The Non-Review Review: "The Birth Of A Nation"

The Birth of A Nation (2016)
directed by and starring Nate Parker

Should you see it? I'll leave it to you. I don't have compelling arguments either way. Sorry if that's disappointing.

When the news began to trickle out of the film festivals that a new movie about the historic Nat Turner slave rebellion, one that was independently financed, directed by and starring Nate Parker was garnering rave reviews, many African American film fans pricked up our ears. A film about an amazing moment in our history, when an enslaved person rose up with hundreds of others in a bloody battle against their enslavers was finally being made? A film made outside the studio system? When this film was snapped up by a distributor for a record-setting $17 million, we were enthralled and agog.

And then began the furor over the college rape case in which Nate Parker was a defendant. Then the revelation that the victim in the case, for which Parker was acquitted but his roommate and the new film's co-writer was convicted, had committed suicide. The news was bad, conferring infamy on Parker and a long shadow over the fortunes of his film. Ugh, ugh, and ugh.

So what did Parker do? Apparently he started out to apologize, but sooner or later hubris and a sense of embattled entitlement took hold, and he either dug himself deeper in interviews or failed to engage the media at all about the film. He didn't seem to grasp why the public was up in arms about what he saw as a small footnote from his distant past, tried to wave it all away as youthful folly without a deeper discussion of rape, consent, respect for women, or his own role in what occurred. His refusal to truly show remorse or understanding backfired, big time. Now the media outlets are trumpeting the fact that his opening weekend was less than satisfactory.

Now, I try to watch films for their own artistic merits. I might stay away from a star or filmmaker's work because I don't find them to be to my taste, but not because of their personal lives or choices. So I went to see The Birth of A Nation with a mind to evaluating the narrative, performances and the production on their own terms.

But I have to admit that it was difficult to do and I'm not sure that I succeeded. Because my reaction to the film is, in truth, a kind of a shrug. It is not a bad film. It's beautifully shot. But I don't think it's a particularly great film either; I think its merits are in showing us a story that has never been shown on the big screen in this fashion before and in assembling a stellar cast and crew to create that film. Despite my best intentions, the bad publicity surrounding Parker, and the evidence of bad judgment he showed at the time of the rape and in defending his actions some 11 years after, have torn away any goodwill blinders through which I might have viewed this first directorial effort.

I may have judged Parker's performance differently, because as it stands, Parker shows us the facts about Turner, but his script doesn't give him a unique personality.

Nat Turner was taught to read as a child. He bore unusual marks on his body. He was a preacher. But the film never shows us his responses to those events or roles -- who did he think he was? Did he get fulfillment from being able to read when other slaves could not, what was the level of his religious belief? How did others see him? It's true that the state of being enslaved provided little room for emotional or creative expression. But slaves were human, and within humanity the traits of love, joy, art, and sensitivity are always present. Now it's true that the tropes of moviemaking often require that the audience root for a hero not just for his actions but for who he is -- someone larger than life, whose emotional conflicts are writ large on screen. The film attempts to perpetuate a kind of religious mysticism about Turner, but it comes off muddled. The viewer is left wondering when this Nat Turner fellow will catch fire -- and spark a fire in us as well. While Turner does of course see his sign in the sky and draw others into his plan, it seems to come late in the film and without the facts of history already telling us that a rebellion is coming, the film itself fails to build enough tension on its own.

There have been critics who say that the film misrepresents the roots of the Turner rebellion by making it about the attack on his wife and the rape of a fellow slave's wife. I didn't feel that those were the main causes -- I thought that Turner's observation of how all enslaved people were forced to suffer humiliations, indignities, abuse and torture was cumulative, leading him to read the Bible in a new way.

The film doesn't truly show the extent of the mayhem Turner and his followers brought to the white slave holders of Southampton county before they were brought down. Yes, we saw some chilling violence committed against his own master and a neighboring plantation -- and believe me, that violence was hard to watch -- but the way the film was cut, it left me with too many questions about the timeline and the overall impact of the rebellion. We did see Turner and many other African Americans hanged -- also, very hard to watch. But in terms of filling in the blanks for the viewer, perhaps Turner was smart not to. None of us was witness to those long ago events, certainly not Nate Parker, and perhaps if he had reached to create fictional events or imbue Turner himself with fictional traits, we'd be lambasting him even more.

In conclusion, I don't have much to say either way about the film. If you are so inclined to see this work, see it. If not, don't. I think Aunjanue Ellis, the actress who plays Turner's mother in the film, wrote one of the best essays I'd seen (in Ebony, read it here) about reasons to see the film, so I leave you with that.

Getting Down With "The Get Down": A B-Boy/Disco Queen Time Machine

The Get Down (2016; Netflix)

Finished watching the first six episodes of the Netflix series The Get Down last week, directed by Australian Baz Luhrmann (Moulin Rouge, The Great Gatsby) -- (and a shout out to series supervising producer Nelson George). I have to say that I loved it, unabashedly. I want to kiss it on both cheeks, hug it tight, thank it for coming, and ask it not to be a stranger. I know that it is unapologetically eccentric, long-winded, and prone to exaggeration, like an old auntie who spins fantastic yarns about how great things used to be; yet as in the wake of a visit by a relative with a great way with a narrative, I can't help reliving the best moments of the stories.

The Get Down's plot centers on the dreams of a handful of South Bronx teens, but careens from painting New York City history with broad strokes -- the blackout of '77, the burning of tenements, street gang warfare, the mayoral campaign of eventual victor Ed Koch -- to telling the true story of the rise of hip-hop and its disciplines (DJing, MCing, B-Boying, graffiti and eventually beatboxing) against the already peaking disco movement. But it also drifts into the realities of 1970s New York: poverty, racism, racketeering, the drug trade, prostitution and more. As such it is detailed, sprawling, inspired, beautiful, ugly, messy, historic, sentimental, nostalgic, rough, funny, tender, tense, and in some ways frustrating, revisionist, and fantastical, but I loved it just the same. But I can't help myself, I was predisposed to love it.

I'm an Afro/Carib/Latina who grew up in the Soundview section of the Bronx, and was 17 for most of 1977. The Get Down is a vivid reminder of just where I began my life's journey. Much like the lead character, Ezekiel "Books" Figuero (Justice Smith), I was a piano playing, poetry writing nerd teen coming up in a household that didn't always understand my artistic pursuits. And much like Zeke's love interest, Mylene Cruz, I had two loving, hard working parents trying to stretch a dollar and protect me and my sisters from the streets. And like most teenagers, I was balancing my love of music, art, film and books with my interest in boys; trying to keep up with my cigarette and weed-smoking, wine-swilling, disco dancing, record-swapping, relationship-drama friends; and coping with the overwhelming expectations from my parents and teachers for a promising future, where I would overcome my humble beginnings and ultimately get out of the South Bronx. (I did, btw.)

The show's ongoing visual of a grafitti-covered elevated subway train spinning over Westchester Avenue past burnt out tenements through the St. Mary's Park Houses toward the magic and promise of Manhattan (the show's episode titles are spray-painted on the cars) was part of my everyday reality, along with the bodegas, the storefront churches, the avenue beauty salons and record stores, and the clubs and discos that director Luhrmann so painstakingly recreated for the series. I had my Sweet 16 party in a community room on Sedgwick Avenue, not far from where hip-hop forefather Kool Herc held court (my party DJ is now the founder and CEO of the Universal Hip Hop Museum). Like Mylene, I often told my parents I was "spending the night" with a girlfriend but we snuck out in slinky disco dresses, makeup, and Charlie perfume on the 6 train down to the East Side of Manhattan, where we danced The Hustle with strangers at places with names like Ipanema and Pegasus and Copa Cabana. When the Blackout of '77 hit, I was just out of high school watching TV at home, and banned from leaving the house by my rightfully terrified parents. And I was a witness as the neighborhood crews sparking attention were now dudes with the powers to move the crowd through microphone and turntable skills as we danced under the playground streetlamps and shouted some of the first "Throw your hands up in the air and party like you just don't care" s ever heard.

