Sometimes a cigar isnt just a cigar...

I just came across this cheeky Pictionary ad. The innuendo's obvious but I had to share.

  A peacock? a peacock!? Nice one Hasbro ;)

Even a Broken Sword is Right Twice a Day

I love B movies. Dear God, I love B movies! There's an economy of style, an honest-to-goodness eagerness that goes into making good bad films that you can't really find in Hollywood's big budget blockbusters of today.

Oh sure Hollywood movies can be bad too, but for all the wrong reasons and more often than not they just insult your intelligence.

But B movies? They don't have that luxury. They're too busy just trying to fill a story and getting dramatic performances out of their actors that they can't insult your intelligence. It's like when your only child tries to convince you someone else broke the cookie jar; you can't help smile at their heartfelt attempt to get away with it. You have to laugh.

I recently came across a hilariously bad, bad film by the name of Ator 3: The Hobgoblin - or as it's known on Netflix Streaming Quest for the Mighty Sword  - directed by Joe D'Amato.

Do not see this film expecting deep, thought-provoking themes, nuanced acting or even much of a plot. This is probably one of the lowest budget sword-and-sorcery films ever put to celluloid. There are grade school productions of Alice in Wonderland that have better production values than this epic cheesefest.

However, just because it's bad doesn't mean it's completely without merit.

For starters, according to one IMDB review, the plot of Ator 3 closely resembles that of Richard Wagner's opera "Sigfried." Judging from the opera's Wikipedia entry there is indeed a similarity. Nifty!

But more importantly, as I watched the film I also caught something that was quite clever for a movie so devoid of anything approaching quality.

The film opens by introducing us to King Ator (played by Eric Allan Kramer), ruler of his kingdom and possessor of a mystical sword given to him by the gods. The story begins with a premonition of his impending death which comes true about five minutes in. The king is slain and his sword is shattered.

Our hero-to-be, Ator Jr., son of the slain king is entrusted into the care of Grindl a vile troll by his mother, the deposed queen. The queen, who wishes to join her dead husband, asks the troll to provide a brew to end her life. But instead of giving her a bowlful of hemlock he slips her some medieval Rohipnol. Troll date-rape ensues, an offense for which the queen is inexplicably punished by the Gods with eternal madness.

About a third of the way into the movie Ator Jr. (also played by Kramer), now all grown up and bearing stylishly crimped hair reminiscent of an 80s hairband, reclaims his father's broken mystical sword - repairs it - and frees himself of his troll oppressor.

Afterwords, Ator sets off on a quest to avenge his father's death (which would have been a more appropriate title, considering he didn't really have to quest for the sword at all...)

Along the way he stops at a cantina that would seem right at home in Star Wars' Mos Eisley.

There (at about 2:30 in the video clip above) he steps into a brawl between some surly ruffians and saves one of their slave women from continued abuse and humiliation.

Moments later, the slave woman thanks Ator, only to discover that she is his long-lost mother still under the curse which prevented her from growing old. Upon lifting the curse she is transformed to her present self, withered and aged, she dies instantly. Nice touch!

This subplot is in essence the Greek tragedy Oedipus Rex in reverse. Only instead of the protagonist bedding his own mother, he frees her from sexual depravity and humiliation.

Nicely done Joe D'Amato!

While the plot point is a crud-encrusted jewel in the center of a 10-foot wide cheese log, it's not enough to save this film from being anything more than an object of ridicule. It is, however, a reminder that even bad movies can do something right from time to time.

Ruining childhood favorites: one movie at a time...

You might be forgiven for thinking that The Neverending Story (1984) was a story about a boy who refused to grow up, embraced his love of fantasy and imagination from the destructive clutches of adulthood, and able to save the otherwordly and romantic world of Fantasia and its child-queen from the ravages of The Nothing.

You might think that. But you would be WRONG.

The NeverEnding Story is about a boy, struggling with his own sexual identity in the wake of his mother's death. Without her presence he finds himself lost in a sexless limbo unable to bond with the parent of the opposite sex.

First scene of the movie right after the credit sequence, Bastion wakes up, the picture of his mother hovering in the background like a ghost.

The very next scene, we see Bastion in the kitchen. He tells his father he had another dream with his mom.

