Freud - The Pursuit of the Unknown

John Huston often made films that dealt with the subject of a pursuit. In Treasure of the Sierra Madre (1948) it was three men trying to find gold in the Mexican hills. In The Asphalt Jungle (1950), he detailed a group of low-life criminals determined to make one last major heist, while in Fat City (1972), two down and outs try and pursue a meager life in the world of small-time boxing. In The African Queen (1951), it's all about getting down the river to safety and in Moulin Rouge (1952), it was the obsession of Toulouse-Lautrec trying to fit into Paris society, despite his physical deformities.

Some of Huston's characters succeed in their pursuit, while many fail. But clearly the quest or chase of the principals' goals is what fascinated Huston throughout his long career. The search for the truth - or perhaps better stated, the presumed truth - is what makes Freud (1962) such a captivating film in the director's canon (The film is sometimes referred to as Freud: The Secret Passion).

This is a serious look at the beginnings of Sigmund Freud's search into the darkness of the human mind; soon after Freud (earnestly portrayed by Montgomery Clift) teams up with Joseph Breuer, who would be his partner for years, we are introduced to a young patient of Breuer named Cecily (Susannah York) who suffers from extreme neurosis. In her case, she cannot walk, as it is up to Breuer to discover why this young woman is so mentally tortured. (This character is based upon the famous real life Anna O. that Freud documented in his works.)



Breuer has been working with Cecily for a short time, but believes he must turn her care over to Freud, as it seems that she has developed a crush on Breuer. Freud takes over, first hypnotizing her and then in later sessions, he decides against this, opting merely to talk with her to discover her inner secrets.

What he discovers as he learns more of her early life is that she loved her father, who was willing to let his daughter become curious about many new things in her life. As her mother would scold her for putting on makeup (this is compared to a prostitute who paints her face), she is naturally more comfortable with her father's care than with her mother's scorn.

Freud meanwhile learns things about his chlldhood, as he had problems accepting the meek nature of his father, especially when verbally abused about being a Jew. Freud turned to his mother for comfort to make his upbringing more bearable.

Thus Freud and Cecily are linked in their passion for the parent of the opposite sex - Cecily in love with her father and Freud looking to his mother for caresses. "Truth is a mirror upside down," is Freud's explanation; for him there is sexuality in childhood.

The movie goes into great detail abut Cecily's case; it is a good 40-50% of the film and it is fascinating. Originally penned by the philosopher Jean-Paul Sartre (and then reworked by two others), the screenplay is serious and detailed. This is not the kind of movie that would play today, as the pace is too slow for modern audiences, but I was intrigued by the story and by Huston's careful and literal direction.

He does give us a few dream sequences - most notably one in which Freud is dragged - via a rope tied to his waist - into a deep cave. The symbolism here seems clear - he is going back into the womb via the umbilical cord - but this is played out with great skill and originality, especially in Douglas Slocombe's excellent black and white photography, which is quite edgy in this scene (negative images as well as out of focus shots).

In the end, Freud has created his Oedipus complex, but is shouted down by his peers during a reading of this paper. Worse yet, he is turned down by Breuer, who respects his diligence and compassion, but cannot agree on the notion of childhood sexuality. Another of Huston's characters has found his meaning in a pursuit; while others mock him, he does not fail. He knows that his work has only begun. This makes him a man who is firmly rooted in John Huston's world. He may be looking more at the end results than the means, as did the gold seekers in Sierra Madre, but the goal, the journey, the pursuit, is what defines his existence.

A Masterful "Shoot"

In They Shoot Horses, Don’t They? (1969), director Sydney Pollack found the perfect analogy for the 1932 Depression period of his film – a dance marathon. Situated in a dingy ballroom, several dozen out-of-work couples dance for over 1000 hours to try and win a $1500 dance prize.

