler reacts, when the dog gets too close, Kindler reacts, when his wife knows the truth and confronts him, Kindler reacts.  These aren’t parts of Kindler’s grand plan, they’re complications — for that matter, the only action he’s taken toward enacting that grand plan is marrying the daughter of a Supreme Court Justice. And it’s not Nazi either, even though we’ve been following him so far. Nor is it Loretta Young. The guy to watch out for is Edward G. Robinson, who, as far as we know now, doesn’t even have a name and appears to be dead.

Despite that, we spend a lot of time with Kindler, who can go from chatting with his students as they ogle the saucy minxes of Harper to murdering Nazis out in the back forty. And incidentally, Nazi has a name! Meinike! Though it’s not much use to us since about two minutes after it’s revealed, Meinike gets whacked.

And what a whacking it is! After a long slog of exposition, Kindler learns that his fellow Nazi has found God and repented his sins (which does raise the question of why is he still carrying out Nazi orders), he asks Kindler to do the same, and they pray — and gradually Kindler’s hands twist into claws, clutching Nazi’s throat and choking him behind the bushes. It’s an ingenious twist of blocking, but Welles isn’t done yet — almost as soon as the murder’s committed, the boys charge through the woods, blazing down the paper trail, and suddenly, our sympathies switch from the Nazi(!) to the murderer. It’s a fantastic bit of cinematic sleight of hand, and it leads into some equally fantastic camera work as it follows Kindler scrambling to relay the paper trail, lest the boys discover the corpse.

I can’t recall too many action sequences in Welles’ filmography, but in both this and Chimes at Midnight, the action is shot from a slight distance and from the perspective of a particular character, as though they’re watching themselves, though, more accurately, it gives the impression that the entire world is out of sync. Welles tends to be very deliberate and controlled with his camera, and when I first watched the sequence, it was jarring to see. It’s also one of the most Hitchcockian moments in the film — relaying the paper trail is a page (sorry) right out of Hitchcock, and while Hitch was already an established director by 1946, this is the kind of touch that seems more ’50′s Hitchcock, but then he’d made Shadow of a Doubt in 1943 and starring Welles regular Joseph Cotton, and there’s more than a few similarities between this film and that one. I don’t think it’s a stretch to believe that Welles had studied Hitchcock prior to making The Stranger, but then he misses another chance to add some more suspense, as the paper trail is only a small moment. I expected a little bit more with Welles ambling around, cross-cut with the boys in pursuit, Welles tossing the strips away from the body, the boys getting closer, and so on. Instead, it cuts to Kindler’s wedding.

And, just as soon as the wedding commences, Robinson awakes and does what any sensible War Crimes agent would do: heads to the General Store. It’s a bit odd that so little is made of the wedding and so much is made of Robinson at the General Store. Erratic as these cuts are, the sequences in the General store are some of the best stuff in the movie. The checkers match, as well as the Store Clerk and his exchange with Robinson, makes us feel like we’re back in an Orson Welles picture instead of some ghoulish Hitchcock Frankenstein monster — people with their own concerns and goals and agendas are talking. One thing I admire about Welles as a writer, or at least rewriter, is that his supporting characters always have their own personalities — yes, they’re in this or that scene because the script requires them to be, but they have a life outside of the screenplay’s demands — or, I believe I read this phrase somewhere, everyone behaves like the others are characters in his own story. And that’s the feeling you get from the Store Clerk. The actor, William House, came from burlesque theatre; Welles had been a fan of House and enjoyed his performance so much that he expanded the character — something that apparently upset Robinson since the revisions were at his character’s expense, which can be seen from his chronic frown whenever he plays opposite House.

The lingering sequence of Robinson at the store is bookended by Kindler’s wedding and reception, where Kindler slips out to bury Meinike’s body (and I do love the shot looking down on Welles burying the body).

Robinson crosses name after name from his list and looks out the window at the town clock, which is in the middle of its mid-day seizure. He goes to investigate and meets Noah Longstreet. They exchange some clock-related pleasantries and Noah reveals that his brother-in-law is Rankin…Charles Rankin. Well, he doesn’t reveal so much as force it on Robinson, who doesn’t appear to realize that Rankin’s name is on his list, which is understandable since he appears much more interested in discussing clocks than in hunting Nazis. Now that may be part of his cover, and I’m sure any good detective has the ability to make it look like they’re not detecting at all, but so far the clues have simply fallen into Robinson’s lap, as it’s not only the townsfolk, but now cosmic forces doing everything short of slapping Robinson in the face with a big “It’s Rankin! The Guy you’re looking for is Charles Rankin!” embroidered gauntlet.

Robinson’s chat with Noah lands him a spot at the Longstreet dinner table, and I can confidently say, without a shred of irony, that anytime a bunch of people are eating in a Welles’ film, it’s going to be one of the movie’s best scenes. And not only one of the best scenes, but also one of the most thematically important. In Citizen Kane, it’s at a dinner party when Charlie decides to abuse his power of press to declare war on Spain; in The Magnificent Ambersons it’s at a dinner party when George and Eugene have an argument over automobiles and Eugene explains the whole point of the film; in F for Fake it’s at a dinner party when Welles tells his retinue stories and guzzles down lobsters the size of toilet seats. If someone’s sitting down to eat something in a Welles’ film, you should pay attention.

And there’s no exception here. The usual pleasantries open the meal, and then the discussion turns to the German people, and Rankin tries to skirt the subject until he’s pressed, launching into a long speech, almost rehearsed, about the inborn barbarity of the Germans. Noah counters by noting that Marx at least pressed for some kind of liberty, and Kindler replies that Marx was a Jew, and that the only course for containing the German people is annihilation. Not only is it some great subtle cross examining (look at Welles’ head bow when Robinson, excuse me, Wilson, says he arrived into town on Friday) that lets Kindler know that Wilson knows and that he knows Kindler knows, but it broaches the idea of free will in an otherwise lackluster thriller. I mentioned at the beginning of this undertaking that Welles’ movies have the framework of popular fiction, occasionally even pulp, but he somehow elevates the material — and exploring a rather complex philosophical issue is certainly a way to do it.

There’s a great line in the film (and play) They Might Be Giants about the main character, a judge, who goes nuts and believes himself to be Sherlock Holmes. One of the characters, describing the early life of the judge, before he went insane, mentions that he loved cowboy films, because the line between hero and villain is so clearly drawn. The same could be said about the idea of predestination: People are born either bad or good, and nothing they can do will change that — and for a predominately “studio” film, as opposed to an Orson Welles’ film, it does the handy task of removing any sympathy for the bad guy. But the dinner scene doesn’t feel like it belongs in this film. I don’t know for certain which parts were written by Trivas and which were written by Welles, but the dinner scene and everything at the General Store has an air of sophistication that’s lacking throughout the rest of the film. However little control Welles had over the script, it’s not wild speculation to presume he wrote this scene — both for the complexity and for the fact that Welles shared a similar opinion toward Fascists, as written in several articles he wrote for The New York Post. Regardless, and useful as the idea of predestination is for erasing the fissures between good and bad,  it is perhaps the most dominant theme Welles explores (as best he can).

It also adds another dimension to the symbol of the clock — the idea that things are assembled in perfect working order, and if that order is disrupted, the whole thing flies out of control. Aside from the obligations of the screenplay, that’s why the clock is never working; it’s a representation of Kindler who has been wedged into this pedestrian life that requires him to deny his very Nazi nature. Tough luck that he was born a Nazi, but that’s who he is, and he can’t change it.