The father, being the male chauvinist that he is, chides Bastion. We learn Bastion is drawing unicorns in class. Fuckin' unicorns! He's disappointed his son didn't join the swim team. He recognizes Bastion is losing his sexual identity and tries to set him straight. "Keep your feet on the ground" and do what you gotta do, son!

But Bastion ultimately resists.

Immediately afterward, Bastion finds himself confronted by neighborhood bullies.

Humiliated by his tormentors, Bastion heads to school, but not before coming into possession of a mysterious book that he absolutely must read; he skips class and finds himself a safe place to read his book.

Within its pages he reads about the world of Fantasia and its hero, Atreyu - a famed boy warrior and hunter of purple buffalo - called upon to stop the destructive force known as The Nothing...

None of which matters, as ultimately Atreyu (and his heroic journey) is little more than a surrogate for Bastion's own sexual rediscovery.

Fast-forward 60 minutes of talking rocks, racing snails and snarling Gmorks and Atreyu arrives at the palace of the princess after an arduous journey.

The princess's palace, reduced to a single building floating in a void, resembles a large flower-like edifice.

Upon closer inspection it begins to take on further female characteristics, like a birth canal:

If that were not sufficient, look at a wideshot of the interior:

Clearly those are feminine (yonic) shapes on the wall that have all the markings of labia, vulva and a clitoris.

Once inside, the princess - who represents both Bation's mother and Bastion's latent sexual desire - informs Atreyu that he was never really important, that this was really Bastion's journey.

All Bastion has to do is give the princess a new name and all his desires will come true...

So what does Bastion wish for? That's right. A fifty-fucking-foot flying furry phallic symbol by the name of Falkor who he uses to reap sweet revenge on the bullies earlier in the film. Talk about manning up! That's what The NeverEnding Story is all about.

All that Glistens is not Golden Tickets

Have you ever watched the perennial favorite Willy Wonka and the Chocolate

 Factory (1972) and wondered if there was something going on beyond the candy coated surface of the film?

Beyond the gum drops, fruit-flavored walls, melodious songs and the comical oompah-loopas, it appeared there was something lurking just underneath the murky chocolaty river of Wonka's cavity causing paradise.

There were of course the obvious moral lessons sprinkled throughout the film as each unworthy child picked to visit Willy Wonka's factory is eliminated as a result of their vice.

But the way in which each child is removed seems to recall more an Agatha Christie novel than Charlie Brown.

Like 10 Little Indians each kid is eliminated in a manner that suggests violent injury and dismemberment.

Not to mention Willy Wonka is just one straight-up scary motherfucker. Notice at 1:06 in the clip, a chicken is shown having its head cut off, an overt act of violence as Wonka looks on and grins:

                     All this gets me to thinking about the possible subtext to the movie beyond the charming tale of a good natured boy from a poor family whose virtues have him win out over other children.

When you get down to brass tacks Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory is a children's version of Se7en with musical numbers.

Each kid, Veruca Salt, Violet Beauregarde, Mike TeeVee, and Augustus Gloop each represent a number of personal failings - both on their part - as well as of the parents. Violet is prideful and vain, Veruca is impudent and mean, Mike TeeVee is lustily obsessed with television and Augustus is obviously slothful and gluttonous. Each child suffers a fate worthy of their sin.

But beyond all that, I can't help wonder if there's a socio-political component to this story. Charlie and his family are poor; living under a crushing poverty that in the real world would be nearly impossible to escape, regardless of how virtuous one's heart is.

Willy Wonka on the other hand is a successful industrialist, cold - apathetic - isolated from any real human contact (beyond the oompah loompas) in his factory. His entire existence consists of mass-producing chocolates and candies for consumers the world over.

The other children represent middle and upper class privilege, each fighting for Wonka's treats solely for themselves, perhaps even selling Wonka out to mean-ol' Slugsworth, Wonka's rival if need be.

In a way, it could be a kind of capitalistic morality tale - not just warning kids about the dangers of overindulgence and selfishness - but also about the dangers of how blatant, unrestrained greedy materialism can be detrimental.

In the end, Willy Wonka is redeemed by Charlie's willingness to walk away from it all, and reminding Wonka of the things in life more important than Fizzy Lifting drinks and financial incentive.

If only Wall Street would remember this lesson. Perhaps future bank bailouts should require mandatory viewings of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory for bank executives.