The beauty of this film is that this is the story in a nutshell and Pollack wisely decided not to bring in the outside world (except for the paying public in the stands) but rather focus on the characters who set out to win this contest. We get young and old, hopeful and disgruntled, but they’re all winding up in the same place. The dancers start out gliding their way across the floor and then as fatigue sets in, their steps become less confident and we see contestants drop out one by one.

To make the contest even more difficult, at times, a walking race around the dance floor (“the derby”- a reference to the horses of the film’s title) is a mandatory exercise for the contestants. We see this event twice in the film, both times after the participants have spent hundreds of hours dancing; they now have ten minutes to race walk in a tight counterclockwise circle around the dance floor with their partner in tow. They must walk – not run – and the three couples at the back of the pack at the end of the race are eliminated from the contest. We see the strain on their faces and feel the agony in their legs and ankles as they somehow muster the strength to make one more lap around the dance floor turned walking ring. Pollack’s visuals are especially strong here, as he put on roller skates and photographed these scenes himself with a hand held camera. The dizziness of the shots help create an exhausting, chaoic, almost nightmarish quality to the sequences, as various contestants fall and desperately try to find enough physical strength to get up before they are eliminated via a ten count, as in a boxing match. The participants must surely feel they’ve gone through twelve rounds after this. (I must also mention the first-rate editing of Frederic Steinkamp throughout the film and especially in these sequences.)

At times, contestants do a little extra to earn a few extra pennies and nickels; a pregnant woman sings a song, one middle aged dancer does a buck and wing and they collect the spare change thrown on the floor by the audience. For most of them, this is the only money they will see. They know in their heart of hearts that they will not win; most will quit or be forced to retire from the contest due to physical exhaustion and one or two may even die. Yet the promise of $1500, when the reality is perhaps only a few dimes, is enough in the Depression of the early 1930s to keep these dreamers going - that and a place to sleep and get food – seven meals a day - for as long as they compete.



Along with the dancers, Rocky, the Master of Ceremonies, is a key character in this story. He runs the show and his job is not an easy one. In his white tux, he must outwardly show enthusiasm for the contestants as he announces the latest details of the contest to the assembled crowd. Yet, he is a tired man, one who has to juggle several balls, as he has to make this contest profitable, as medical staff and food costs cut into his profit. He will do whatever he can to create publicity for the marathon by pulling off stunts; at one point, he asks one of the couples who have known each other only for the length of the dance contest to get married, as the audience would have something else to cheer for. He is not above trickery either, as he steals an expensive dress from a would-be Hollywood starlet who is dancing in the hope that a movie director or producer of the day will notice her. Rocky’s reason for stealing the dress is simple; he thinks that the paying customers – few of who are very well off – would not associate with someone who looks like she is headed to a social function.

Given the analogy of the dance marathon for the struggles of everyman during the Depression – going around and around with seemingly no light at the end of the tunnel – one can clearly see the character of Rocky as the government. Hey, we’re helping you out here – look at the free food we’re giving you – but in reality, this is no more than a handout. Just as Herbert Hoover would soon be voted out in 1932 for his lack of action during this crisis, so too Rocky is seen as someone who looks and sounds good, but in reality, has very little to offer the masses.

The performances as a whole are quite good – Gig Young as Rocky won the Best Supporting Oscar for this film and Jane Fonda and Susannah York were Oscar nominated for their work – and the characters are interesting in their diversity to keep us involved in their plight. The production design is first-rate as is Phil Lathrop’s earth-tone pallate of photography. But this is above all, a director’s film. Sydney Pollack would go on to direct an eclectic mix of movies, from the broad appeal of The Way We Were (1973) and Tootsie (1982) to smaller works such as Jeremiah Johnson (1972) and The Yakuza (1974); he would win an Oscar as Best Director for Out of Africa (1985), a beautifully crafted love story. But for me, his finest work as a director, both visually and spiritually, was with They Shoot Horses, Don’t They?, a film that is as devastating today as when it was released.