And while we’re still at dinner, let’s get back to Wilson. Immediately following the dinner, Wilson informs his superior that Rankin is above suspicion, and after he awakes from his dream he realizes that only a Nazi would deny Marx his Germanality because he was a Jew. I can buy that Wilson has a talent for playing dumb, but still, this is shoddy detective work, and it undercuts any mystery to the film. Granted we already know that Rankin is the guy the moment we meet him, but you can still write a mystery around the audience knowing the killer’s identity before the detective — there’s an entire series based on that formula — and its detective is miles ahead of Wilson.

So Wilson knows that Rankin is Kindler, and what does he do? He accuses him He arrests him He goes fishing and then heads back to the General Store for another game of checkers. While there, Kindler shows up with his wife, right as the Clerk and Wilson are rummaging through Meinike’s suitcase. Mary (Kindler/Rankin’s wife) starts to mention something about Meinikie but is restrained by Kindler, which Wilson oversees, and finally Noah enters, anxious that the dog is missing. Wilson reveals the truth about Kindler to Noah, who protests that his sister will stand by her husband unless she can be convinced of his evil And we awkwardly cut to Kindler, already forming his cover story for the murder of Meinike — he claims he was blackmailing him for killing his sister, which was an accident. The next morning Noah finds the dog, dead of poison, and in the first real bit of detective work in the film, Wilson reasons that from the dried leaves and mud on the dog’s paws he must have been digging for something, and since he was poisoned, could only make it so far from where he was digging.

The search for the body begins, and once Kindler finds out he elaborates on his story, confessing to the murder of Meinike to Mary but maintaining the lie that he did it for her. It’s a good twist, and the performances by Welles and Young sell it, but this entire sequence, the most dramatic turn in the film, is nearly washed out from the dreadful score. I don’t want to harp too much on it, but the music in The Stranger really is rotten — and that’s not simply because we’ve been spoiled by Bernard Herrmann for the past two films. Here is the score is provided by Branislau Kaper, a name that has nearly 140 composer credits, and among them, the only two films I recognize at a cursory glance are The Brothers Karamazov and The Red Badge of Courage. And from those, I don’t recall one note. Kaper’s music embellishes every tic — like a grandmother laying out everything wrong with your generation, and you have to sit there and listen.

Wilson has Judge Longstreet phone Mary and request her to come over. It’s a stage set by Wilson to show Mary the extent of Kindler’s crimes, which he does by way of actual footage of concentration camps. For trivia fans, The Stranger is widely recognized as the first film made after World War II to show such footage. and yet, Mary still cannot face the truth.

Kindler returns to the General Store to retrieve some ice cream for the wedding party the couple have planned and also some sleeping pills, whose purpose we can confidently guess at.  It’s a quick beat, but another good one, mainly thanks to House’s performance. Welles needs to get the exposition across that Kindler’s buying sleeping pills, and instead of being subtle about it, he deftly has the Store Clerk go on a rant about them — they’re unnatural, he claims, stating that the only thing that should bring on a good night’s sleep is a hard day’s work. It’s overt, but it’s also entirely within character. But mention of a hard day’s work is unintentionally paradoxical, given whom he’s delivering it to. Especially since we’ve just seen the results of Kindler’s past occupation as the head of a concentration camp — one of the most “efficient,” actually, which is a similar bit of dark irony. The job of exterminating a group of people, however good one is at it, isn’t the kind of hard work that should let you sleep easy. Nor, for that matter, is the job of tracking down Nazis and putting others in danger, nor, again, is the housewife who is put in danger and just wants to stand by her husband. Kindler, Wilson, and Mary are the three people we see “working” in the film, and none of them have sleep-inducing jobs.

This is another instance of predestination. With a title like The Stranger, the theme of identity seems important, and here almost everyone is identified by their “job” — Kindler is, again, the former head of a concentration camp, and that’s why Wilson, a detective, is tracking him. Whatever life Kindler has made for himself here in Harper is unimportant, all that matters is that he used to be a Nazi. Does Wilson actually care about the people Kindler killed? It may be due to the stiffness of Robinson’s performance, but he certainly doesn’t seem affected by the footage he shows Mary, and he’s disturbingly casual about his suspicion that Kindler plans to kill her. For all his tenacity, he doesn’t appear to take any satisfaction in his job or have much of an appreciation for human life, which may be why we’re always identifying him by his stiff, wooden pipe.

Mary, more interestingly, tries desperately to be defined by her role as housewife, hoping that by doing so, her husband can somehow, magically, not be a Nazi. If there’s a moral to The Stranger, it’s that no one can reinvent themselves or escape the person they truly are — Meinike will always be a Nazi, and his conversion to Christianity is the thing that ultimately kills him; Mary’s assumption of the housewife role very nearly kills her; and Kindler, no matter how hard he tries to bury something, whether it be his past or a dead body, it will always resurface. The only people who seem perfectly comfortable with who they are are Wilson and the Store Clerk. It’s a bleak bit of predetermination, but it seems appropriate on a meta level for Welles himself making the film — “Okay, I’ll abide by the studio’s decisions, but, dammit, this is not how Orson Welles makes movies!”

And if that’s not enough, there’s also the incessant clock chiming, which the Clerk notes is keeping people awake. I’ve touched already on the symbolism of the clock, but the most pervasive use of it, one that rings (sorry) heavily throughout the film, is as a reminder to everyone, particularly Kindler, that their past is catching up to them.

And from there, we go to another wedding party, leading to the penultimate exchange between Kindler and Wilson. A partygoer asks Kindler to recount a quotation from Emerson, which escapes him at the moment, but it doesn’t escape Wilson, who recites it with no small display of satisfaction. The quote is, “Commit a crime and the world is made of glass. Commit a crime, and it seems as if a coat of snow fell on the ground, such as reveals in the woods the track of every partridge and fox and squirrel and mole.” The past will out, indeed. This, like Kindler’s speech at the table previously, feels scripted. Yes, Wilson is on to Kindler, and it’s only a matter of, yes, time, until he catches him. Yes, it does reinforce the “no free will” theme underlying the film. But this doesn’t introduce any new angle or idea into the film; do we need to evoke Emerson simply to restate what’s already obvious? Actually, it would work better as a capper to the scene, which features another Hitchcock turn when a partygoer tells Wilson that he’s the number-one suspect in their murder mystery. Why not play it as everyone in town suspects Wilson, have Kindler play a bit off that, and then end with the Emerson quote?

The party ends and Kindler confronts Mary about inviting Wilson. She cries and yanks the beads from her necklace. The Maid spies this, and, after they’ve gone to bed, sneaks over to Judge Longstreet’s to relate the events to he and Wilson. The Judge reminds her, and us, that Mary’s life is in danger, and we’re further reminded by the next scene of Kindler sawing the rungs of the ladder up to the church tower and then making up a list, checking it twice, and underlining the phrase “Establish Time.”

He calls Mary, telling her to meet him at the church. Mary heads off, the Maid asks where she’s going, and Mary chews her out. The maid has a heart attack, causing Mary to call her brother to go to the tower himself and tell Kindler that she’ll be late. Noah tells Wilson, and the two head to the church.