[Post Script: Obviously my own personal political biases are showing here but I also considered the opposite as well: Perhaps Willy Wonka is a Marxist in disguise - promising a utopia to the children - a utopia riddled with loopholes and consequences no one wants to pay. Unfortunately I don't think this interpretation holds up quite as well, but I'm including it anyway for the sake of balance. ]

                                         :)

Inception

Possibly one of the best films of the year, Christopher Nolan's Inception finally released on Blu-ray and DVD on December 7.

I am happy to report that I am now the proud owner of the Blu-ray edition.

Let me be the first to say that I am not the biggest Christopher Nolan fan, his movies are hit-and-miss with me. I didn't care for Memento which I found overwrought and not as clever as some claimed it to be. Batman Begins was competently executed but loathed the pretentious noisefest that was The Dark Knight.

The Prestige and Insomnia were two films of Nolan's I enjoyed, especially The Prestige which I found captivating.

Inception - in my book - surpasses them all.

However, that is not to say the films is not without its detractors, and it can easily be one of those films that you either love or hate. The reason for this is simple:

For one, the hype surrounding the movie was inevitable, especially after Nolan's Dark Knight set every comic book geek on the planet alight in total fanboy rapture. This vocal minority created an anticipation that Inception would be the Second Coming of Neo. Deflated expectations were bound to happen.

Secondly, this film fell into a chasm between two different camps of film goers who for one reason or another drawn to the film.

One one hand you have the meat-and-potatoes action film goer who watches movies to have their retinas - not their brains - stimulated, many of which were lost by the intricacies of Inception and found it too cerebral to appreciate.

On the other you have the Brie-and-wine Fellini-loving art house film snob who - having heard of the surreal dream-like nature of the film - went expecting some avant guard Aronofsky-esque masterpiece by an auteur who was being called by some (i.e., over-exuberant Nolan fans) the next Stanley Kubrick.

                      My admiration for Inception stems not from an undying love for Nolan - if he were to never make another good film again I would still like Inception - but because it is an expertly crafted film that weaves together a credible story into a fully realized world that is simultaneously unique and familiar.

The film's narrative is what I would describe as a Möbius strip: a story with no clear end nor beginning, that folds in on itself and opens up again just like a dream. Nolan captures the essence and sensation of dreaming in some visually spectacular scenes.

                 Inception is also rich with texture, symbolism and meaning. art house snobs may scoff at what they would consider pedestrian symbolism in Inception but I disagree. I think too many high-minded individuals dismiss the film based solely on the fact that it is also action film. An intelligent one at that.

Anyway, I wanted to share my thoughts on Inception. A movie I hope to discuss on this page in further detail in the near future. However, having only seen it twice in the theater, I need to give it a few more viewings before I can discuss it with any degree of comfort.

The Hidden Hitch [links]

For your Hitchcockian consideration, a few links I came across while putting together my first three essays on his movies:

Hitchcock: The Master of Suspense

"I Confess" Guilt and Innocence in Hitchcock Movies - by Mathieu Deflem

HitchcockOnline.org (many dead links)

The 'MacGuffin' Web Page

After Hitchcock: influence, imitation, and intertextuality By David Boyd, R. Barton Palmer

The Hidden Hitch [Part 3]

In wrapping up this analysis of Hitchcock, I've decided to conclude with a look at The Birds (1963).

As I stated in an earlier post, when I first saw The Birds I was largely unimpressed. By today's standards, as an exercise in suspense/horror The Birds is overshadowed by a number of excellent movies that have come in the years after its release.

The movie's build up, contentious characters and sense of isolation as murderous birds cut people off from civilization give one the sense that the film is an artifact that inspired other "submarine movies" (movies about people trapped together during a crisis) like George A. Romero's Night of the Living Dead, which, acting talent aside, I feel is a better film.

The plot is simple enough: girl (Tippi Hedron) meets boy (Rod Taylor); girl wants boy; girl chases boy - meets boy's ex (Suzanne Pleshette)  & mother (Jessica Tandy) - girl (and the rest of the town) get attacked by swarms of birds in ever increasingly violent attacks.

[The rest of the plot details are really superfluous. However if you haven't seen the film I suggest you do and come back and read this post.]

However, if the movie's plot was to be literally translated into a more appropriate title The Birds would actually be called: Three Vaginas and a Penis.