The Get Down brings it all back. Watching now recalls moments of the 1975 film Aaron Loves Angela, a star-crossed teen lovers riff on Romeo & Juliet starring Irene Cara, whom Mylene actress Herizen Guardiola resembles; Wild Style, the 1983 film depicting hip-hop culture; and Fame, the urban high school musical classic from 1980.

As with most Luhrmann productions, the storylines are a bit overheated and at times surreal -- particularly the depiction of Shaolin Fantastic's initial legend and in the treatment of Grandmaster Flash as a mystical being. But I can accept that -- because early hip-hop was regarded by its young devotees as a mysterious, competitive and closed discipline that required dedication and skills for entrance. The glory of the series is in the details - the elaborate set designs, the precise costuming, and the pristine cinematography create a colorful tableau and brought me right back to those days of afros and tube tops, platform shoes and leisure suits, bell bottoms and 1940's styled dresses. The show gets the very smallest parts of the era right -- from Papa Fuerte giving his niece money for Huckapoo shirts, to Rah Rah advising Zeke to be "soave bolla" with Mylene, and especially to the exacting nature of turntablism and emceeing.

In fact, for me, where the series really gives me a jolt of electricity, is when the characters talk about their love for music. When Grandmaster Flash asks Shaolin why he wants to be a DJ and explains the sheer power inherent in music, and why music is its own reward, the hairs on my arms stood up. That message resonates with all music creators and fans, of every genre. Other characters, like washed-up songwriter Jackie Moreno and small-time gangster Cadillac, also talk about the pleasures of music in heartfelt terms.

The Get Down excels with its cast of young players, primarily Justice Smith as the earnest, smart and resourceful Zeke; the marvelous Shameik Moore (of Dope), who balances mysteriousness, toughness, and vulnerability as Shaolin Fantastic; veteran Jimmy Smits as "poverty pimp" politician Papa Fuerte, chewing the scenery with delicious abandon; Jaden Smith as the dreamy self-styled rebel and graffiti artist Dizzee; Skylan Brooks (who broke my heart in The Inevitable Defeat Of Mister & Pete) as youthful sage Ra-Ra; and fresh-faced Tremaine Brown, Jr., as small-fry comic relief Boo Boo. Mahmoudou Athie is a perfect ringer for Grandmaster Flash; and despite his role as cartoon villain Cadillac, Yahya Abdul Mateen II, tricked out in his sharpest Teddy Pendergrass look, is nothing less than sublime talking about his love of disco and dancing the floor in the Les Inferno club. Guardiola does her best with the teenaged Donna Summer wannabe role of Mylene; and Broadway vet Lillias White stretches out as Les Inferno's boss madame Fat Annie.

Kudos to Luhrmann and his production team for bringing in Grandmaster Flash himself, along with co-producer Nas, to help ground this show in the true spirit of hip-hop. Can't wait for the next six episodes, due in 2017.

Backward Glance: Ronin (Or ... Riding In Cars With Boys)

Ronin (1998)
Directed by John Frankenheimer
With Robert DeNiro, Jean Reno, Natascha McElhone, Stellan Skaarsgard

"After we avert this international crisis, let's have coffee." "Sure. But don't tell The Woman."


Watched Ronin again recently. I used to adore this John Frankenheimer movie unreservedly. It's brisk, suspenseful, brain-teasing in the spy-versus-spy way that today's Jason Bourne flicks are, and it's a French travelogue to boot. I still like it fine, but perhaps a bit less slavishly than before. Only because on repeated viewings I've become more aware of its plot holes and more shocked by its violence and muted misogyny.

There's a scene in Nice, France, where Irish rebel operative Natascha McElhone and American hired gun Robert DeNiro sit in a car, staking out the parties they plan to ambush and steal from. They've only met days earlier. When a car approaches, in order to look like a harmlessly amorous couple, DeNiro's quick thinking Sam wordlessly leans over and plants an unexpected smooch on "Deirdre." And she just goes with it, to the extent that even after the danger is past she continues the kissing. And that's basically how you have to be with this movie. From the first frame, without any real warning or an introduction, this flick is going to lean right in and tongue kiss the shit out of you and you will just have to go with it because it's so strong, attractive, and sure of itself.

In a Montmartre bar we are plunged into the first meeting of a group of international mercenaries, some of them referred for the job to the mysterious and badass ringleader Deirdre by "the man in the wheelchair." That's all we know about him, there is no name and no reason and we never see said man or his wheelchair. These hired guns are pulled together with various skills -- automotives, computers, weaponry, tactical warfare, resources -- and told they must wrest a "case" from a group of 3 to 8 men by force, and expect heavy retaliation. Again, no one is told what is in The Case or why it's so important to the parties willing to die for it. It's a MacGuffin of the highest order, in that what's in The Case proves immaterial to the narrative. Our interest is piqued by the setup.

And now, to the boys: Actor Sean Bean, who succumbs to a bad case of ring lust in The Lord of the Rings flicks, here plays an Irish hooligan who can't keep his mouth shut or his shit together during their very first weapons buy and gets canned as a faker before the action. The others -- steely American DeNiro, thoughtful French resource man Jean Reno, shifty eyed German computer wiz Stellan Skarsgard, and chain smoking American stunt driver Skipp Sudduth -- set up camp in a Nice hotel room to plot their assault.

As in most movies, whatever can go wrong will go wrong, and despite the perfect ambush plan that sends them on a nail-biting car chase through the town and hillsides of Nice and nets them The Case (while dozens of innocents die in the crossfire), they've been double-crossed by greedy asshole Gregor (Skarsgard), who snatches the case for himself to sell to the decadent Russians and leaves the others to die. Only American Sam is too freaking smart for the okeydoke.

In fact, Sam's all-seeing wisdom, tactical competence, and calm under fire begs the question of just who the hell he is, where he comes from, and why he's on this mission. As Vincent (Reno) tries to gently pry, Sam skirts questions about past and present affiliations with corny jokes. We know from the first that there's more to him than meets the eye -- and so does Vincent, who has some interesting affiliations of his own. Now that these two understand each other, it's a buddy film with Sam and Vincent doing the heavy lifting to find the case and save each others' skins in the process (France did give us the Statue of Liberty and we, like, owe them). The quest takes them, along with Deirdre and driver Larry, to the medieval town of Arles for a shootout, where poor Larry gets his throat slashed and Deirdre gets abducted. Now they follow Gregor back to a Paris ice skating extrvaganza to tangle with some treacherous Russians and Deirdre's superior, a rogue IRA operative named Seamus (played with evil gusto and a mean Irish brogue by normally mild-mannered Brit Jonathan Pryce).

The genius of director John Frankenheimer is in the chase scenes, particularly a white knuckle setpiece in which Deirdre takes the wheel -- with Seamus and Gregor along for the ride -- and attempts to evade Sam and Vincent by driving her Audi (or is it a Mercedes?) the wrong way through a Paris tunnel (the same one that later claimed the life of Princess Diana). Certainly Frankenheimer knows how to shoot speeding cars after helming 1966's Grand Prix, a feat of incredible filmmaking about French car racing (not to mention that he is a master of the taut suspense plot, having served up The Manchurian Candidate, The Train, and 1973's nail biter Black Sunday). He puts the camera and the actors right in the car and shoots live, often going up to 120 miles per hour. But yo -- there's driving fast and then there is driving fast AGAINST ONCOMING TRAFFIC. As a movie goer I don't think I'd ever seen a chase scene quite like this one, where the camera puts you in the driver's seat, and it left a big impression.

Yada yada yada. Turns out Big Bad Sam is only perpetrating as a gun for hire, he's still very much engaged by his "high school" -- as he euphemistically refers to the CIA -- and we can infer that Vincent has been similarly dispatched by European intelligence. Both men are not as concerned with the case and its contents as with putting a stop to the baddie who set all this international kerfuffle in motion, i.e. Seamus, who, as it turns out, has been ejected from the IRA and is acting alone. His capture helps Ireland's Sinn Fein party gain enough stability to sign a peace agreement with Great Britain, and all is well with the world. Cut to Sam and Vincent, raising a pint together at the bistro in celebration.