Kindler meanwhile is camped in the General Store, ESTABLISHING TIME by playing checkers with the Clerk, and when two of the schoolmarms wander in, he makes certain to mention what time it is, and they ironically (and yes, I realize I’m not using “ironically” correctly; I’m using it ironically) chide him for being the Absent-Minded Professor when he, of course, is anything but. It’s a good touch, but by far my favorite part of this sequence is Kindler drawing a swastika while he’s on the phone.

It may be another instance of predetermination, but even to a mongoloid who’s seen all of two movies (say The Butterfly Effect and The Switch) and is unfamiliar with how subtle or how overt they can be would sniff Amiss among this. Yes, Kindler is a Nazi, and as we know, all Nazis will remain Nazis until they’re kaput, but would even a Nazi as clever and calculating as we’re supposed to believe Kindler is, would he casually draw a swastika in a public place and not realize he’s doing it? It does give Welles something to do while handling the dull task of delivering exposition, but, seriously Orson, a swastika? Are Nazis really that careless? Well, at the beginning of the film we did seeMeinike practicing his cover story on the deck of a steamer, surrounded not only by the usual boaters, but the very people he should suspect are tailing him.

Wilson and Noah head to the church, and in another Hitchcockian touch, ascend the adder, with the camera closing up on Wilson’s hand as the clutch each rung. Another good idea but too quickly executed, never lingered upon, to pay off. Kindler’s trap fails to kill, and Kindler heads home shocked on arrival (which would be a great title for a movie) to see Mary alive. He blows his top and it’s so good, it feels like a real movie again. Welles may have been comical destroying the room in Kane, but he sells the man unhinged here. Kindler accidentally slips the reveal that Mary should have been in the tower and immediately catches himself — the bug-eyes he’s sported the whole movie balloon as though he were an acrobat in the moment of seeing his wire cut. And as goodly blustering as he is, he’s upstaged by Young, who completely loses it when Mary realizes Kindler’s true identity and dares him to kill her, thrusting a fire poker into his hand. The scene has an immense amount of passion, highlighted by the distinct lack of it in the film so far. And yet, its power, like many of the other scenes in the film, is again diminished by the music, which plays too loud and too on point that it distracts rather than complements the drama.

Wilson and Noah arrive to find Kindler gone and Mary mid-faint. They take her to her room, and shortly after Mary awakes and heads to the church. Her absence alerts Noah and Wilson who follow. Wilson arrives and confronts Kindler, noting that every space has closed in on him as he backs Kindler into a corner. And Kindler, with the light masking half his face, his eyes  once moer and for the last time ballooned, claims he was only following orders. Mary distracts Kindler, giving Wilson a chance to slap the gun from his hand, which Mary retrieves and begins shooting, missing Kindler but striking the gears of the clock. The twin figures of the knight and the devil spin rapidly around their track. Mary fires again and hits Kindler, who scurries up to the rafters and falls out onto the track, regaining his footing…only to be impaled by the knight and then tumbling hundreds of feet to his death. That’s three separate deaths — and while I’m not too surprised that Welles would be predicting some Hitchcock and Carol Reed in his films, I am very surprised that he even predicted Michael Bay. and speaking of Hitchcock, there’s one last Vertigo-esque shot of Welles impaled on the knight’s sword coming toward the camera as it zooms away from him.

Kindler dead, there’s a 30-second rush to the end with Wilson sitting atop the clock tower, asking for a new ladder. The end.

I opened by saying that The Stranger is Welles’ least favorite of his own films. Given some of the awkward cuts to and from many scenes, the straight-forward plot, and the overall sense of haste, I can understand it. However, there’s a lot of interesting things going on — for good or bad, the direction echoes (or predicts) classic Hitchcock; the theme of predestination is an especially nihilistic take from someone specializing in the darker aspects of human nature; portions of the dialogue seem stolen from a far superior movie; and the death — Jesus Christ, the death — is jaw-droppingly brutal. Unfortunately, even more than The Magnificent Ambersons, The Stranger is a mishmash of direction and pacing. It does provide a lot of things to talk about, but in terms of depth, they’re only starting points or meager observations.

Next time — THE LADY FROM SHANGHAI (1947)

Where the Long Tail Ends - Watching what no one else does Copyright 2013 Where the Long Tail Ends

And we’re back! James and I sit down to record something completely different, a commentary track for Twilight. Thanks to everyone who voted, though let me clear that I am simply thanking you for your participation, not for the result. For that I can only not so secretly hate you for this grossly unfair punishment.

Unfortunately for James he is forced to deal with the brunt of my disgust at this disastrous result, but hopefully for you dear listeners that means the Twilight commentary track ends up being at least somewhat entertaining. James certainly attempts to put up a good fight before simply ignoring me and settling in to enjoy his gothic romance stories. Don’t worry, that doesn’t even phase me for a second.

Once again thanks to everyone for voting and giving us great feedback so far. This first commentary track is really meant to be an initial test to see if people like the dynamic and get feedback on what we can do to improve them. We do intend to make future commentary tracks only available to those who donate, though we have quite worked out when that will go into effect or when we’ll even record the next episode.

Please let us know in the comments what you think of this episode, what we can do to improve these commentary tracks and even give us suggestions on what films you’d like us to do commentaries for. And, if you really do love us, please feel free to donate. And as always, thanks for listening!
And we’re back! James and I sit down to record something completely different, a commentary track for Twilight. Thanks to everyone who voted, though let me clear that I am simply thanking you for your participation, not for the result. For that I can only not so secretly hate you for this grossly unfair punishment.

Unfortunately for James he is forced to deal with the brunt of my disgust at this disastrous result, but hopefully for you dear listeners that means the Twilight commentary track ends up being at least somewhat entertaining. James certainly attempts to put up a good fight before simply ignoring me and settling in to enjoy his gothic romance stories. Don’t worry, that doesn’t even phase me for a second.

Once again thanks to everyone for voting and giving us great feedback so far. This first commentary track is really meant to be an initial test to see if people like the dynamic and get feedback on what we can do to improve them. We do intend to make future commentary tracks only available to those who donate, though we have quite worked out when that will go into effect or when we’ll even record the next episode.

Please let us know in the comments what you think of this episode, what we can do to improve these commentary tracks and even give us suggestions on what films you’d like us to do commentaries for. And, if you really do love us, please feel free to donate. And as always, thanks for listening!

Twilight Commentary Track [ 2:12:06 | 60.54 MB ] Download

Where the Long Tail Ends - Watching what no one else does Copyright 2013 Where the Long Tail Ends

And we’re back! So far we are keeping up on this once a month pace of the show, though all the pre-recorded segments really made editing this together a pain in the ass and delayed posting this by a few days. I have no one to blame but James for that. That all being said, this episode is jam packed with all sorts of things that have nothing to do with movies.

First, James introduces his newest segment, Matt Gamble: Conscious Consumer, in which he asks me why I do the things that I do. Or something like that. All I know is I was forced to eat my first ever White Castle “hamburger” on this episode, and the ensuing results were explosive.

But besides that James and I actually get around to the main point of this episode of High and Low (Brow), that is examining this episodes theme, Southern Comforts. Now this theme covers a subset of exploitation films that are primarily set it the backwoods of the Deep South, which have been affectionately referred to as Hixploitation films. For this episode we review two films, the first of which is the relatively well known and respected film Southern Comfort, of which I drew the title for this episodes theme. The second is a far lesser known and regarded film known by such names as Black Vengeance, The Girl in The Web, The Victim, Redneck County, Redneck County Rape or Heartbreak Motel. But we only know it as Poor Pretty Eddie. These end up being two wild and strange tales, and maybe, just maybe, we found something about them we could agree upon.