While I have read a few analyses of Hitchcock's The Birds, all of whom agree that the birds are a metaphor, none of their arguments have convinced me of what exactly that metaphor represents.

Some claim that the bird attacks represent primal fear, a clash between nature and culture or the withering love of a dominating matriarch afraid of abandonment. However all of these explanations require some framing to omit parts of the film that contradict its thesis.

No - I believe it's simpler than that - and while some may scoff at such an academic interpretation, I believe it is the correct one supported both by the film and Hitchcock's use of character.

The Birds is essentially a Freudian exploration of female sexual desire gone mad, manifested itself into a nightmarish wrath-of-God-through-nature backdrop. 

Ridiculous perhaps but true.

All three major female characters, Melanie Daniels (Hedren), Annie Hayworth (Pleshette) and mother, Lydia Brenner (Jessica Tandy), are all vying for Mitch's (Taylor) manhood.

They are all competing for him, longing for his attention, fighting to possess him through their sexuality.

From the moment Ms. Daniels and Mitch Brenner meet, allured by this fine specimen of manly masculinity, she is on the prowl. Her goal is clear: to conquer Mitch - but - there is competition.

Later when Melanie meets Mitch's ex, Annie Hayworth, it's obvious that Hayworth still has her eyes set on Mitch, despite their emotional and physical distance. Hayworth immediately recognizes Melanie as an encroaching female. Yet even Hayworth pales in comparison to the dominating presence of Mitch's mother, Lydia, a widow whose cold steel eyes could freeze the souls of those who dare cross her.

The Birds follows hot on the heels of another Hitchcock movie about an overpowering mother personality, Psycho (1960).

Make no mistake, however, Lydia Brenner is no Mrs. Bates. Whereas Mrs. Bates domineered, controlled and belittled her son to the point that he adopted her personality; Lydia Brenner is loving, tender and protective. 

When they're in the same frame, Taylor and Tandy's performance does not strike one as that of mother and son, but instead, as that of a man speaking softly to a loving mistress, calling her Darling to which she sweetly replies, Yes?

Later on, during some dialog, it is evident that Lydia Brenner has filled the hole (no pun intended) left by the death of her husband with her son Mitch. Just as in Psycho, a mother possesses her son, but whereas in Psycho the possession is psychological, in The Birds it is Oedipal.

One might conclude then that the birds are a direct manifestation of Lydia's incestuous jealousy but this overlooks both Melanie's role, who appears to be a catalyst for the attacks - they only start once she arrives in the coastal town of Bodega Bay, California where the story is set - as well as the attack on Hayworth later on, who is of no threat to Lydia but who is a threat to Melanie as Mitch's direct sexual competition.

Any explanation must encompass all three which in the Hitchcockian worldview of women, seems plausible.

Let's face it, Hitchcock - despite his genius - is lacking when it comes to his characterizations of women. He isn't exactly ahead of his time; in fact he's downright archaic. His women fall into one of a few cliché archetypes (note: this is not an exhaustive breakdown):

So it stands to reason that if Hitchcock were producing a film about female desires manifested as bird attacks, it wouldn't be much more complex than what we've seen throughout his body of work.

The movie, which ironically begins in a pet store stocked to the ceiling with birds of every feather, is ultimately about how the desires of these women possess them as much as they want to possess that which they cannot.

Color also plays an important symbolic element in the film. Green, in particular, is a motif that is repeated throughout. Symbolic of positive qualities such as life, nature and fertility, it also represents darker human emotions, that of envy and jealousy.

[The lovebirds purchased by Melanie to "cage" Mitch for herself. Notice Melanie's green dress, as well as the green lovebirds. This motif comes back throughout the film.]

At the film's start, Mitch, after meeting Melanie, expresses an interest to buy lovebirds as a birthday present; unavailable, he leaves. Melanie purchases them the next day and the very first shot we see of her is of her in a green dress and overcoat with the two love birds in their gilded cage.

But before we even see this dress, in the previous scene where she's making inquiries into Mitch's residence, she is seen dialing on a conspicuously green telephone:

This on its own may seem coincidental until later in the film, with Melanie in the background (her green dress prominent in the shot), Lydia Brenner is in the foreground using a similar telephone:

  Moments later, while talking alone, Lydia expresses her concerns to Mitch about Melanie, a young socialite whose reputation precedes her.