But back to the issue of the flick's mild misogyny, if indeed bias against women can ever be termed "mild." Sam's handpicked reward for all of this political aggravation -- a prize to which he feels eminently entitled -- is Deirdre herself. At the very end of the flick, to Vincent's bemusement, Sam hangs around the Montmartre bar where they first met a moment longer, hoping she'll show up. The audience is left wondering as Sam's wondering. But DeeDee, Girl, if you have any self respect, you won't show.

Although "Deer-dree" is presented at first glance as a pants-wearing, no-crap-taking boss lady, Sam constantly challenges her authority, tells her to call her "handlers" even when she insists that she's the shot caller, tells her "you look good cleaned up" when he forces her to pose as his rich tourist trophy wife (as if she didn't look good and/or was dirty before), and calls her "the woman" more than once. At one point he even tosses her the leather jacket he's wearing and tells her to "clean the paint off of it"; WTF, when did she become a domestic, no less an industrial dry cleaner? (And how the hell do you get silver spray paint off a leather jacket on Christmas Eve???) That kiss I mentioned at the top comes out of the blue; these two hadn't flirted or so much as smiled at each other up to that point, and yet Big Bad Sam instantly conquers and tames Queen Deirdre through the sheer power of his sexual prowess. But she's willing, folks. The film has her going in for more because that first kiss was so good -- I mean, that was all it took! Then, at the conclusion of the film, as Deirdre is just about to complete her mission by scooping up both Seamus and The Case, Big Bad Sam swoops down and plays Captain Save-A-Hoe. "Walk away!" he instructs her. Because, you know, otherwise she would be apprehended as an Irish terrorist -- and then who would be the grateful little cherry on Sam's sundae when all this is over?

The only other woman in the flick is a gorgeous Russian ice skater (played by East German Olympic gold medalist Katarina Witt), whose role in the film is to kiss and caress a Russian gangland gargoyle 20 years her senior, catch a bullet between the eyes and fall lifeless to the ice in the middle of a performance. (Witt: What's my role in the film going to be? Frankenheimer: You get to act out "a cold day in hell." Witt: Oh, danke!)

Ronin is still one of DeNiro's best mid-career screen efforts, and the combination with the fantastic Reno is hard to beat. There are explosions, incredible car crashes, a miniature set of Ronin (the masterless samurai the title refers to), and DeNiro extracts a bullet -- from himself! Adding significantly to the film's mood is the ominous and tense score by Czechoslovakian composer Elia Cmiral. Recommended for those who really like a good thriller with a splash of old school sex thrown in for flavor.

Late '60s Spanish Harlem Fantasy With "Popi"

"Popi" (1969)
directed by Arthur Hiller
Starring Alan Arkin, Rita Moreno



I have not seen this film in decades, but I remember it vividly because of its New York locations, its Puerto Rican characters, and of course the fiery Rita Moreno, whom I always loved, but here plays a less-fiery role.

Popi is positioned as a comedy, but at the beginning there are so many gritty, that's-a-bit-too-true-to-be-funny details in it that the film is sometimes more somber than it intends. But because of the casting of a non-Hispanic actor in the lead, and the stereotyping it continues to push, the film hits some bad notes that I wasn't entirely aware of when I was ten.

The story is about struggling Puerto Rican father Abraham Rodriguez, called "Popi" by his kids, played by decidedly Jewish actor Alan Arkin, who earned an Oscar for playing a deaf/mute in The Heart Is A Lonely Hunter from the year before Popi was released. Here, with an uneven accent, his character is trying to raise two rambunctious, mischievous young sons in the urban jungle of Spanish Harlem after their mother dies. Adorably precocious Luis, 9, and Junior, 11, are often on their own, and frequently ditch school and run wild in the streets with other kids among the pimps, hookers, junkies, thieves, and gangs while their father toils in an almost-comic-if-it-weren't-so-sad series of menial jobs to make ends meet.

What I remember from first viewing as a kid is all the precautions the father took to safeguard their precarious lifestyle: The door had like ten locks on it, including that one where you prop an iron rod against the door; when anyone knocked unexpectedly, Popi launched his convincingly menacing guard-dog bark to scare them away; he squirreled food and supplies home from his various jobs to help them survive; and he drilled his boys on cleaning up and saying the right thing for the social worker, the truant officer or any government official who comes by. Were these situations film stereotyping in the extreme? Certainly. But I remember that most of the black and Latino audience at the Westchester Avenue theater in the Bronx where my father took us to see it could seriously relate to what they saw on the screen.

Popi's dream is to make enough money to marry his girlfriend Lupe (Moreno) and move them all to the then-relatively safer and more family-oriented Brooklyn (I guess there were good pockets of Brooklyn at the time, but that borough was just as bad as Harlem in the '70s). When the boys are attacked and humiliated by a local gang, who steal their clothes and leave them stark naked, Popi has reached the end of his rope. He fears the boys will be further victimized in their rough neighborhood, despairs that social services will remove them from his care, he worries that despite his herculean efforts he may not be the father his children deserve and contemplates desperate measures.

While on a job Popi hears about a pair of young Cuban refugees who are rescued from a dilapidated boat in the waters off of Florida by U.S. officials, then granted asylum and whisked off into the arms of well-to-do American adoptive families for a happy ending. A lightbulb goes off. In a determined furor of self-sacrifice, Popi decides that the only thing he can do to guarantee his children a better life is to give them up so they can be adopted by people with middle-class resources and values. "what kind of a man would give away his children?" asks a horrified Lupe.

Undeterred, he hatches an elaborate scheme to set the kids adrift off the coast of Miami in hopes that the Coast Guard will find them and mistake them for Cuban boat people. Needless to say, things do not go according to plan.

The plan involves teaching Junior and Luis to speak only in Spanish; to memorize details about their fictional home in Cuba; coaching them in how to manage a rowboat on the lake in Central Park; and convincing them that it's all to the greater good. Popi manages to get them all to Florida, then steals a launch, drops the boys in and instructs them to gun the motor into the the Atlantic until the fuel runs out. So with a few food supplies and strict instructions, Popi abandons them to their fates with tears in his eyes as his son screams "I hate you, I hope you die!" It's a completely gripping and nearly unbelievable moment, because it's a big ocean and how could any parent do this without the firmest conviction that he's doing the absolute best possible thing for them?

Popi returns to his hotel, agonizing as hours turn into a day and a day turns into several days without any news Cuban boat people rescues. Then, as the anguished father regrets his decision, the TV news reports that his sons are rescued from their boat, hungry, sunburned and dehydrated and whisked to a local Miami hospital for care. The boys stick to their scripts, speaking in Spanish and repeating their stories as the public dotes on the "Cuban refugees" and showers them with gifts and attention.

But when Popi disguises himself to sneak into the hospital to give them final instructions and a last goodbye, the three break into an argument in English that exposes the whole thing as a hoax. Chagrined but relieved, Popi returns to New York with Junior and Luis in tow, and resume their precarious but familiar lifestyle routine.

The film begins as a compelling look at poverty-line life in New York's Spanish Harlem and how Puerto Ricans -- who are American citizens -- struggle to assimilate in America. But then the film turns into an awkward spoof of American/Cuban relations and plays some serious issues for cheap laughs. Regardless, Arkin is a brilliant actor who allows us to feel his deep love for his children and how much pain is involved in loving them enough to give them up.

The film proved popular enough at the time to launch a short-lived sitcom, also called Popi, starring Puerto Rican actor Hector Elizondo.

Here's a video about how the two boys who played Luis and Junior were chosen from hopefuls in Spanish Harlem:

Classic Western: The Magnificent Seven

The Magnificent Seven (1960)
directed by John Sturges
starring Yul Brynner, Eli Wallach, Steve McQueen, Charles Bronson, James Coburn, Robert Vaughn, Horst Buchholz, Brad Dexter

Everybody likes to see a bully get his, especially when the underdogs deliver the comeuppance themselves.