Besides that, the results of the poll for which film we will record a commentary track are announced, and we hope that this proves to be a fun way for you to give back to us without us having to guilt you into it. Also, we just received word that we’ve been added to Stitcher Radio, so for those of you using an iPhone or an Android phone please feel free to check out our show that way as well.

If you have any recommendations for films we could watch for High and Low (Brow), or want to suggest a potential theme for us to use, or simply want to tell James how awesome he is, feel free to email us and tell us your ideas. If you enjoy the show make sure to subscribe through any of the feeds in the right hand column so you can catch every new episode. Also, please friend James on Facebook, Letterboxd and his second attempt at Twitter. Because it will frighten and confuse him. And while you’re there be sure to join our relatively new Facebook group devoted to Where the Long Tail Ends.

One more thing, if you enjoy the show feel free to donate to it through PayPal in either a single installment or as a recurring donor. We’ve done some upgrading to our equipment in recent months, and every little bit helps as we continue to try ans stay ahead of the curve.

And, as always, thanks for listening!

Opening Theme – Adonai by Ennio Morricone
Closing Music – Hello Villag by Failotron

High and Low (Brow) - Southern Comforts [ 1:33:28 | 42.81 MB ] Download

Where the Long Tail Ends - Watching what no one else does Copyright 2013 Where the Long Tail Ends

THE MAGNIFICENT AMBERSONS (1942)

Despite Hearst’s attempts to block Kane, among them refusing to advertise it in his papers, siccing gossip columnist Louella Parson’s on RKO’s president George Schaefer, and, according to Welles, hiring an underage girl and a troop of photographers to personally set him up, the film was moderately successful at the box office. Both Look magazine and the New York Film Critics’ circle chose it as the best film of 1941, and Welles and Mankiewicz won an Academy Award for Best Original Screenplay. It received eight Academy Award nominations, including Best Picture, but lost to How Green Was My Valley.

Welles’ career was not over, but neither were his troubles. Although he had final say over Kane, his contract with RKO gave him control of only the first rough cut of his next film. The project he choose was an adaptation of Booth Tarkington’s 1918 book about a family of distinction falling from prominence and security amid the rise of industrialization. More than any other Welles’ film, Ambersons is cited as an example of “What could have been.”,Welles’ original cut ran 148 minutes. and soon after filming completed in January 1942, he was flown down to Rio de Janeiro to begin production on It’s All True, an anthology film depicting life and culture in South America, made for the U.S. war effort as a show of good faith. That film had its own problems: Again according to Welles, it was cursed, and one morning, upon finding the script pierced by a needle tied with red string, production ceased.

While shooting one film, Welles was editing another. Editor Robert Wise would regularly send prints of Ambersons to Welles, who would respond either through cable or telephone. In March, Wise informed Welles that Schaefer had held a screening of the film for himself and Charles Koerner, who, by most accounts I’ve read, intensely disliked Welles. They in turn held a sneak preview in Pomona, generating a mixed, if not mostly negative response.

Welles in South America for It’s All True

Cuts were ordered, contracts were disputed, and further screenings were negative. Welles agreed to add a slightly more uplifting ending, but the studio rejected his concession and ultimately excised nearly an hour of footage in addition to altering Bernard Herrmann’s score enough that he threatened legal action if his name appeared among the credits.

What was left is the film as it appears today, which, despite its tumultuous construction, is still acclaimed mightily. Like Kane, it received a flurry of Academy Award nominations, including one for Best Picture (losing to Casablanca); Agnes Moorehead was nominated by the Academy for Best Actress in a Supporting Role, won a Best Actress Award from the New York Film Critics Circle and both she and Tim Holt won a Best Acting Award from the National Board of Review; in 1972, and again in 1982, Sight and Sound voted it among the ten best movies ever made; and in 1991 it was selected for preservation in the National Film Registry. As good as it is, however, Ambersons to me is a misfire.

That’s an easy thing to say because everyone’s already said it. Since Welles didn’t have total control over the film, it’s regarded as this deformed child, ripped from the womb too early nevertheless growing up to be an idiot savant. Even the DVD case describes it as “a tantalizing what if?” and goes on to make the argument that, had the studio not interfered, it could have been better than Kane.

Peter Bogdanovich, introducing the film for Turner Movie Classics, said that Welles told him it was a more personal project than Kane, and, accidentally flipping to a television channel showing it years later, relates that Welles became infuriated with how it was cut and what he saw. “But it’s in the past.” he said. And Welles had dramatized it before in 1939 on the radio, taking the part of George. In the film that role is taken by Tim Holt (whose resemblance to Heath Ledger is distracting), with Welles providing the narration.

But I wonder what it was that Welles felt so personal a connection to the story. He was an admirer of the 1890s, despite not having lived during them, but even more than that, I think Welles noticed the parallels between himself and George (the film itself is full of paralleling shots and sequences). Both came from well-off mid-western cities, in this case a wealthy suburb of Indiana, in Welles’ case a wealthy suburb of Chicago; both lost their fathers and mothers at an early age; and both were regarded as brazen upstarts in need of a good thrashing, in George’s case by the residents of his town, in Welles’ case by the studio heads. Welles wasn’t as nasty as George, but I think he did identify with George’s nostalgia, resistance to change, and even, to an extent, pride. And he would have taken the role had he not felt too old to play it. There’s also in-jokes directly referencing Welles’ own life, the bicycle lamps being the most noticeable. Maybe the film is Welles’ own “What if,” like Steve Buscemi’s Trees Lounge — what if I hadn’t done something with myself, taken some chance or made some change. How would it have turned out? We’ll see how it would have turned out, and it’s an idea to keep in mind when we get to the film’s final scene, but for now…

The opening narration is taken directly from the book, with some phrases are repeated verbatim, such as, “In that town, in those days, all women who wore silk or velvet knew all the other women who wore silk or velvet, and when there was a new purchase of sealskin, sick people were got to windows to see it go by.” The derby hats are similarly mentioned, as well as the parties, discussion on architecture, and the serenade, which plays over Eugene’s misguided attempt at performing one while drunk.

The reminisces are layered with darkened borders on each shot, evoking memory. It wasn’t a new trick even at the time, and it lingers for so long you wonder if it’ll be used for the rest of the movie. But the opening is a good way to get exposition across, introducing Eugene and Isabel’s romance as well as the town itself — and the town busybodies. Whenever we see them, it’s always in a cutaway, from the chest up, and divorced from the main characters. They’re a Greek chorus, commenting on the action and never taking any direct part in it.

And then we’re introduced to George. You may not like it, but George will be the protagonist of the film. He’s spoiled, he’s bratty, and neither his parents nor the rest of the Ambersons show any inclination toward disciplining him. He dodges outside reprimands simply because of his name and has no recognizable talents or aptitudes. When we first meet him as a grown man at the ball, he’s doing the 1880′s equivalent of “Eric Stratton, Rush Chairman, Damn Glad to Meet You,” though he shakes each hand firmly and makes eye contact, lying to every man he meets, straight in their face. In short, he’s the worst kind of aristocrat.