Red too seems to foreshadow Anne Hayworth's early demise, as well as her emotional state at the sight of a new sexual competitor for Mitch's attention:

[Anne Hayworth, right as Melanie Daniels pulls away in her car on her way to Mitch]

The Bird's narrative bears a resemblance to another work that on its surface has nothing at all to do with Hitchcock: Shakespeare's The Tempest - or more specifically - the 1956 movie inspired by Shakespeare's play: Forbidden Planet.

In that story, set on a distant world, a jealous/protective father accidentally gives life to a conjured monster that kills and maims the crew of a spaceship come to visit him from Earth. The monster was the product of the man's psyche - the animalistic id - produced by the planet's technology.

Much the same way, the birds in this movie attack for similar motives. The birds are the embodiment of the collective fear, jealousy, mistrust and anger that these women undergo in their pursuit of their coveted Mitch.

And just as their emotions turn on their rivals, so too are they consumed by them as well, as mimicked by the bird attacks that injure all of them.

The finale crystallizes this as the survivors Mitch, his sister Cathy, Lydia and a badly bloodied Melanie sneak out in the middle of the night surrounded by tens of thousands of birds.

Like a darker, more adult version of Where the Wild Things Are, the anger manifested in the birds has finally consumed these women, leaving them emotionally isolated even as they prepare to drive away through a wasteland of their own making.

A fragile uneasiness hangs in the air, like the calm after the storm, the survivors depart leaving us behind with nothing more than a shaky, anxious feeling that things will never be the same.

The Hidden Hitch [Part 2]

Now with Hitchcock's Rope established as a lens by which we can view his other works, one can see similar darkly ambiguous threads running through his later films.

When I first saw Frenzy (1972) a few months ago I was initially unmoved. As a murder mystery - which revolves around Richard Ian Blaney (Jon Finch) a down-on-his-luck ex-RAF pilot wrongly accused of being the Neck Tie Murderer, a serial killer who asphyxiates women with neckties - it pales in comparison to contemporary movies about serial killers like Silence of the Lambs.

The murderer is revealed early on to be an acquaintance of Blaney's and goes on to murder Blaney's ex-wife shortly after having a loud altercation with her. Make no mistake, despite being innocent, Blaney is no benevolent Richard Kimble. He's a drinker, a hotheaded cantankerous loser who gets by in life and has no real future.

The key to appreciating this film, which might otherwise be forgettable beyond its violent rape/murder scene that closely rivals that of Psycho, lies with a supporting character who comes in about 45 minutes after the movie's started: Scotland Yard's Chief Inspector Oxford played by Alec McCowen who relentlessly pursues Blaney.

About an hour into the film, we are presented with Oxford enjoying a hearty English breakfast as he complains to his sergeant about his wife's disastrous gourmet cooking which has left him starving.

Shortly afterwards we visit Oxford at his home where his wife (Vivien Merchant) is preparing him one of her many French delicacies a clumpy brown sludge of fish heads and other ephemera unfit for chum - let alone human consumption - that Oxford pretends to eat while grimacing at the awful goop before him. 

The entire scene plays out to comical effect.

This wouldn't seem so out of place in a Hitchcock movie, after all, he is known for occasional bits of dark humor (not to mention his cameos) in his films, but this act is repeated not once but twice before the film ends.

This scene, like the dinner scene in Rope, is again the heart of understanding the subtextual meaning of Frenzy.

Frenzy is ultimately about passion in a sterile, passionless society; a stifling English society with its rigid social customs and formalities that suffocate the male characters of this story and is brutally projected by the Neck Tie murderer who suffocates his female victims in return.

The three men central to the plot - Blaney, Oxford and the murderer - make up a trinity that represent three different stages of societal (and sexual) repression.

Oxford and his wife represent one extreme of this spectrum. Each one upholding their spousal duties - Oxford pretends to eat his wife's fare so as to not offend - she, on the other hand, with her lilting voice and doe-eyed expressions, proudly prepares her husband wretched meals.

Their conversations, despite their familiarity are ultimately cold and distant. Throughout the initial dinner scene, neither makes eye contact.

Even when Mrs. Oxford joins her husband at the table, their eyes never meet and the frame is partitioned by a lamp in frame.