The story of The Magnificent Seven is an enduring one, which is no doubt why it keeps getting remade. Itself cribbed from Akira Kurosawa's 1954 Seven Samurai, this film gets another version this September 23 by director Antoine Fuqua (Training Day, The Italian Job) with Denzel Washington in the Yul Brynner role.



As a fan of old movies, I find it disheartening whenever a studio decides to "update" a film classic because inevitably they tinker with the script's best elements and make a mess of things. Here's hoping that Fuqua doesn't add too many extraneous details or an unnecessary love interest.

SYNOPSIS & SPOILERS

When a village of poor Mexican farmers sees its crops stolen and its women threatened for the umpteenth time by sneering bandit Calvera (Eli Wallach) and his crew of roaming outlaws, they decide they have no choice but to fight for their survival. They hire on a group of American mercenaries, led by Yul Brynner (with his usual accent, though this time he's supposed to be a Creole), to get them guns and train them in tactical warfare to ward off the bully next time he shows. Among the group of gunfighters are old hands Charles Bronson and Steve McQueen, long and lean James Coburn, cardsharp smoothie Robert Vaughn, reliable Brad Dexter and firebrand youngblood Horst Buchholz.

We're supposed to believe that Brynner and his cohorts are interested in fairness and justice, not just money; in an early scene Brynner and newly acquainted pal McQueen take a dare to drive the hearse carrying a dead Indian to the all-white town cemetery for a proper burial, something the white residents of the town try to prevent. The bigots get winged by a few bullets from the heroes in the process.

Once Brynner gathers up his posse, they travel across the border to the town and start weighing their options. Another indication of the group's "righteousness" is when the villagers gather up their meager resources to fete the mercenaries with a big feast. The men learn that most of the town's children are hungry and decide to share their meal. Look, gunslingers have hearts too!

Calvera shows his sweaty face again with 40 of his men and battles The Seven head on; as a result Calvera's crew gets their numbers significantly thinned out. Despite this early victory for the villagers, things turn more deadly when Calvera returns and takes over ("If God didn't want them sheared, he wouldn't have made them sheep" says Calvera of the villagers). This prompts one last shootout with the gunslingers that eventually kills Calvera, who can't quite seem to believe he's been bested by this crew and asks Brynner "why did you come here?" before kicking the bucket. Victory, yes, but the shootout has also left four of The Seven dead in the streets.

The Magnificent Seven is about good versus evil.

It's about the power of revenge -- but also what it costs to achieve.

It's also about male camaraderie; brotherhood in the service of a noble cause. This is a theme that has driven many a war film, not to mention dozens of "buddy" flicks.

And with its cast of tough guys, who have plenty of "cool" and swagger to spare, The Magnificant Seven still serves as a model of what the ultimate Man's Man is supposed to be: cool under fire; full of heart; ready and able to do the right thing; protector of women, children, and the downtrodden; but cold-blooded when necessary.

Unfortunately, the film bears the stamp of the "white savior" movie plot so prevalent throughout film history, though "The Magnificent Seven" tries hard to preach an equality-type message. Nevertheless, the Mexican villagers go hat in hand to the Americans for help, and find themselves learning how to stand up for themselves from the white Yankees.

Women do appear in the film, but they have no real agency. The village hides its women in the forest to protect them against the marauders until Buchholz smokes one out and forces her to share information. But in this film the men have no time for romance, and that's one of the things I like about it. Rather a film with no part for women, than a film that gets sticky with unnecessary liaisons or that shows off the rampant sexism pervasive both at the time the story was set and the time it was filmed.

A story of persistence and courage in the face of danger never goes out of style. Combined with great widescreen cinematography and a taut soundtrack, The Magnificent Seven is a magnificent western classic.

Guilty Pleasure: "Duel In The Sun" -- Brownface And Melodrama

Duel In The Sun (1946)
directed by King Vidor

I have an unreasonable fondness for the cheesy, dramatic, politically incorrect technicolor epic Western madness of this movie, produced by the same studio and in a similar style as Gone With The Wind. I first caught it maybe ten years ago and I've been somewhat obsessed with it, perhaps because I'm always fascinated by white narratives about "half-caste"s and "tragic mulatto"s that frame the story as one of overcoming the "taint" of their heritage (to see white actors struggle with the tropes of non-white parentage, check out Yvonne de Carlo in the seldom-seen New Orleans potboiler Band Of Angels or Ava Gardner in Showboat, or Jeanne Crain in Pinky, or more recently, Anthony Hopkins in The Human Stain to name just a few).

It's also a movie made in the 1940s that has all the then-current scandal buttons pushed: Miscegenation! Rape! Adultery! Murder! Sex! Racism! Not to mention a land war, dancing, runaway horses, a gun battle, a train explosion, and a deathbed confession! The only things missing are drugs, incest, pedophilia and mental illness. Yes, Duel In The Sun is a crazy cocktail of overheated storytelling, vivid Technicolor cinematography, and haunting music that has to be seen to be believed. Hollywood denigrated it as "Lust In The Dust" upon its release, but it is the guiltiest of guilty movie pleasures.

Best about it is Jennifer Jones' over-the-top performance (as flouncy and huffy as Vivien Leigh's in GWTW) as a headstrong half-native American filly, and a juicy young Gregory Peck having a ball playing the slickest, wickedest outlaw in all of Texas -- a break from his standard roles as an upstanding do-gooder. The supporting cast is notable: a daffy stereotyped Butterfly McQueen, scenery-chewing Lionel Barrymore, paragon of goodness Lillian Gish, voice-of-reason Joseph Cotten, Walter Huston as a local preacher, and the hardy Charles Bickford again. Hollywood lore has it that producer David O. Selznick, Jones' soon-to-be husband -- seeking to outdo the success of Gone With The Wind -- couldn't stop tinkering with it, turning it into the maelstrom of excess it became.

Unlike GWTW though, it doesn't end in triumph for the female character, who overcomes adversity through sheer will. Duel In The Sun is a classic tragedy where the main character's fatal flaw leads to disaster. This is another reason the film did not fare well upon release.

SYNOPSIS

The setting is somewhere in the late 1800s in a Texas border town. Pearl Chavez is the wild teen daughter of a ne'er-do-well Creole father and a native American (Comanche?) mother who dances in the local Western saloon. When her father sees his wife kiss another man, he takes up a gun, and summarily dispatches them both. With philosophical calm he turns himself in to the sheriff for execution, but not before arranging to have Pearl cared for by a second cousin and onetime love LauraBelle (Gish), who is married to the rich Senator McCanles (Barrymore), owner of the vast Spanish Bit ranch.

The Senator is an old-fashioned bigot, further embittered by being confined to a wheelchair, the result of being thrown from his horse during a jealous gallop after LauraBelle some two decades earlier. The Senator is keeping up a kind of hatred for his wife over the incident, believing that she had tried to run away from him with first love Scott Chavez. This further hardens him against Chavez's daughter. He jokes that anyone who named her Pearl "couldn't have had much of an eye for color," says she should be called "Hiawatha" or "Minnehaha," and later refers to her as a "squaw" and "Indian baggage."

It doesn't help that Pearl shows up at Spanish Bit in huaraches, serape, beads, braids and sombrero. In fact, much is constantly made of Pearl's heritage. Jennifer Jones goes all out to portray Pearl as an untamed naive girl who is a "natural" temptress due to her Indian blood. She appears in brown-face makeup, fluffed out hair, low-cut peasant blouses and bare feet -- a stark contrast to the lily-white "ladies" of the times in their corsets, bustles, petticoats, coiffed-up hair, and high-button shoes. Arriving on Spanish Bit, she promises the sweet LauraBelle to be a "good girl" who will learn to be a "lady." Her desire to better herself is further piqued by attraction to the senator's two sons: kind-hearted gentleman Jessie (Cotten) and sexy trouble-maker Lewton (Peck).