A "Strange" Mix

I was born in 1955, so my formative years were spent listening to some of the greatest pop/rock music ever composed. During the period from the mid to late 1960s, I had three favorite bands: The Beatles (who didn’t love them?), The Beach Boys and their all-American sound and as a contrast to that, The Doors. So when I heard there was a new documentary in theaters about The Doors, I hurried to see it. Unfortuntely the film, entitled When You're Strange, wasn’t meant for me.

What I mean by that is that anyone who grew up with this music knows that The Doors were popular for two reasons: their music and the antics of lead singer Jim Morrison, the self-proclaimed Lizard King. Unfortunately director Tom DiCillo emphasizes Morrison’s behavior in this film at the expense of the music.

Now it’s understandable that DiCillo would do this as Morrison was a lightning rod who represented the excesses of late ‘60s rock probably as well as any one individual could. Much is made of a famous concert in Miami where Morrison supposedly exposed his genitals (he didn’t) and was arrested and dragged off the stage as a riot broke out. The vintage film clips here are stirring and are among the best parts of the film.



But no matter how crazy Morrison was, The Doors wouldn’t have achieved the success they did if it wasn’t for the quality of their music. Songs such as “Light My Fire” and “Love Her Madly” are burned into my subconscious and are among my favorite tunes from that time. But while they had pop hits, they also composed some dark, moody songs that moved me even more, tunes such as “Crystal Ship” and “Alabama Song (Whisky Bar).” These last two songs showed the dark side of the group’s musical identity. I’d love to know where some of the ideas for these songs came from.

DiCillo ties all this in with the protest movement of the late ‘60s and has the obligatory clips of Vietnam, Martin Luther King and Bobby Kennedy. But for me he goes too far. The Doors weren’t writing anti-war songs and to suggest their music was somehow connected to this is simply wrong. Their music reflected the dark side of life, much of it influenced by drugs. Their music represented a lot more than “down with the establishment” and for DiCillo to push this message lessens the effect of their music.

I would have also liked to see more performances. Why couldn’t we get just one complete performance of a song? Just one? Not only is this music haunting, it’s also something to watch this group at work. To his credit, early in the film DiCillo does explain the unusual sound of The Doors, pointing out that drummer John Densmore had to keep the beat as there was no bass player. This is the kind of information I was looking for in this film, but sadly this lacks much detail about the band.

Ultimately, When You’re Strange becomes a greatest hits film clip presentation of Jim Morrison’s life. That’s pretty interesting on its own, so the film is certainly watchable, but unfortunately it’s a bit like Chinese food – 15 minutes after it’s finished, you want more. If you’re younger than 50 and only know The Doors from a few of their songs, you’ll probably like this film a lot more than I did. But if you’re my age and thought the band was one of the most important of its era, you’ll more than likely be disappointed.

P.S. Want to see a great musical documentary? Try Robert Weber’s 1988 film, Let’s Get Lost, about the great jazz musician Chet Baker. That film is ethereal and takes you places – it’s also got several complete performances of Baker, so we see and hear his greatness. I wish DiCillo had somehow channeled some of that same energy in his film

The Ins and Outs of "Around"

“The most important part in telling any story is knowing where to start.”


That line, spoken at the beginning of David Spaltro’s new film, Around, could well turn out to be prophetic, especially if he can match the unique qualities of this, his initial professional cinematic venture.

I say professional as Spaltro made films during his time at the School of Visual Arts in New York City. This four years of his life is the basis of Around and it takes us on an unusual journey, as the principal character Doyle Simms (Rob Evans), shares his uncertainties of a Jersey City boy going to the Big Apple to pursue his dream. Simms is of course, Spaltro to a certain degree (it’s essentially autobiographical) and though we follow his experiences at film school, much of the movie deals with his relationships, both with his friends he grew up with as well as the collection of characters he meets in the city.