And yet he’s a representation of the time Welles is eulogizing. George wants things to remain the same: He wants his family to remain the town’s powerbrokers and make its money through name alone. He mentions that one of his relatives is a senator, remarking that, “It’s always good to have one of us in the Senate.” When he meets Lucy Morgan, daughter of his mother’s former suitor, he’s instantly smitten and stops feigning familiarity, asking her who all these people are. George wants to rule the town, but he has no interest in knowing any of his subjects — unless they’re potential sexual conquests. But even then, he barely attempts courtship and asks her flat-out whether she’s engaged and wonders why Lucy isn’t immediately taken with him.

His antagonist is Lucy’s father, Eugene (whose name, ironically, literally means “good breeding”; and the last name “Morgan” is self explanatory), and Eugene is everything George isn’t — beloved, hard-working, innovative, forgiving, genial and genuine. Though he represents the coming shift of power and wealth brought on through industrialization, he’s not the cruel, whip-wielding foreman industrial tycoons are often portrayed as (that’s, clearly, George).

The ball sequence is the most impressive set piece of the film. Originally it was shot as one long take with the camera focusing on one pair then jumping to the next as well as moving up stairs and even floors. Portions of this can be seen in the final version, especially George’s talk with Lucy on the staircase and when Eugene dances with Isabel  and then the focus switches to George and Lucy. It nevertheless works, but reading what Welles originally intended and seeing the fluidity of the camera as it moves in and out, tilts and pans and becomes its own personality at the party, accompanied by Herrmann’s upbeat score loses you in what it could have been. I think a good representation of what Welles wished to do is the extended shot of the House of Blue Leaves in Quentin Tarantino’s Kill Bill Volume 1.

Although Welles didn’t rehire Kane‘s cinematographer Gregg Toland, his “replacement” Stanley Cortez, who had come from making B pictures, continued the Welles’ trademark of deep focus. Here it adds to the “partygoer” effect of shifting focuses. It’s further emphasized by another touch, as Cortez was told by Welles to use low lighting to give each scene the look of an old photograph.

As the dance winds down and the guests leave, there’s an ominous shot as George and Lucy say their goodbyes. Though they’ve just met, their on-again/off-again relationship is one of the most important arcs in the film and Welles frames it in a shot that will be repeated many times later. Cortez and Welles extensively use high contrast to emphasize the separation between George and Lucy and even physical barriers, such as the staricase pole and, adding some foreshadowing, Isabel’s profile. It’s interesting that, considering what will happen, Welles didn’t choose Eugene instead of Isabel as the barrier. George, being the protagonist, sees Eugene as the major obstacle to his courtship of Lucy and later of the preservation of his family name. But the fault isn’t Eugene’s; it’s Isabel’s, because George’s biggest problem is himself, and had Isabel not been so tolerant in raising George, this could all have been avoided. But then we wouldn’t have a movie.

By the end of the ball, George has met Lucy and her farther Eugene. Naturally, being ensconced in the past, George dismisses Eugene’s automobile as a noisy plaything. Of course George rejects any form of work and when Lucy asks him what he’s studying in school, he dodges the question by correcting her that he’s in “college” and launches into a speech about the phoniness of bankers, lawyers, and anyone who has to sweat for their money. His intended profession is “yachtsman.”

The dance concludes along with the evening as George speaks with his Aunt Fanny. This is an exposition dump,intended to tell us that George doesn’t know about the relationship between his mother and Eugene and that his family is keeping it from him, as well as hint at Fanny’s own feelings for Eugene. Welles plays it for laughs, having George initiate the teasing and mock his aunt’s voice, then flipping it by having her do the same to him. And then the whole house yells at them to shut up

Following up the ball is the sleigh-ride scene, showing again the contrast between the coming Industrial Age and the Old Aristocracy. Eugene is attempting to get his Morgan Invincible started while George and Lucy whiz by in a horse-drawn carriage. George snidely shouts to Eugene that he should get a horse and promptly crashes his sleigh, which tosses he and Lucy down a snowbank. George and Lucy share a kiss that Eugene unintentionally oversees. He’s delighted, but the tenderness switches to comedy as George helps start Eugene’s car. Funny as George is asphyxiating, it doesn’t endear him to Eugene or automobiles, and his alienation from everyone else made clear from his awkwardly rousing rendition of “The Man Who Broke the Bank at Monte Carlo.”

The sleigh scene was shot in a refrigerated warehouse instead of a sound stage and has the idyllic look of almost a shadowbox. Ambersons, even more than Kane is a melodrama, and though this type of theatrical direction was not uncommon for the time (and certainly not uncommon for Welles’), even this looks highly stylized. But it’s entirely consistent with Welles’ style, which revels in its locations and wants to explore every angle of them. He once referred to his RKO contract as “the biggest sandbox a boy could have,” and that’s perfectly reflected in his curious and creative camera (the scene opens with the reflection of the sleigh in a stream). There’s a sense of wonder to his sets and I think one of the reasons he so often used deep focus, aside from giving the scene a real-world feel, was to convey that sense. Even the snow, which was similarly used in Kane to evoke innocence, brings out the playfulness of the characters here — though both carry a darker undertone, and we follow this light-hearted sequence with the subsequent contrast of Wilbur’s funeral.

We barely know Wilbur, who, if you don’t know him at all, is George’s father. Wilbur doesn’t get much screen time, but his importance is that he’s the guy Isabel married instead of Eugene, and, based on how Lucy turned out and George didn’t, Eugene would have probably made a better father. It’s a short scene, but it does serve as a good bumper between the sleigh and the next big scene between George and Fanny.

It’s a short while after the funeral, and George is stuffing himself with sweets in the kitchen as his Aunt Fanny sits in profile, emphasizing her sharp chin and hard nose and deep black hair. Even though she’s prepared the food for George, she scolds him about overeating. What she really wants to know is anything she can about Eugene, making eye contact only when his name is mentioned. George senses his Aunt’s love for Eugene but still doesn’t know about his mother and Mr. Morgan (which sounds like a comedy starring Don Knotts). He thinks Fanny’s interest in Eugene is purely financial, and it gives Welles the chance to sneak in the first hint that the Ambersons’ fortunes are on the decline — George’s father didn’t have an estate to leave, but left Fanny his life-insurance policy.

Dour as this scene is, it’s my favorite in the entire film. Welles keeps the camera steady and lets the actors talk. Ambersons is replete with long takes, and every time they’re used, there’s a tonal shift for a least one of the characters. And Welles being Welles, gradually widens that shift each time it’s used. Here the shift is Fanny’s, who’s prepared this spread with the intent of subtly interrogating George and will end up storming off it in tears. Even though the major character arc of the film is George’s, the most interesting one is Fanny’s, and much of that comes from Moorehead’s performance. I can see why test audiences laughed at her in the movie’s later scenes, when her role is to basically be hysterical, but here her body language is so perfectly, vibrantly pitiful. Look at her as she shrugs and averts her eyes, and even though it’s Isabel’s husband who’s died, Fanny’s the one dressed in black. Moorehead was the strongest female in Welles’ acting troop, yet she never received top billing (despite having more screen time here than Dolores Costello), but she did get the best and best because they were the most complex roles. Her performance as the mother in Kane is so short and poignant that every minute she’s on screen is like a grain of sand escaping from a fist.