"Look at us," Mrs. Oxford tells her husband as they discuss the Blaney case, "we've only been married 8 years and you can hardly keep your eyes open at night." Clearly any passion in this marriage has evaporated; replaced with English middle-class mediocrity and tedium.

Richard Blaney, on the other hand, is the every man who survives and skirts the edge of English society, between his desires and the demands placed on him. Despite his record in the RAF he walks away from the past, drowns his troubles in booze and finds shelter in the arms of a barmaid (Anna Massey) he courts throughout the picture.

The neck tie murder alternatively is a complete deviant, both social and sexual. This is revealed right before he murders Blaney's ex-wife who runs a matrimonial agency in London. When she continually refuses to find a match for him as a result of his sado-masochistic tastes, he is pushed over the edge and we are presented with a rather disturbing rape/murder scene that ends much like Rope's murder scene, in breathless ecstasy that the preceding rape scene failed to produce.

[Barry Foster as Robert Rusk (aka the Neck Tie Murderer) - notice how he is framed by two exotic pictures of women in his apartment.]

According to this review by Matthew Kitsell there is also an underlying theme between food, sex and death in this movie. That much is definitely true. Though in my opinion the food acts as a backdrop to the real undercurrent of societal repression.

While I won't go so far to say that this one of my overall favorite Hitchcock movie to date (it's not), it is one of my favorites at least with regards to its clever subtext.

Hitchcock is clearly mocking English society, a society at war with itself between it's stiff-upper-lip traditional values and the sexual revolution of the 60's and 70's. For Hitchcock such a dichotomy is the perfect breeding ground for the kind of "sexual maniac" that stalks the streets of London in Frenzy.

(Disclaimer: I'm aware that Hitchcock did not write the screenplay for this film, which was based on a book. My reading is based on the film. If anyone has any further information regarding the subtext that may or may not be in the screenplay/book be sure to leave a comment.)  

The Hidden Hitch [Part 1]

It seems only fitting to begin this blog - whose visual theme is inspired by Saul Bass' title sequence in Vertigo - with a discussion on Alfred Hitchcock.

Known widely as the Master of Suspense, Alfred Hitchcock is also a master of subtext and symbolism.

While I cannot claim to be a aficionado of all things Hitchcock - as I have yet to see a number of his most critically acclaimed films such as North by Northwest and Spellbound (much to my shame) - I have seen a few of his films like Psycho and Vertigo several times to be able to appreciate the deep themes that run through his films.

However, what's happened as a result, is when coming across some of his lesser-works (by comparison to his masterworks) I am often left cold as was the case with The Birds, Frenzy, and The Man who Knew Too Much.

However, in retrospect, instead of dismissing these films as cinematic misfires, I am drawn to appreciate them for the subtext that emerges on closer inspection. (The exception being The Man Who Knew Too Much, which I found underwhelming.)

Some films however require no retrospective analysis to appreciate and taken as a whole, when looking at the body of Hitchcock's work, one theme that runs through a many of his films is a seeming critique of modernist society. 

Hitchcock's Rope (1948) is one such movie. [Warning: spoilers ahead.]

The story starts with the film's two main characters Brandon (John Dall) and Philip (Farley Granger), two well-bred urbane socialites, murdering an old college friend-turned-corpse David Kentley (Dick Hogan).

The opening scene and subsequent scenes between Brandon and Philip suggests a homo-erotic relationship between them (an intentional suggestion by screen writer Arthur Laurent, himself gay, and later long-time partner of Granger).

Even the brief shot of the murder has homo-erotic undertones as the two men, flanking their victim on either side, hints at a sexual tryst ending in the third man's death. The scene continues as the two men catch their breath in silence followed by Brandon lighting up a cigarette, as if to suggest post-coital bliss.

(Which brings to mind the quote by French director Truffaut who said: “Hitchcock films scenes of love like scenes of murder, and scenes of murder like scenes of love.”)

The motivation to kill David, we are told, was not brought on by greed, jealousy or power - no - far simpler: it was merely Brandon's desire to commit the perfect murder.

As the story begins in earnest the murderers prepare to receive company, the body neatly hidden away in a chest placed squarely in the center of the scene, to be used as a serving table for their party guests.

