Hammer Horror?

To Be or Not to Be walks a complicated tightrope – released in 1942, the World War II set comedy, even by today’s standards, could be called politically incorrect. Satirizing the horrible situation over in Europe (specifically Poland), co-adapter and director Ernst Lubitsch knew, like Charlie Chaplin before him (The Great Dictator), that it was vital to be able to laugh in the face of Hitler and the Nazis, both alleviating the tension of audiences back home with humour while also bringing the Axis power down a notch, highlighting their absurdly ridiculous doctrine and beliefs. A play, or should I say plays within a play, the story follows an acting troupe in Poland managed by producer/director Dobosh (Charles Halton). Starring the husband and wife team of Joseph (Jack Benny) and Maria Tura (Carole Lombard), they are currently bringing Shakespeare’s “Hamlet” to life. Preparing for their next play during the day, “Gestapo” is a satire revolving around Hitler and his cronies, comedy coming from the extensive use of “Heil Hitler”, an inquisition of a young child who the Nazis are worried will not talk, and a joke about how “They named a brandy after Napoleon, they made a herring out of Bismarck, and the Fuhrer is going to end up as a piece of cheese!”. Of course, Maria wants to wear a fashionable dress in a concentration camp scene much to the chagrin of Dobosh, though Greenberg (Felix Bressart), the lowly Jewish actor who desperately hopes of playing Shylock one day, suggests, “It’ll get a terrific laugh” – his go-to catch phrase. Other problems arise, with Dobosh equally unimpressed by Bronski’s (Tom Dugan) Hitler, saying, “I don’t know. . . it’s not convincing. To me, he’s just a man with a little mustache”, to which the makeup man replies, “But so is Hitler” – a line that really hits home.

Tackling Raymond Chandler’s1953 novel “The Long Goodbye” (which features detective Philip Marlowe) in a unique way, director Robert Altman decided to, “call him Rip Van Marlowe, and we took the position that he had been asleep for twenty years, woke up, and Elliott [Gould] just wandered through that film. . . and that was our idea – that he was wandering through this landscape, the film trying to invoke the morals of a previous time into this early seventies.” Set exactly twenty years after the novel’s release date, detective Philip Marlowe (Gould) awakes in the middle of the night from a deep sleep – voice raspy, five o’clock shadow quickly moving onto six. . . a man in an endless stupor. His retro suits, skinny ties and constant smoking are out of place, much like his 1948 Cabriolet Lincoln Continental Convertible – a gent who is undoubtably from another time (even his salary closely resembles what a detective would make in the late 40s or early 50s).

In this era of female empowerment, a name from the past that must be highlighted is Dorothy Arzner. Starting as a typist in the film business for director William C. de Mille (the older brother of Cecil), less than a year later, she had worked her way up to screenwriter, soon after, promoted to editor. Editing star Rudolph Valentino’s Blood and Sand, her impressive skill was immediately evident. Continuing to do stellar work, she eventually threatened to move from Paramount to rival Columbia if not given a directorial job, the studio conceding in 1927. The only major female director in Hollywood during its “Golden Age”, she was able to transition from silent films to talkies (the first female director to make one), and, while filming 1929's The Wild Party, is credited with essentially developing the first boom mike – some say it was to help star Clara Bow get over her fear of talking on camera, others to end her frustration of always having to hide a microphone in one spot on set. . . in any case, she had technicians rig a microphone onto a fishing rod, solving the problem (and, though she did not patent the idea, Edmund H. Hansen did one year later, she is credited with its invention).

Only the second feature film to be made by Disney (the first was Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs), Pinocchio, released in 1940, was, shockingly, a failure at the box office (partially due to distribution problems relating to World War II). . . though, after many re-releases, including the highly successful 1945 venture, it flourished. A complex and influential undertaking, it took five sequence directors (Norman Ferguson, T. Lee, Wilfred Jackson, Jack Kinney, and Bill Roberts), two supervising directors (Hamilton Luske and Ben Sharpsteen), and a mind-boggling seven writers (Ted Sears, Otto Englander, Webb Smith, William Cottrell, Joseph Sabo, Erdman Penner, and Aurelius Battaglia), as well as uncredited scribe Bill Peet to bring Carlo Lorenzini’s (better known by nom de plume Carlo Collodi) fairy tale, “The Adventures of Pinocchio”, to life.

It’s funny how vivid our memories can be – clearly recalling moments from when we were kids. I can remember hearing of actor Brandon (son of Bruce) Lee’s death while shooting a movie, seeing photos of him plastered all over magazines and tv in his now iconic makeup. Making a connection soon after in my mind with Sting (not the singer of The Police, but rather, the wrestler – who soon after Lee’s death modelled his makeup on his character. . . as you can guess, I was into wresting at the time), his look and story stuck with me from the age of six until now, a heartbreaking tale of a fatal mistake made on set. Of course, the film I am referring to is The Crow, directed by Alex Proyas (Dark City) – a tale that is hard to separate from the depressing real life tragedy. Like some sort of eerie foreshadowing, its narrative follows Eric Draven (Lee), a man who has died after being stabbed, shot and thrown out of a window (Lee passed away after being shot by an improperly deactivated cartridge) – all of this after his fiancée has been raped and murdered.