While the Senator is proud of Jesse, a lawyer, he gets more of a tickle from his rambunctious second son, even encouraging him to sow his oats with the little "tamale." And Lewt wastes no time. After Pearl has a touching encounter with Jesse, who tenderly promises to educate her, she goes to her room only to have Lewt bust in and plant a big wet one on her while she struggles. "Don't tell me no one ever did that to you before," he smirks. "Not ever!" she protests.

From there the collision course is set. Pearl is more fond of "civilized" Jesse, who treats her fairly and respectfully, but neediness and ignorance keep her sidetracked by the wily machinations of Lewt, who just wants to get into her pants. It isn't long before she's compromised by Lewt, who first steals her clothes and keeps her naked in the swimming hole for hours but eventually breaks into her room again and forces himself on her. Lewt isn't shy about letting everyone know he's put his brand on Pearl, sparking LauraBelle to call a preacher to try to purify the girl, and causing a disappointed Jesse to back off, thinking Pearl prefers his brother. "I'm trash!" weeps Pearl when she finds out that Jesse had been in love with her and was waiting for her to grow up to do something about it. But dirty Lewt got to her first. "Can't you forget it?" begs Pearl. "No, I can't," sniffs Jesse.

Politics enter the story as a railroad gang arrives in town to build tracks across Spanish Bit, sparking a territory war. The Senator rails against the "coolies" spoiling pasture for his cattle, while Jesse, the lawyer for the railroad, tries to reason with his father. But the Senator gathers a posse of armed men to attack the railway workers and the U.S. Calvary in an epic battle scene. The Senator disowns Jesse in the process. Now Pearl has no one nearby to intervene for her and falls completely under Lewt's spell. During one of their trysts at the swimming hole, Lewt snatches off the religious medal she wears to keep her "fresh as milk" and mollifies her by agreeing to marriage. The Senator even has to check his son's intentions, noting, "I worked thirty years on this place and I don't plan on turning it into an Injun reservation!" "You know me better than that, Pa," winks Evil Lewt. At the big ranch BBQ, Lewt blows off his promise to announce that he and Pearl are "bespoken," scoffing at the very idea that he tell anyone that he'd marry the "bobtail little half-breed like you" he's already defiled.

Hurt and angry, Pearl's revenge is to accept a proposal from the kindly new ranch boss, Sam Pierce, a man old enough to be her father, if not her grandfather (Bickford). But the night before the wedding Lewt rides into the bar where the groom-to-be is celebrating, announces that Pearl is forever his girl, and guns the man down. Lewt's fate is now cast as a murdering outlaw; further, he sees a speeding train and thinking he's helping his father's cause, blows up the engine and derails it. Against all reason the Senator aids Lewt in evading the law.

Pearl continues to struggle with her feelings for the scoundrel. She loves him, but now she fully sees him for the dirty, no 'count dog that he is. "I'm gonna kill you, Lewton McCanless," she tells him, brandishing a pistol during one of his undercover visits to her room. But he manages to love her up anyway, and we see that despite all the bravado and denial, his feelings for her run pretty deep as well. Still, he's too mean and proud to give in to her. When he shares plans to run away to Mexico, she begs to come along, but he tells her he won't be "hog-tied" and tosses her away before galloping off into the night.

LauraBelle falls ill and in a deathbed scene, she and the Senator clear the air about what really happened that fateful night, and the elderly pair pledge their love with LauraBelle crawling from her bed to the foot of his wheelchair for a final embrace before she gasps her last. Oh the melodrama! Jesse arrives to see his ailing mother, but he's too late. With LauraBelle dead, Sam murdered, and Lewt on the run, Pearl is taken under the wing of Jesse and his new girlfriend Helen, who promise to take her away, educate her and care for her. "Oh Jesse," says Pearl, overcome with gratitude, "I wish I could die for ya." "Let's hope you never have to do that," Jesse says. It's a vain hope, as it turns out.

Because here comes Lewt, again, sneaking into town and accusing his brother of trying to appropriate Pearl for himself. Jesse recounts the murderous deeds his brother must pay for with a hanging while Lewt laughs. Now it's a gun battle at high noon! "I hope Pearl gives you a pretty funeral, Jesse!" sneers Lewt before plugging Jesse with a bullet. (When I first saw this, I was like, Daggone -- shot his own brother in the street like a dog!) But thankfully it's just a flesh wound. And now Lewt's sent for Pearl to meet him at a remote spot to say goodbye before he hightails it across the border. Surprised that Jesse survived, Lewt's minion Sid assures Pearl, "Don't worry about Jesse -- Lewt says he'll get him next time." Her face is a dark cloud as she muses, "Next time...." Pearl tells Sid that she'll meet Lewt at Squaw Head Rock after a two-day ride.

And now she's no half-caste -- she's in full-on Injun On The Warpath Mode. The soundtrack tom-toms swell. The girl has finally reached her limit. Raped, used, deceived, and humiliated, with one former suitor shot and driven off and the other murdered, Little Orphan Pearl finally faces facts. It was one thing for Lewton to keep hurting her ("I'm trash! Just like my mother!"), but she can't let him threaten Jesse and Helen, who have become her family. There's no peace of mind or a future to be had while Lewton McCanles is around. Pearl wraps her head in a red cloth, Comanche style, dons her peasant garb, grabs a rifle and goes bareback on her Appaloosa pony to meet her lothario. Her makeup gets darker and she squints with concentration as she rides through the sun-drenched West to find the man who ruined her life.

When she arrives, Lewt hails her and as she moves closer she aims and answers with a bullet. And now the duel is on. The two exchange gunfire, winging each other and crawling closer over the rocks. In the final moments, the bloodied lovers crawl into each other's arms, pledging their eternal love one last time before finally giving up the ghost.

THOUGHTS

Now all of this is completely engrossing, and somehow ridiculous and profound at the same time. You admire Pearl's gumption and self-sacrifice. But two thoughts occur to me.

First, my logical mind has to look at this as yet another example of a "know nothing" plot where if only the characters would just speak the truth at the right time to the right person, the whole tragedy/comedy of errors would be avoided. There would have been a totally different story if Pearl Chavez had had the good sense to go to LauraBelle and say, "Miss McCanles, ma'am, your son is harassing me. As a young lady of impressionable years, do you think I could sleep in the house instead of out by the barn like an animal, where any passerby can bust in on me and have his way with me?" Far be it from me to engage in a blame-the-victim scenario. But really, what the hell kind of guardian was LauraBelle? The story indicates that she was frail and sickly, but she was still the mistress of the place with some authority. Apparently Pearl had as much oversight on the ranch as a goat.

And second, why are "half-breed" characters always willing to throw themselves under the bus? In this case Pearl sacrifices herself to save the white characters she loves, but in many narratives the "half-breeds" are driven mad by having to cope with the duality of their identity and engage in self-sabotage or suicide. Pearl's actions are just more Hollywood stereotyping of the "tragic mulatto" type. She deserved her end, according to the storytellers, because of "weakness of the flesh" due to her Indian blood. Indians and people of color are somehow more hot-blooded than whites in this racist mindset. She also fits the stereotype of the fallen woman. In this way the character of Pearl follows in the footsteps of her Indian mother, shot for having an affair. The story seems to say that as an Indian, she cannot escape this fate.

There is no redemption or happy ending for women of easy virtue in 1940s Hollywood. Death in the arms of a cowboy against a pretty sunset is about as good as it gets.

Classic Western: The Big Country

The Big Country (1958)
Directed by William Wyler
starring Gregory Peck, Charlton Heston, Jean Simmons, Burl Ives, Carroll Baker, Chuck Connors

An epic-sized story about two families warring over access to The Big Muddy river in the western frontier, The Big Country is at heart a meditation on war and peace and what it means to be a man.

