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“You’re an un principled guy, ” said the old breeder to his reckless and angry son. “You live just for yourself.” The youngest has just come forward to temporarily sell his giant herd of scornful farm animals before we know animal sickness, a despicable perception that surprises his father. “It doesn’t take long to kill things,” the patriarch warns. “It’s not like that to grow up.”
Even without being able to let his wild, narcissistic son manage on his own, the old frank still blames his self-centered offspring for his penchant for lying to avoid the consequences. “Little by little the country’s gaze is adapting for the men we admire,” says the withered guy, who sees nothing intelligent beyond the horizon, starting with his impatient offspring.
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The scene is from Hud, the 1963 fashion western in which Paul Newguy stood out as an angry corpse with little interest in anything but himself, women and alcohol. Subtracting the latter element, it was very difficult to see the film the other night and not to live off the main character’s resemblance to the guy who was sitting in the White House lately. Despite all his hatefulness, Hud caused unrest only for those close by, while the equally reckless figure who replaced Abraham Lincoln’s Oval Office portrait with that of Andrew Jackson caused worldwide consternation.
In short, Martin Ritt’s film, set in Texas and founded on Larry McMurtry’s first novel, Horseguy, Pass By, published in 1961 when he was 25, feels remarkable and uncomfortable, relevant, probably more than he would be. A few years ago. Perhaps then we felt that we had gone beyond the desire to pay close attention to the kind of adult, impetuous, self-centered baby men whose retrograde attitudes may have been noticed as something largely confined to the rearview mirror. But at the moment, we can’t escape the syndrome of a guy who doesn’t take responsibility, who’s only guilty of himself.
Hud did very well in the workplace and won 3 Academy Awards, respectively, for Patricia Neal and Melvyn Douglas for Best Supporting Actress and Supporting Actor, and for James Wong Howe’s elegant black-and-white cinematography. Some films made more than 50 years ago seem inflexible and artificial, like relics from another era, while others seem completely modern, with little or no concession due to adjustments of styles and attitudes; Hud, with his central amoral character and direct vision of human nature, feels emotionally genuine and has strength.
Because it introduces our friend Norman Lloyd as CEO, the other night we saw Dead Poets Society, which is surprisingly 31 years old (meaning Norman only 75 at the time) and co-performer, the very young Ethan Hawke and Robert Sean. Leonard as serious kids from personal schools on the East Coast who adopt their initiation rites to a privileged virility. Our first reaction that this is a film that would never be made today because it focuses exclusively on high-elegance white men who embrace, even with dubious tactics, their birthrights.
But there are at least two major scripting disorders through Tom Schulguy, who won an Oscar for it. First, it winds from the middle, to make a sudden melodramatic turn towards the end. Second, the teacher, interpreted with serious verve through Robin Williams, is simply a brooch to Horace’s philosophical edict carpe diem, or “take advantage of the day,” the imperative he wishes to instill in his impressionable students. There is no attempt to expand this inexhaustible inexhaustible type into a guy that resembles a three-dimensional huguy being; it’s a totem designed for one thing and one thing: inspire children to think for themselves.
Undoubtedly, the back-to-back films I took to Nick for the first time were Francois Truffaut’s first autobiographical feature film, The 400 Shots, which is enduring in his account of a torn and magnificently celebrated childhood, and The King of Comedy. and that I’ve kept since day one is one of Martin Scorsese’s films.
The latter was reinforced by my reminiscence of the night after the screening, which was the single most productive occasion I have attended. After the premiere on February 1, 1983, visitors headed from the 20th Century Fox lot to the Improv on Melrose, an intimate place where the audience could enjoy the widest diversity of actors I’ve ever seen live with the same bill in one. Night. I don’t forget them all, but I know we saw George Burns (only 87 at the time, thirteen years old to come), Alan King, Sandra Bernhard (who co-starred the film) and Buddy Hackett. At the time, I had only seen Hackett on TELEVISION, where he was very funny. But live, on stage, he killed, with the dirtiest regime I’ve ever heard.
Two other titles of interest are two thrillers of foreign spies that run between black films and recreations of bold covert feats during and after World War II. Henry Hathaway was much more of a relaxed western director than a thriller specialist, but he was in good shape at number thirteen on 1946’s Rue Madeleine, where James Cagney ran an ultra-secret spy unit in France during World War II.
More confusing but also more exciting is the Diplomatic Mail of the same director of the same director of 1952, in which army spy Tyrone Power travels between many trains to Salzburg and, despite everything, the dense chaos of Trieste, a city rarely seen in Hollywood videos that is incredibly photogenic in black and white. It is also full of unknown horizons that accentuate its prestige as a mysterious center of intrigue on the East-West border in the tense wake of World War II. (This is also where James Joyce wrote the maximum of Ulysses).
If you look closer, it is transparent that the main actors did not move to Europe for filming, suggesting that the photographs of the post were all made through a unit for now. But my french director friend and ideal filmmaker, Bertrand Tavernier, told me the other day that a Hollywood team had passed to Trieste and filmed a lot there.
“I think Hathaway shot in Trieste still without actors, only in doubles,” Bertrand said. “He told me he was very proud of the film, a real challenge.” Tyrone Power couldn’t leave Hollywood. I had to hide that I had used a double, which made them run much faster than Tyrone, which gave them a superpower to those shots. »
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