Their motivation is further fleshed out during a scene midway through the film as Brandon and Philips' guests are settled in and casually discussing the "art" of murder:

                     The scene is the symbolic heart of the movie, tying everything together literally as well as metaphorically:

It is Hitchcock's simultaneous indictment and upholding of the benefits and evils of modernity. While we - the audience - recoil at Brandon's callous disregard for human life, his character and Phillip's are never really shown in a negative light.

Indeed they are sympathetic characters. Philip spends the film stupefied with regret while Brandon carries on in his suave manner.

Like Psycho's Norman Bates they are likable despite the gravity of their deeds.

And why should Hitchcock cast judgment on them? After all he had - up to that point and beyond - made a career of murder (fictional - yes - but murder nonetheless).

One might be forgiven to believe that perhaps even Hitchcock agreed with the sentiment that some people are worth murdering.

Additionally, the dinner scene (and its morbid conversation) summons to mind the image of The Last Supper in reverse, as the audience knows David is dead. The participants - Davids' father, his fiancee and his friends - partake of a meal served on his grave.

Hitchcock is saying that even if we do not accept the moral arguments of our protagonists, we indirectly partake in a society that engages in this sort of wanton destruction, whether we are agree or not. A kind of visual paraphrasing of Orwell's "People sleep peaceably in their beds at night only because rough men stand ready to do violence on their behalf" (note: misquoted according to Wikipedia, but more recognizable than the actual quote that inspired it).

Moral ambiguity runs throughout the film. There is no clear hero in this story. It can be neither Brandon nor Philip for obvious reasons. And, though he takes on heroic qualities toward the end, Jimmy Stewart's character Rupert Cadell - the boys' mentor from prep school - cannot be the hero as he is the one who instilled these young men with the values that Brandon so proudly upholds.

When Brandon vehemently retorts later in the scene above "Civilized? Perhaps what we call civilization is hypocrisy?" when questioned about his contempt for human life, it's Hitchcock's way of exploring modern civilization's duality.

That is to say - that civilization - with its modern conveniences, culture, wealth, technology and post-enlightenment thinking - does not automatically equate to being civil.

But this is, again, Hithcock's attempt to hold the mirror up to the audience knowing moviegoers see these films to relish in the intrigue of a murder. By centering the narrative on two characters we can't help but like he implicitly makes the audience complicit in their crime.

And ultimately it is this very same ambiguity that makes Rope such a treat to watch. On the surface it would appear to be a straightforward murder mystery but in fact it is a riveting tale of suspense layered with complex moral and philosophical questions that leave one haunted long after one has left the theater.

Welcome to The Secret Life of Cinema

Welcome movie lovers to The Secret Life of Cinema.

This site began as a simple idea stemming from my own love of film.

I love film; I love discussing film. Some see film as a passive experience, visual entertainment flashing on the screen to be received by the retinas - stimulating synapses - and then, once concluded, filed away. 

I know because I too was once like that: a of passive viewer. But then I became conscious of the visual and symbolic language of film. The metaphors and symbolism of film - like faded hieroglyphics in an Indiana Jones movie - became more distinct and tangible.

Film, like any language, possesses its own vocabulary as well as its own grammar and syntax.

As a visual language much of its vocabulary requires no interpretation for the average viewer. However, average viewers may watch a film and be completely unaware of the underlying meaning that lies beneath the surface. Many viewers only see the immediate action before them without wondering how the overall narrative fits together - like walking into a cathedral and seeing only the stained glass windows - oblivious to the structure holding it together.

Ultimately, this site is geared toward this particular average lay viewer, the serious film student may find the observations herein to be too academic. 

The Secret Life of Cinema is not intended to be a scholarly source of serious cinematic criticism, nor is the site a farce, though certainly some analysis may be tongue-in-cheek if not downright cheeky.

In fact, part of the inspiration for this site came about from a memorable scene in the 1994 Rory Kelly movie Sleep with Me. The scene features Quentin Tarantino in a small role discussing the homo-erotic symbolism of the 1986 action blockbuster Top Gun starring Tom Cruise.

This is the kind of bold, ballsy film interpretation I hope to achieve with this site. By doing so I have discovered that (some, though not all) mundane films become more dynamic and great films are further enriched.

Overall my hope for the site is to generate discussion. I will be the first to admit that I am no cinematic scholar, therefore, I welcome differing points of view. After all, discussion is an open door to new insights.

I look forward to hearing from you.