Uncle Jack enters and the two rib Fanny further, causing her to storm off. Fanny will later refer to herself as the family punching bag or backside (which is also suggested in her name), and you can’t really blame her. For all his musings about teasing Fanny, Jack never actually apologizes to her or attempts to make amends. Of course, it’s important to get across the idea that Fanny is put upon by the entire Amberson family (not being an Amberson herself, and, now that her brother has died, she’s more of a parasite), whether they mean it or not, but I think it also shows how much Jack is like an older George, probably the reason that all their exchanges are either violent arguments, expressions of dislike, or, as here, ignorances. Jack has his own short tonal shift, going from jocular to regretful and contemplative, and what started out as an innocent enough scene ends on another sad note. Jack takes a moment for his reflection as George moves left to the window. This led in to another cut scene where George was to see large sections of the Ambersons’ backyard being sold off — another clear hint that the family finances are in danger.

And on that note we cut to another with a lighter, also contrasting, tone, as the Amberson girls and George visit Eugene and Lucy at the Morgan auto plant. Nowhere else in the film is the theme of changing times more apparent than here. Fanny and Isabel’s black and formal dresses clash wildly with the sparse yet practical clothes of the workers; they may as well be mourning the passing of their era (practicality vs entitlement is another important them later). They stop to admire the original Morgan Invincible, now a museum exhibit, a monument to another time. Even Isabel’s speech, where she refers to “Brother Jack” and joins hands with Eugene and Fanny feels overly dramatic and outdated. And it ends with Isabel remarking that had Jack been there, Eugene’s oldest and best friends would all be there — but Jack has refused to come. I’m not entirely sure what that “it” refers to when Isabel says, “We all know what Jack thinks about it,” whether it’s Eugene’s desire to pursue Isabel or his automobile or simply being in a dirty factory, but all three represent a refusal to adapt with the times and in another parallel to Jack, the only reason George is there is because of Lucy .

The factory is another long take that sets up Eugene’s renewed courtship of Isabel, but the character to watch, though she spends the entirety of the scene on the fringe of the frame, is again Fanny. She makes pleasantries and tries half-heartedly to present herself to Eugene, but she knows he’ll never love anyone other than Isabel. Her gaze and sometimes her whole body retreat whenever Eugene looks at Isabel or Isabel speaks to Eugene, and when Eugene speaks of once more attempting to write verse, she looks away, and again when Eugene declares this a “celebration.” George is present but not significant; he’s been relegated to the background so that we can spend more time with the other three

Of course she’s right to do so. The only thing that holds Isabel and Eugene back is George. And when Eugene and Isabel get their quiet moment together, Eugene, a man of action, looks to the future and comments that Isabel needs to tell George about them, but Isabel, mired in the past, says she will soon with the conviction of a college student writing a weekend paper. Their exchange is contrasted with the following scene of George and Lucy. George, like his mother, has no prospects nor any plans for the future but is ready to jump into marriage regardless, almost without any concern for Lucy. The male and female roles are reversed, with Lucy being the forward-thinking one and George’s dislike of Eugene is amplified with his suspicion that Eugene is holding his relationship with Lucy back (which is in turn another parallel). And I don’t need to remark on the significance of the horse’s name.

There’s a short scene in the carriage between Jack and Major Amberson that again brings up the fact that George spends too much of what the Ambersons can’t afford and sets the scene for the following dinner party, which nicely ties in how the rise of the Morgans and industrialization will bring on the fall of Ambersons and the old order. The dinner scene is fairly straight forward: Fanny gets back at George by pointing out that he’s said nothing about Lucy’s departure, and the rest of the family joins in gently ribbing George’s lackadaisical approach to romance. Jack worries about the effect of automobile driving business from town (which may explain why he didn’t join the rest of the family in visiting the factory), and George, a younger and more hotheaded version of his Uncle Jack directly confronts Eugene with an impassioned attack on automobiles.

What George is saying isn’t really any different than Jack, and yet Jack is the one who attacks George for saying it. Another parallel that’s brought home by the shot of George sitting at the table with Jack in the background, echoing the scene previous in the kitchen where their positions were reversed. Regardless, none of the Ambersons save for Major Amberson reprimand George for saying so. The fatal flaws of the family, perhaps even more than pride, are their resistance to change and unwillingness to react, and here that point is emphasized. Nice as the Ambersons are, none of them have had to work for a living, and their entitlement is passed on and culminates in George, as he’s an embodiment of each one’s weaknesses — Major Amberson’s complacency, Jack’s stubbornness, Isabel’s insouciance and all of the Ambersons’ pride. Even from Fanny, again not an Amberson but of a similarly “Old-Money” family, he inherits her hysterics and scheming.

Fanny, after Eugene has left, praises George for his outburst. She, like George, wants to keep things the way they are, but has the buried motive of destroying Isabel and Eugene’s relationship. Welles has already set up Fanny’s discontent with the preceding scenes, under the guise of establishing Isabel’s romance with Eugene, and now we see the importance of her role. Fanny is such a Shakespearean character — the scorned schemer — that I wonder if Welles didn’t consider playing it himself in drag. After all, he played essentially the same role in blackface later on, would it be too much of a stretch?

This is yet another long take and similarly signifies another character change, in this case a major one, as George goes from generally disliking Eugene to outright despising him. Teasing Fanny about her crush on Eugene was fun, after all, she’s not as direct a relative as his mother and she’s never been anything more than a pincushion for him to jab with needles, as Fanny points out, but the idea of this upstart industrialist schtupping his mother and besmirching the family name is too much for George’s pride — just as Eugene’s drunken slip-up years ago was too much for Isabel’s. Fanny gets her jabs in further by commenting on how the whole town is talking about Eugene and Isabel. Pride and the family name is what she appeals to and what ultimately makes George reject Eugene (and every other onset of change), which is ironic, because all of George’s financial problems could have been solved had Eugene married Isabel.

Welles, like he did in Kane and earlier in the ballroom sequence, uses staircases to reflect the drama of the scene. Here it’s Fanny’s manipulation of George, and her elevation reflects the power she holds over him. And the more aggressive George becomes, the farther forward he moves, decreasing Fanny’s control of the situation until they’re standing almost nose to nose. I should also note that, as they walk up the stairs, in the background, in painted glass, are represented the three Christian virtues of faith, hope, and charity, though their significance in this scene is lost on me, other than the fact the Ambersons go from dispensing these to receiving them.

Incensed, George straightaway goes on a rampage, gunning down women and children, flinging his own feces like a common circus chimp, and sponsoring death matches between horses and the local transients. This, too, was cut from the film, and what we’re left with is a visit to one of the town busybody’s and an awkward cut to his fight with uncle Jack. Since George is wearing the same clothes in all three scenes, I believe this is all happening in one night. Welles doesn’t give us any hints as to the passage of time  — no titles saying “fifteen days later” or “later that day” — which is ironic since the whole film is about the passing of time, but he does give us clues like these when he can’t link scenes together visually.

George’s bloodless rampage ends with an argument with Jack, who is, oddly, taking a bath, and Welles pulls a visual trick by stationing George in front of a mirror with Jack, again, in the background. If the parallel blocking in the kitchen and dining room scenes didn’t make it clear, the mirror image is screaming it: George and Jack are basically the same person. But the key difference is that Jack has mellowed with age and at least sees nothing wrong with Isabel marrying Eugene. George tries to appeal to Jack the same way Fanny appealed to George: by invoking the family name, and though Jack is in the right, neither one really has an argument to convince the other — George repeats what was said to him and thinks that should be convincing enough and Jack’s response is “Well, why shouldn’t they?” And like all great debaters, when their logic and reasoning isn’t firm, they make their point by shouting.

