What Could Have Been: The 30 Foot Bride of Candy Rock

Opening in a way only a Buster Keaton short film seems to be able to, an accidental confrontation between a mailman and the main character (leading to a letter, by chance, falling into the hands of the man, as well as a broken pane of glass as a result of the postal worker’s anger), followed by another clash between the always in the wrong place protagonist and a bullish woman – who assumes the diminutive man must have done the damage to the window. . . then throw in a Polish priest (who doesn’t speak English) making his own assumptions, and somehow, Keaton becomes Husband, and this woman, played by Kate Price, becomes Wife, in 1922's My Wife’s Relations, written and directed by both Buster Keaton and Edward F. Cline.

We often generalize that old movies are dated. . . and, in some ways, this is true. Sometimes dialogue, fashion, cinematography, and numerous other aspects of a production can come across as old fashioned, yet human beings don't evolve quickly, and a well written romance, drama, comedy, or satire is practically timeless. For an example not related to the film being reviewed today, Charlie Chaplin's cocaine joke from Modern Times (though closing in on 90 years old), is still as funny today as it once was. A satire as rich and relevant today as it was when it was released back in 1969, Putney Swope, written and directed by Robert Downey Sr. (yes, Iron Man's father), holds a comedic magnifying glass up to our present predicament in regards to race and business. Opening with a magnificent overhead shot of New York City, a rather shockingly dressed Southerner (motorcycle gang member meets redneck) arrives in the Big Apple to provide a consult for an executive board of directors of an advertising firm (a large group of middle to aged white men with a token black man - in charge of the music department).

What does it take to gather the perfect heist team? Judging from the movies we’ve all watched countless times before, I think that we have a pretty good idea of what it takes. Pulling from those same flicks and flipping them on their head for comedic effect, The Heist (2017), directed by Luke Harris, is a four minute short film with slick style, visual flair, and high-octane pacing. Riffing off of the Ocean 11's and Guy Ritchie’s of the world, The Heist finds two handsomely good looking guys, Leo (Shaw Jones) and Pete (Shawn Parsons), pitching an aging mobster, Pauly (Steven Wishnoff) – who is relaxing in a bathrobe, no less, on their plan for the perfect heist, by a lavish swimming pool. . . in what sounds more like a producer’s pitch meeting. Amplifying the stakes of even the most outlandish of the genre (and that is saying something), the pair then start listing their team for this hesitant moneyman (of course, done in a brisk montage style) – from the talented getaway driver and explosive’s expert with a self referential nickname, to the black guy with a cockney accent and “the bad ass who just got his ass kicked but still has the guts to say, ‘Is that the best you got?’”. . . I think you get where they’re going with this gag-filled extravaganza.

It Happened One Night. . . what, you must be wondering? Well, on February 27th, 1935, at the 7th Academy Awards, the aforementioned film became the first ever to win the so-called ‘Big Five’ – Best Picture, Best Director (Frank Capra – his first of three wins for this category in the decade), Best Actor (Clark Gable), Best Actress (Claudette Colbert), and Best Screenplay – in this case, Adapted (Robert Riskin – based on the short story “Night Bus”). . . a rare feat that has only been replicated twice more (with 1975's One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest and 1991's The Silence of the Lambs). Often referred to as the first great romantic comedy as well as the first screwball comedy, all of this success and glory was not guaranteed. Capra, a director at Columbia Studios. . . a name that, at the time, equated to ‘Poverty Row’, was not known as a major studio.

Every once in a while, a scene, or to break it down even further, a moment, forever captures the zeitgeist of the cinema world. . . more long lasting and memorable than the movie ever could be. By now, you may have already guessed that I am talking about the breezy subway grate blowing up Marilyn Monroe’s flowy white dress (cooling her down on a hot summer’s night) in The Seven Year Itch (1955). Funnily enough, the press generated from the scene’s filming in New York City (the excitement of over five thousand fans watching them shoot and then spreading the word. . .along with the risqué-for-the-time photographs that circulated around the world) brought people into theatres to experience a moment that could never truly match up with what was broadcast. . . for the Hays code would never allow the revealing extent shown before the release to be seen on screen – though that is not to say that it is still not a fabulous clip. . . and I’m here to also say, so is the film.