Former East Coast sea captain James McKay (Gregory Peck), a peace-loving gentleman scholar (who may be a Quaker) whose father died in a "meaningless duel," comes out West to marry the rich girl Patricia (Carroll Baker) he met in Boston. From the moment he arrives he finds himself caught up in the battle between her bellicose father The Major (Charles Bickford) and his less elegant ranching rival Hannassey (a fabulous Burl Ives). It being the Wild West and all, McKay is challenged to put up his dukes at every turn: by the local bad boys led by Hannassey's son Buck (Chuck Connors) who prank and goad him, by The Major's laconic chief cowhand Steve (Charlton Heston in one of few second-banana roles) who also has eyes for Patricia, and by The Major himself, who wants McKay to take up arms in the ongoing water access war with his sworn foe Hannassey in a you're-either-with-me-or-against-me scenario.

Viewing the capacity for violence and aggression as not the true measures of manhood, McKay demurs or laughs off attempts to rile him, and is labeled a coward and a weakling. He can't understand The Major's escalating hatred for Hannassey, and notes that it's not his fight. And none of the cowboy lunks on the ranch give "the dude" credit for his strengths, like McKay's finally breaking "Old Thunder," the hellish ranch bronco, on his own terms, or when McKay -- an experienced seafarer -- goes riding off into the prairie overnight to take a look around, guided by his compass, only to have The Major send out hysterical search parties. Even when they find McKay calmly breakfasting at a prairie campfire and offering them coffee, they won't believe that he was never lost. His fickle fiancee Patricia is embarrassed and loses the faith, breaking off the engagement after McKay purchases The Big Muddy as a wedding present though making it clear he will not block Hannassey from watering his cattle there. Only Patricia's schoolmarm friend Julie (Jean Simmons) can see that McKay is nobly striving to attain something bigger and more equitable for everyone.

Finally Cowhand Steve has to give McKay his props; as animosity ramps up between them, McKay finally succumbs to fisticuffs but only during pre-dawn hours with no witnesses. The two fight to exhaustion with no winner, proving that throwing punches can't resolve real issues. But with a little more respect for McKay's eastern grit, Steve is the one who tries to stop a hellbent Major from committing what amounts to a massacre of Hannassey and his kin after they kidnap Julie to force her to hand over the deed to The Big Muddy -- something she's already sold to McKay.

In the final shootout it's just The Major versus Hannassey and both are killed, clearing the way for a new truce between the families. But did they really have to die? None of the characters feel good about how things are concluded. The irony is that though the sheer size of this barely settled region is constantly commented upon -- "It's a big country" is noted by at least four characters -- it wasn't big enough for two hard-headed patriarchs to co-exist. McKay's view of the senselessness of violence is justified.

The film is notable not only for the incredible cinematography capturing the endless vistas of the untouched West, but for the fantastic soundtrack by Jerome Moross, heightened in the thrilling overhead opening sequence following a thundering stagecoach through the sagebrush with the mesas in the distance. That rousing opening is a Western classic worth experiencing on its own, even if you don't watch the rest of the yarn.

Can't Fight The Feeling: A Cynic's Valentine Flick List

Valentine's Day is almost here, and I thought that despite my usual disdain for the holiday, I could admit to having a few more romantic movie favorites (see previous post for the Black History Month edition). This is not a complete list, just more that came to mind.

1. Love Actually (2003)

Those who know my aversion to lovey-dovey film pablum may be surprised by my affection for this one. Somehow the film's anthology of romantic kerfuffles is improved by its British accent. A fat valentine of a movie, Love Actually weaves together several plotlines to demonstrate that love of all kinds is truly all around us. It zeroes in on guests at the wedding of Juliet (Keira Knightley) & Peter (Chiwetel Ejiofor), including four siblings: Emma Thompson, a stay-at-home mom who finds evidence that her ad exec husband, played by the late Alan Rickman, is having an affair with his sexy secretary, while his office mate, American Laura Linney, puts love with the art director on the back burner to care for her

mentally ill sibling; brother Hugh Grant, England's newly elected bachelor prime minister, finds himself attracted to his bubbly new household manager; brother Liam Neeson, still grieving his wife's death, helps his young stepson capture the heart of an American classmate and re-ignites his joie de vivre; brother Colin Firth, after discovering his girlfriend cheating, decamps to Provence to write his next book and falls for the Portuguese housekeeper who speaks no English.

Dad: Aren't you a little young to fall in love? (Hee hee hee...) Son: No. (Dummy.)

Meanwhile, a couple of young actor body doubles (including The Hobbit's Martin Freeman) meet on-set while simulating a graphic sex scene and proceed to have a conventional romance; a loveless dork heads to America with unrealistic dreams of finding sexual fulfillment abroad that miraculously come true the moment he lands; new bride Juliet (Knightley) is perplexed by the unfriendly behavior of her groom's best man until he reveals his own love for her; and an aging rock star on the comeback trail, played to the raucous hilt by Bill Nighy, realizes that his favorite person in the world is actually his long-suffering manager.

It's a sweet, comical, yet thoughtful film with numerous "that would never happen in real life" moments of coincidence, melodrama and wishful thinking, but somehow the film floats on a sea of its own charm and conviction. And there are some serious moments delivered expertly by the top-notch cast, with tear-inducing performances by the heartsick Thompson, the conflicted Rickman, the lovelorn Linney, and by young Thomas Sangster as Neeson's son. Being British, the script can't help but take swipes at arrogant, entitled America through scenes with Billy Bob Thornton as a sneering U.S. President, but Americans will just have to let the medicine go down amid all the sugar. Set at Christmastime with gorgeous shots of a wintry, holiday-spangled London, Love, Actually has become one of my faves for holiday viewing as well.

2. The Bridges of Madison County (1995)

I am ashamed of myself for this one, but if I see it anywhere on cable, I have to watch to the bitter end. It was a ridiculously sappy, self-indulgent book, and the film would be a snore-worthy slog if not for one thing: Meryl Streep's performance. She plays an Italian war bride in 1965 whose husband and teen children go to the Iowa state fair for a week, leaving her blissfully alone. By chance she meets a recently arrived National Geographic photographer, played by Clint Eastwood, assigned to shoot the local covered bridges. Fascinated by his freewheeling lifestyle and expansive philosophy, sheltered Francesca can't help but fall in love. After a whirlwind affair of evening walks, candlelit dinners, dancing, and lovemaking, Francesca must make a heart-rending decision: leave for a nomadic life of passion with Robert Kincaid, or stay on the farm for a life of duty with the husband and children who need her.

Eastwood is a bit wooden in this role, but perhaps he wasn't as concerned with acting as he was busy directing this lushly photographed, beautifully staged drama featuring an evocative soundtrack of composed music and classic jazz gems (the Johnny Hartman tunes alone are swoon-worthy). It's Meryl Streep's movie, and the Queen of All Accents gets it exactly right. With her hair dyed dark, aproned and barefooted, utilizing European hand gestures, faded Italian accent in place, Streep gives us a woman stoically living with decisions made a long time before with no expectation of change. The dialog doesn't delve into her character's background, but during World War II, living in a country occupied by the U.S. army, Francesca married an

American serviceman in exchange for what she believed would be a better life. She left her home, family, friends, and everything she knew to live in a brand new land to learn a new language and new customs, adjust to marriage to a foreign man, bear his children and work his farm. She was likely resigned to this life, and may have thrived in it, until boom! A beautiful stranger lands on the doorstep reeking of romance and excitement. All of this information lives within Streep's calibrated portrayal, which owes more than a bit to the mannerisms of Italian actress Anna Magnani, a towering inferno of '50s-'60s screen acting (see Wild Is The Wind, The Fugitive Kind, or The Rose Tattoo).

The moment I wait to see is when Francesca has packed a bag but still can't take the final step out the door. She clutches Robert in desperation and says, "You must decide for me." Well, she realizes that leaving would be folly and stays. But the next riveting moment comes in town when grocery shopping with her husband, and she sees Robert's truck about to leave forever. The pouring rain stands in for a torrent of inward tears -- hers and ours -- as Francesca has one last inward struggle. Still, she can't leave. But when Robert hangs the silver saint's medal she gave him from his rearview mirror before driving off, Francesca and the audience know that their love will never be forgotten.