George refuses Eugene at the door, and while we never see Isabel’s reaction to this, Fanny immediately has her doubts. Welles goes back to the staircase, starting on the first floor where Jack is talking with Isabel, tilting up to George overhearing and ready to interrupt them, and then farther up to Fanny listening on the third floor. Fanny stops George and regrets trying to break up Eugene and Isabel.

The continuously tilting shot is wonderful, but I think the quick change from Fanny is one of the weaknesses of the film. It’s her scheming that escalates George’s hatred of Eugene and causes the downfall of his family, and, impulsive as Fanny is, her subtle ways of manipulation show more foresight than this. In the excised version we have now, from that scene to this one is only a few minutes between. And it’s here that the studio cuts are most obvious. Originally there was a scene after George’s argument with Jack in which Isabel, unaware of how George felt, tried talking to him as he stood with her back to her, ignoring. And there were two sequences on the Amberson porch between Fanny and Isabel and Fanny and Major Amberson where they discuss the changing town and Fanny’s poor investments, respectively. That would at least have put some time between the two scenes.

Nevertheless, the dramatic change from Fanny isn’t very convincing, and she’s scarce in the film from here on until the end. Eugene writes his letter to Isabel cementing his love but acknowledging that George will never let them be together, and Isabel reads it with a heap of tears and suggests that she and George take a trip. It’s not as rushed as Fanny’s arc, but it also feels rushed. This is the most important development in the film and deserves more weight than the quick succession it’s given. Similarly, there’s noticeable cuts — George and Isabel had a longer discussion about Eugene in Isabel’s bedroom, and the scene in the final cut with this is not Welles’, but a reshoot by Robert Wise. Still another had Isabel apologize to George for seeing Eugene and promising to do so no more.

The swifter pace of this middle section finally settles on George and Lucy, having their last conversation before George and Isabel leave. Finally, we’re back in Welles’ film, and it’s a welcome return with some more subtle dialogue and the mother of all tonal shifts. On the surface George is flirting, and as the scene goes on, his true feelings become more and more exposed as he attempts to coax a plea from Lucy not to go.

In addition to the long-take-tonal shift, Welles also echoes the shot from the end of the ball, with Lucy again placed on the left side of the frame and George, again on the right. In the background is the physical barrier of the pharmacy dividing them, instead of Isabel in the foreground previously — there’s a barrier, but it’s (appropriately, as we’ll find out) not as imposing as before. There’s also a similar use of contrast, with the light source again coming from behind Lucy and shining on George, which may not be as direct a visual cue as naked Uncle Jack, but still works to emphasize that George’s true feelings are utterly transparent while Lucy’s are guarded. Even their clothes reflect the contrast, with Lucy’s dark coat and George’s lightly tanned jacket. George is heartbroken that Lucy doesn’t seem to care that they’ll never see each other again, and the cut comes with a closeup of a tearful Lucy, her real emotions showing through with the left side of her face lit, the right in shadow. She rushes into the pharmacy, and in a wise move, Welles chooses to show the clerk’s reaction to Lucy fainting rather than the faint itself. Good advice for every director.

As more time passes, Isabel becomes ill overseas, and Jack visits the Morgans to discuss her health. George refuses to come home, and it’s a quick cut from there to unloading her from the train and on to Eugene’s visit to the Amberson home. The visit, if it’s not already noticeable, is another reshoot, this one done by Assistant Director Freddie Fleck, with the original being a longer scene between George and Fanny, George angrily telling Fanny to get rid of him and Fanny in turn telling Eugene angrily to go. The reshoot is much more tame, and the quick pan to Jack on the landing, asking Eugene to leave is more awkward than the fluid camera movements we’ve seen so far.

Isabel’s deathbed is another break in the swift pacing of the latter half and another heavy use of contrast. Isabel’s dressed in angelic white with the circular loop of the cast-iron bed directly above her acting as a halo. That may be more my imagination, but Welles would later meld backgrounds into his characters in Touch of Evil, and I don’t think it’s total speculation to believe he’s doing it intentionally now. George is dressed in black and again in the right side of the frame. Both are covered in the shadows of the bedframe. And again this may be speculation, but on Isabel they look distinctly like spiderwebs, after all, Isabel is the victim of George’s machinations and he has, to be fair, been caught in his own web. But I think the shadows on George more resemble tears.

Though Isabel’s lost all feeling, her eyes brighten when she hears of Eugene. She leaves with a declaration of love to Jack which her body language would suggest otherwise. I don’t have much to say about Dolores Costello because, for all her importance in the story, she really doesn’t have that big of a role, despite having second billing on the poster, and while this is her longest scene, it’s tough to understand what Eugene saw in her — she’s certainly not very pretty her, though that’s understandable here, but I don’t know if her cut scenes would help. And similarly, Major Amberson’s reflection was part of a longer scene that was to transition into his gravestone beside Isabel’s. This was another thing the test audience had a negative reaction to and hence another cut from the studio. What we get is the Major in front of a fire, reflecting on life and all the trivialities of his money as Jack tries to find the deed to the Amberson Manor off screen. The poor old Major even gets his speech cropped.

And we move to the final conversation between Jack and George. Jack tells George off, in a ramble that first professes some love but ends with Jack telling George he should have been hanged and then twists again with him telling George that he should go see Lucy, since she’s the only person left who cares about him. We never get to see the reunion, however, and then it’s on to the garden scene with Lucy and Eugene. Lucy, unprovoked, tells the story of Chief “Rides Down Everything” which bashes the character of George over everyone’s heads and among the trees. There’s some slight subtlety to the moment, but coming after Jack’s upbraid, it feels superfluous. This is another studio decision, as the scene was originally to come after George’s “comeuppance” speech, and that scene was to come after his final conversation with Fanny and that one after Isabel’s deathbed.

In the final cut, the garden leads into George’s final conversation with Fanny, which itself is another, albeit partial, reshoot by Jack Moss. Fanny has no money left and George can’t make more than eight dollars at the lawyer’s office. Fanny references putting everything into a headlight company, referencing the cut scene mentioned previously where Fanny discussed finances with Major Amberson (and for the Welles hounds, Welles’ father made his money from inventing just such a thing). As mentioned earlier, test audiences laughed at Agnes Moorehead’s hysterical Fanny, which is a bit over the top, but I think is earned. At least it’s appropriate that her character would think only of herself until the end — demanding that she be put in an expensive boarding house then wailing that she wouldn’t care if the boiler burned her.

But the character beat in the scene is George’s, who has, as the narrator and everyone else predicted, finally received his comeuppance. As they walk through the abandoned Amberson mansion, he and Fanny are in shadow so we can see the remnants of the once-great monument to the past. Again the scene ends with George facing a window, but this time, instead of an (intended) storm, a symbol of change, it’s light streaming in despite the blinds’ best attempt to keep it out. This and the scene of George by the bed, where the narrator gives his “comeuppance” speech is shot from far away, with George’s back to us both times. We don’t see George’s reaction, because I think the “change” is supposed to be ours — ours if we refuse to adapt. The narrator emphasizes the point that, “Those who said it were never there to see it. No one cared or was alive” — that change has to come from within us, and the choice to or not to is ultimately our own. It’s a weighty beat and wholly deliberate. I mentioned before about how this was a deeply personal project for Welles, and I think he may as well be asking the question of himself, reflecting himself on the changes and choices he’s made. You want to see George’s reaction? Look in the mirror.

And now we’re at the end, where Eugene and Fanny walk down the hallway and Eugene reconciles with George and says he’s been true to his one true love.” This, once more, is a reshoot by Fleck. Originally Eugene was to visit George in the hospital and then meet with Fanny in the boarding house. Eugene says that he sensed Isabel when talking to George and Fanny largely ignores him. It’s a sadder ending then the relatively upbeat on we get, but it is truer to the characters, Fanny resisting change until the very end. The test audiences, according to the studio, wanted something more cheerful, seeing as how the film opened soon after the U.S. entered World War II, and Welles’ response was to have the characters smiling in the end credits. He also planned to shoot another ending twenty years later with the surviving actors to give a further sense of closure (and tying in the Kill Bill parallels, too!).

For the Welles fanboys, there’s a Kane reference in the upper right

It’s a good story, maybe even a great one, but it moves too fast. The complexity of the characters, particularly George and Eugene and especially Isabel, Lucy, and Fanny, is never fully realized as the film rushes its plot. And the technical achievements cannot fill those spaces, either. This isn’t Welles’ fault, but that doesn’t help the film either.I can’t say for certain that this was mangled beyond repair by the studio, since I haven’t seen the cut scenes, but from what I understand and have read, I think the missing footage would certainly have helped.

Still, even if we were able to recover or restore Welles’ original cut, I don’t think it would reconcile the fact that Welles is romanticizing an era which is represented by an extremely unlikeable character. If I were offered the choice between an automobile and getting whipped by a six-year-old with curly, long locks, I’d opt for mowing the little bastard down with my car. Welles may have thought of the 1890s as a better time, but George isn’t the best ambassador to those times, and I don’t think it’s consistent with the major theme of clashing eras in Tarkington’s book. It’s no coincidence that George’s accident is the result of an automobile — which now makes him a physical victim of the new era, and though Eugene may regret some of the changes brought on by the automobile, he’s at best uncertain. As with George, the choice, regardless of generation, is ours to use each age’s advancements to pursue peace or war — it’s unfortunate that with the timing of The Magnificent Amberson’s release, that choice was already made.

Next Time – THE STRANGER (1946)

Where the Long Tail Ends - Watching what no one else does Copyright 2013 Where the Long Tail Ends

I’ve been trying to figure out a way to help incentivize our donation setup, to give proper thanks to all of you who have supported us over the years. One of the ways I find most interesting, and potentially fun, is an idea James and I have lightly kicked around for some time, that of recording commentary tracks for various films.

Now, James and I have always thrown out titles like Star Wars or other much beloved films we grew up on, but I figured if I really was going to offer a gift to people who donate, who better to ask than our fans? So, over on Facebook I asked a very simple question about possible commentary tracks, and the response quickly spiraled out of control.

Rather than giving us a list of films that would most definitely fall within our wheelhouse, it seems you’d rather James and I watch utterly ridiculous films. I suppose I should have taken into account the amount of sadists who vote on polls, as clearly that is the leading segment of our readership.

But since we’ve had such a high response I thought I’d offer up something a bit more formal for people and throw up a poll. The rules will be very simple, the highest vote getter in this poll will be the first film that James and I will provide a commentary track for. Right now I have it in my head that this first one we will offer up to everyone, and then any additional ones will be just for people who donate. So, with out further ado, I offer up the selection of films for you to choose from.

And remember, this is for posterity, so please, be honest.

Where the Long Tail Ends - Watching what no one else does Copyright 2013 Where the Long Tail Ends

You know, I have taken my fair share of shots at the Minneapolis-St Paul International Film Festival over the years. Some are earned from the general frustration that inevitably seems to accompany trying to attend any of their screenings. While others are just me being a douche. It’s kind of my jam. MSPIFF has never seemed to be lacking in effort, it’s always been the execution that has driven me batty. They’ve taken some solid steps in recent years in helping repair the bonds of trust, and I’m a big fan of their partnership with St Anthony Main (and if the rumored remodel goes through I’ll be uber happy).

And then some days I wake up and find out they’ve partnered with one of my favorite Indie distributers to give cinephiles in the Twin Cities something they most certainly deserve, outstanding Italian genre films. You see, MSPIFF has colluded with Raro Video to bring us a week long exclusive series of digitally restored Italian classic, and I am salivating like a mofo at the thought.

Gimmie. Now. Pleaseandthankyou.

For mor info on schedules and titles, please visit the MSPIFF website.

Where the Long Tail Ends - Watching what no one else does Copyright 2013 Where the Long Tail Ends

For those of you living in the Twin Cities, the Landmark Edina Theatre will be showing a free screening of the French comedy Starbuck next Tuesday, March 19th at 7:00 PM. If you would like to attend the screening, just email the address below and follow the instructions. I will unfortunately be unable to attend, but I can promise James will be there. Only that is a total fabrication as you know as well as I do that James still suffers from night terrors due to his time spent serving at a movie theatre.

That also isn’t true, but it sounds good. I hear the movie is too, and that statement is actually true.

Synopsis: Patrick Huard stars as David Wozniak, a 42-year old lovable but perpetual screw up who finally decides to take control of his life. A habitual sperm donor in his youth, he discovers that he’s the biological father of 533 children, 142 of whom are trying to force the fertility clinic to reveal the true identity of the prolific donor code-named Starbuck.

Produced by André Rouleau, the film also stars Julie Le Breton, as David’s long suffering girlfriend who suddenly finds herself pregnant and understandably reluctant to share parenthood with the unreliable David, and Antoine Bertrand, David’s longtime friend, Paul, an attorney who takes on his case while trying to disabuse him of the joys of parenthood.

Where the Long Tail Ends - Watching what no one else does Copyright 2013 Where the Long Tail Ends

And we’re back! Shockingly enough, James and I almost kept our set schedule for recording High and Low (Brow). Granted, a late winter storm frightened James more than his own shadow, but just a few days later he made his way back to civilization to record. So we touch on a new segment of James Gillham: Pop Culture Guru, We offer advice of where to start with HP Lovecraft, and James comes to the ultimate decision that he needs to take more stands in his life. Yeah, like woah.

So for this episode of High and Low (Brow) we take a look back at some of the films we’ve previously watched as this episode’s theme is Connections, meaning we are watching films that are connected to previous films we’ve watched for the show. First up is Horror Castle, aka The Virgin of Neuremberg, aka Das Schloss das Grauens. Duh.The second film that we review for this episode is the 1972 film, Asylum. Will we like them? Will we hate them? Will we totally forget to talk about them? All three are ultimately possible.

If you have any recommendations for films we could watch for High and Low (Brow), or want to suggest a potential theme for us to use, or simply want to tell James how awesome he is, feel free to email us and tell us your ideas. If you enjoy the show make sure to subscribe through iTunes or our RSS feed so you can catch every new episode. Also, please friend James on Facebook, Letterboxd and his second attempt at Twitter. Because it will frighten and confuse him. And while you’re there be sure to join our relatively new Facebook group devoted to Where the Long Tail Ends.

One more thing, if you enjoy the show feel free to donate to it through PayPal in either a single installment or as a recurring donor. We’ve done some upgrading to our equipment in recent months, and every little bit helps as we continue to try ans stay ahead of the curve.

And, as always, thanks for listening!

Opening Theme – Adonai/ by Ennio Morricone
Closing Music – Away by The Bolshoi

High and Low (Brow) - Connections [ 1:50:43 | 50.71 MB ] Download