The film has a framing device involving her grown children discovering the affair after her death that could easily have been jettisoned, and for some the movie is too long and slow. But for me, this leisurely stroll under the sun of an Iowa summer watching Meryl and Clint is sweet, indeed.

3. Moonrise Kingdom (2013)

And they called it puppy love, just because we're in our teens ...

I grew up fascinated by fairy tales, with their images of enchanted lands, mythological beings, and the impossible made possible through a glorious quest. Having once been a precocious, independent kid, I'm still partial to stories about precocious, independent kids. Thus my nostalgic fondness for Wes Anderson films: the highly stylized children's storybook sets, costumes, makeup, and shot framing; serious, quirky, wise-beyond-their-years youngsters facing off against ridiculous, childlike adults; and the whimsical, episodic adventures to attain love or liberty (Rushmore, The Royal Tenenbaums, The Fantastic Mr. Fox, The Grand Budapest Hotel). Moonrise Kingdom has all of these things. It's a coming of age love story along the lines of the delightful 1979 gem A Little Romance (in which 13-year-old Diane Lane falls in love and runs away from Paris with the 13-year-old son of a French taxi driver to kiss under the Bridge of Sighs in Venice), albeit with a serio-comic tone. Set in a 1965 that is worlds away from The Bridges Of Madison County, the film is like flipping through an album of faded Kodak vacation prints -- all smudged blues, browns, and greens, filmy corals and soft whites. The story concerns a smart but friendless orphan named Sam who meets Suzy, an introverted bookworm, at the annual summer pageant on the fictitious New England island of New Penzance.

After months of exchanging letters, the 12-year-olds meet the following summer on the island and run off together. The disappearance of the youngsters alarms the island's sherriff, played by Bruce Willis, as well as Sam's tightlipped social worker Tilda Swinton, his by-the-book scoutmaster Edward Norton, and his hooligan fellow scouts, not to mention Suzy's self-absorbed lawyer parents, played by Frances McDormand (who's been having an affair with the Willis character) and Anderson habitue Bill Murray. Sam, an expert outdoor survivalist, and Suzy, armed with sewing scissors, manage to evade a group of scouts and their dog after a violent run-in.

The eccentric pubescents then have a few idyllic days sharing first kisses, cavorting in their undies, and spooning in a tent by a lagoon in perfect domestic and spiritual harmony before they are discovered and pulled apart by the adults. But it isn't long before Sam escapes his scoutmaster to rescue Suzy and seal their love with a symbolic marriage ceremony performed by a supportive scout captain (Jason Schwartzman) just before a hurricane strikes the island, foiling their getaway plan.
The core of the film is the natural, earnest performances Anderson elicits from young actors Kayra Hayward and Jared Gilman; while the action around them grows increasingly cartoonish and frenetic, the film never mocks nor questions the veracity of Sam and Suzy's feelings, despite their tender age. And neither do Sam and Suzy engage in sugary sentiments or cute banter; they simply interact as kindred spirits who commit their entire beings to each other, come what may. In the end, all of the adults -- including the audience -- are forced to accept Sam and Suzy's forever love as an incontrovertible fact. Director Anderson's style has been criticized as too precious or "twee," but it's still an enchanting and deeply romantic romp.

Honorary mentions to:
1. About Last Night (the 1986 Demi Moore/Rob Lowe original)
2. The Getaway (the 1972 Ali McGraw/Steve McQueen love-on-the-run original)
3. Dr. Zhivago (1965 Russian Revolution-set epic with Julie Christie & Omar Sharif)
4. Annie Hall (1977 Woody Allen & Diane Keaton classic)
5. Out Of Sight (1993 crime caper with heat from Jennifer Lopez & George Clooney)
6. An Officer & A Gentleman (1982, Debra Winger/Richard Gere)
7. Roxanne (yes, the 1987 Steve Martin/Daryl Hannah comedy is highly romantic)
8. True Romance (1993, Tarantino's love-on-the-run fantasia with Patricia Arquette & Christian Slater)

Valentine's Viewing: Black History Month Edition

I have conflicting emotions regarding the holiday named for St. Valentine. A former boyfriend from my teenage years once remarked, "You know what you are? A romantic cynic." And that about sums up my attitude.

I reject as a matter of course the syrup-sodden, pink and red, cutesy-poo Cupidfest that has subsumed our national tribute to romantic love. During times without a significant other, the holiday makes a mockery of my singlehood. Still, even if I am "boo'ed up," I'm flummoxed by the Valentine's thing; the challenge is in how to mark the occasion at a level appropriate to where the relationship stands -- without tumbling over the Cliffs of Sentimentality into a hot cloying pool of Kissy Kitsch. My gag response is too easily triggered.

But underneath my crusty exterior, I'm a softie. A bouquet of posies from that certain someone acknowledging whatever warmth lies between us can definitely melt away this cynical exterior. A cleverly worded missive -- rarely found in the annals of Hallmark -- can make me smile. I too have launched a few of the heart-shaped cards at moving targets over a few Februarys. But my general policy is to carry on as though these public displays aren't necessary or even that practical.

I suffer from a similar gag response when it comes to romantic movies. Anything too stuffed with corn, dipped in schmaltz, or shot through with formulaic sugar is generally to be avoided. So my list of favorite romantic flicks is short. But I'm only human, so there are other films -- corny, schmaltzy, predictable and dripping in Hollywood cliche goo -- that still get under my skin. I'll address those in another post.

Being that February is Black History Month, I thought I'd name a few black romance classics appropriate for Valentine's Day viewing.

(Note: While I enjoyed The Best Man films, Why Did I Get Married, Just Wright, Love And Basketball, Brown Sugar, the About Last Night remake, Jumping The Broom, Something New, and the like, I wouldn't call them classics. At least, not yet.)

1. Love Jones(1997)

Nia Long and Larenz Tate get into a little sumthin' sumthin'

I don't think I've seen a movie before or since that captures contemporary black love in quite such an affecting way. Artsy young Chicago professionals Nina Mosley and Darius Lovejoy -- as played by Nia Long and Larenz Tate -- are great to look at and their chemistry is tangible. In their love scenes, you can feel the yearning, the sizzle, and the lust. The story allows us to see how their romance unfolds through events that we recognize -- the spoken word club, the friend's house party, the badly timed lingering exes, going dancing. It's the dialogue and inclusion of so much of African American culture sets the film apart. Much in the way that another Chicago-set romance that I'm fond of -- 1986's About Last Night with Rob Lowe and Demi Moore -- examines 20something love from every angle and includes a Greek chorus of negativity from those who would break up the lovers for their own selfish reasons, so do Nina and Darius face embittered people and setbacks that almost convince them that love "ain't shit." Doubt, distrust, jealousy, insecurity, missed signals, denial -- it's all there, set to a fantastic, evocative soundtrack melding alternative R&B and classic jazz. In the end, Darius realizes that that elusive joy that you create with that one special person is too precious to throw away, and we know that somehow Nina and Darius are going to work it out even as she leaves on the evening train for New York. Notable for great performances by Lisa Nicole Carson and Isaiah Washington as the respective best friends. Hard to believe the film is almost 20 years old.

2. Claudine (1973)

Diahann Carroll and James Earl Jones get that lovin' feelin'

Some would say that this film represents another kind of '70s blaxploitation, in that it exploits the trope of a black single mother on welfare in the hood who is cheating the system with a maid's job. But I don't care -- Claudine is a gem because it gets real. Hard to believe that movie makers at the time thought Diahann Carroll was a little too glamorous to carry off the title role, but Diahann -- who was raised in Harlem -- hits all the necessary notes as a mother of five who finds herself falling against her better judgment for a garbage man with a raft of problems of his own. Far from the Romeo & Juliet drama of young Harlem lovers like those portrayed by Kevin Hooks and Irene Cara in 1975's Aaron Loves Angela, directed by Gordon Parks Jr., Carroll's Claudine and James Earl Jones' Rupe are hampered by grown folks' problems: troubled and rebellious children, the grind of menial gigs, roach infested dwellings, and the government interference that poor people are sadly all too familiar with -- welfare in Claudine's case and child support in Rupe's. To consider marriage under these conditions would be to throw away everything Claudine has known, including the monthly welfare checks she depends on, and she isn't sure that Rupe will stand by her. But in the end, it's Carroll and Jones making eyes at each other and trying to make an unworkable situation work that convinces you that their love is worth the risk. Black love wins out -- neither the social worker nor the police will stop these two. Curtis Mayfield's soulful and thoughtful score, performed by Gladys Knight & the Pips, adds to the emotion of the film by voicing the thoughts of the characters. "Keep Away From Me, Mr. Welfare," "To Be Invisible," "The Makings Of You," and "Make Yours A Happy Home" are timeless classics.

3. Boomerang (1992)

Eddie Murphy as Marcus: What more would a woman need?

Not a typical romance, Boomerang is a clever, slickly-produced comedy about how complicated the road to love has become in the modern era. Directed by Reggie Hudlin, produced by brother Warrington Hudlin and stuffed with a who's who of African American talent -- Eddie Murphy, Robin Givens, Halle Berry, Eartha Kitt, Chris Rock, Geoffrey Holder, Grace Jones, Martin Lawrence, David Alan Grier, Tisha Campbell, Lela Rochon, John Witherspoon and Melvin Van Peebles -- this is the tale of a notorious Big Apple ladies' man who finally finds the girl who makes him hang up his playboy dancing shoes. The film is a testament to '90s upward mobility as the upscale characters explore dating, racism, the wages of celebrity, and the bonds of male friendship as Eddie Murphy's bad boy ad exec, Marcus, finally learns that it's no fun being on the receiving end of the deceptive seductions he's been doling out to most of the females at the ad agency where he works.

Robin Givens as Jacqueline: "God, Marcus. I was so tense when I got off the plane, but you really relaxed me. See ya."

Robin Givens is perfect as the conniving career woman determined to break Marcus down (I think her next best screen role was as Imabelle in A Rage In Harlem, a tour de force performance in which she is utterly convincing as a 1950s gold-stealing femme fatale who ultimately falls in love with the mild-mannered funeral home assistant played by Forest Whitaker). Eddie Murphy also gives the film some great quieter moments, as in his scenes with Berry and in chopping it up on the issues with his friends. There's a streak of feminism to the film in the way that Givens' Jacqueline and Halle Berry's Angela -- and though played for laughs. even Grace Jones' extreme character Strangé and Eartha Kitt's cosmetics company head Lady Heloise -- are all committed to owning their careers and their sexuality, albeit in very different ways, in a male- dominated world. The sets, costume designs, makeup and smooth soundtrack by Marcus Miller combine to give the flick a shiny immediacy, while the ace performers offer up countless golden moments of comedy that have become oft-repeated classics (some only need one word: "Marrrrrr-cus!" "Coooor-dinate!" "Strang-e!") While Marcus ultimately walks off into the Brooklyn sunset with the Halle Berry character, having professed his love, we're only 99 percent convinced that love really will bring him home the next time he's tempted.

4. For Love Of Ivy (1968)

Abbey Lincoln as Ivy: Ma'am, what part of "I'm leaving" did you not understand?

This romantic comedy is more than a bit dated, but it was a breakthrough coming just four years after the passage of the Civil Rights Act. A black romance that white people could accept, the lighthearted yarn centers on another maid, this time played by stunning vocalist Abbey Lincoln in one of her few screen turns, while the usually upright Sidney Poitier -- just past his Black Saint period in film -- plays a character with a couple of skeletons in his closet. Ivy Moore is the beautiful, dutiful and smart 20something live-in housekeeper for a Long Island businessman played by All In The Family's Carroll O'Connor and his family, including their "hip" 20something son, played by Beau Bridges. (Two years later, Bridges would portray the "hip" son of a rich New York family who buys a Brooklyn brownstone and embeds himself among his black tenants to disastrous results in the simultaneously hilarious and sobering film The Landlord, which also featured the late, great Diana Sands. He has also played the father of Tracee Ellis Ross' Rainbow character in an episode of TV's Blackish.) When Ivy decides that after nine years she's had enough of the maid game and plans to leave to attend secretarial school in New York, the family is sent into a tizzy, because, naturally, they consider her "family" and immediately plot ways to dissuade her. Despite this being a brazen attempt by whites to stop a black woman from liberating herself from servitude or gaining agency over her own future, their meddling is depicted as sweet, loving and in her own best interest. Beau's character decides that what Ivy needs is a suitor who will distract her but not whisk her off. Because, what else would keep a black woman from pursuing her dreams but a man? And a trifling one at that? The son blackmails playboy trucking magnate Jack Parks -- because he may be shady but he's black! -- who reluctantly agrees to take Ivy out on a date.

They go but she's a sheltered Southern girl and he's a smooth big city slickster secretly running an illegal casino operation out of the back of his trucks, and it doesn't seem that things will work out. Still, Jack is captivated by Ivy's simple directness, modesty and beauty. For the love of Ivy, Jack is willing to give up his double life. And just in time: In order to take Ivy away with him to New York, Jack hands over the operation of the casino to a pal and is no longer connected when the casino is busted by the police. What saves the movie from complete corniness is the chemistry between Lincoln and Poitier; Lincoln's character may be sheltered, but she knows exactly who she is. While I love Abbey Lincoln's realness, she doesn't have the same easy comic timing as the rest of the performers so that makes the tone a bit uneven, but it's still a cream puff of a flick about black romance during the swinging '60s.

5. Black Orpheus (1959)

First time actors: Brazilian Breno Mello and American Marpessa Dawn the morning after

I cannot say enough about the total magic of this film, which earned the Oscar for Best Foreign Film in 1960. Shot entirely in the favela of Morro de Babilhonia and the city of Rio de Janeiro, the film adapts the Greek myth of Orpheus and Eurydice to then-modern times. Combining the beauty of the Afro-Brazilian people, the traditions and music of Brazil, and a tragic and timeless love story, Black Orpheus is a delight to the senses. Beautiful Eurydice arrives by boat in Rio, where residents are busy preparing for Carnaval. On the streetcar she meets the conductor, Orfeu, a fledgling musician who has reluctantly committed to marry his outgoing girlfriend Mira. Orfeu guides Eurydice up the hill to the favela where she will stay with her cousin, who is awaiting the return of her sailor boyfriend.

But Eurydice has a secret -- she left home to escape a specter in a death mask who is trying to kill her for reasons that are never revealed. Soon enough, Orfeu and Eurydice fall in love. They head to Carnaval to dance in the samba school competition in their costumes, trying to hide from both a jealous Mira and Death, who has appeared to claim Eurydice's life. When tragedy befalls his beloved, Orfeu -- still clad in his sexy sun god Carnaval gear -- embarks on a physical and spiritual journey across the city to reclaim her. What could be more romantic? Alas, the myth ends tragically. But when three small children greet the sunrise with music and dancing, hope springs eternal. And the music throughout -- by national treasures Luis Banfa and Antonio Carlos Jobim -- is sublime, as the soundtrack includes carnaval sambas, bossa nova, candomblé ritual music, and ballads. The film has detractors who say that it is French director Marcel Camus' attempt to exoticize people of color and romanticize their poverty and dysfunction (much in the same way that George Gershwin's Porgy & Bess, another classic black love story, has been reviled for being a white New Yorker's version of Southern black life, "Negro" dialect and all). Some viewers may be put off by subtitles, while others may be confused by the story's many moments of magical realism owing to its mythological roots. Watch anyway.

Honorable hearts & flowers mentions to:
- 2014's Beyond The Lights, reviewed here
- 1960's Carmen Jones, where Dorothy Dandridge and Harry Belafonte make beautiful operatic music together until murder gets in the way
- 1994's Jason's Lyric, where Allen Payne and Jada Pinkett Smith struggle to get out from - under family and gangland trauma in Houston to make a way together
- and 1972's Sounder, where Cicely Tyson's devotion to sharecropper husband Paul Winfield is palpable.