What I like about the film is the honesty we feel as Simms deals with the trials of his new life. He doesn’t have much money, which results in him sleeping in train stations (mostly Grand Central) and taking some pretty menial jobs to make some basic wages. At a dump of a resturant he works at, he sees a beautiful young woman, Allyson Lodeir (Molly Ryman) whom he had previously seen posing nude at a drawing class at school. Allyson thought Doyle was there for less than honorable reasons, but when she sees that he can draw, she asks for forgiveness. He’s smitten, but she plays hard to get. It’s only when he stands up for her face to face with a tough guy she’s dating that she starts to give him the time of day.

This part of his life starts to go well for Doyle and soon, he’s getting her some photo shoots. But he can’t enjoy any success too much, which is the main angle Spaltro examines in the film. His parents divorced when he was nine and after all these years, he doesn’t exactly have a loving relationship with his mother. When she becomes seriously ill, he starts to question his role in life.

This subplot may sound like a thousand different movies from the past, but in Spaltro’s hands – he wrote and directed the film – it comes off as fresh and a bit quirky. I like the way he writes, as this is the way people really talk. It’s not overstylized for the movie audience, nor is it everyday dull speak. Getting the right mix is not easy and I have to credit Spaltro with keeping things original.

His direction is also quite good, especially for a first-timer. Things are handled pretty straightforwardly, with only a few oblique angles and the pacing, except for a few brief moments, is nicely releaxed. He elicits two very fine performances, from Evans and Ryman, the two main characters. Evans is very convincing, especially in scenes where he’s just not sure what road he’s on; Ryman is also quite good and has an ease and charisma that works well for her character. They’re both totally believable in their parts.

(Photo courtesy of David Spaltro)

The photography is sharp and quite attractive, though at times it seems almost too pretty, considering some of the locales (train stations and city streets) this picture features. Still, Spaltro puts his camera in the right location most of the time and avoids the artsiness too often seen in many first features.

Some viewers might have a problem with Doyle’s self pity during the second half of this film; I have to admit that I didn’t think his life was that bad. But this is Spaltro’s life for better of for worse and as he lived it, we have to believe it. I would have liked to see a few more scenes about his film school life and his attempts at movie making. We get one such short scene and then we see his final effort in school, which will determine if he graduates; this latter scene is very well done. I guess Spaltro decided that his experiences outside of school would be more interesting for the audience to watch than film making sequences and based on the assortment of characters he meets (from a homeless man he befriends at the train station to a sensual young Indian woman he meets one night), he’s probably right.

This slice of life is very entertaining and best of all, unpredictable. You think Doyle will end up one way or the other, but he takes his own path, one that many of us might not. The world Spaltro presents is a pretty nice one; once people get to know you, they put their trust in you, he seems to be saying. Doyle has a hard time realizing this, which is the conflict that makes Around so intriguing.


Note: Around had its world premiere at the Tribeca Film Festival in September 2008. It is now available on the “videos on demand” section at amazon.com., which is where I viewed it.

Don't Lie to Me

Once again, I find myself catching up on movies on airplanes; not the best place, I admit, but things are better than they used to be. On Lufhansa and other airlines these days, the technology now permits the passenger to not only select one of several films (as often as 9 or 10 different choices), but with some programs, you can actually rewind or fast forward the film at very fast speeds, allowing you to watch a scene again and again. So while I’m not exactly getting widescreen visuals, it is a great way for me to take notes on the films and if I miss something, I can go back over it again.

This most recent trip afforded me the opportunity to watch Up In The Air and The Invention of Lying and while these films have little in common, the subject of lying is the one that appealed to me. I had heard so many good things about “Air” and I certainly think that director and co-writer Jason Reitman (Sheldon Turner was the other writer) deliver with a film that is spot on about a troubling aspect of the current business mode – that of laying people off. The film is at its best when it discusses that subject in a straightforward manner and George Clooney as Ryan Bingham, the man who has to deliver the bad news to too many people, is remarkably efficient in his role, not only in his vocal delivery, but also in his facial expressions. He’s got this thing down and he’s careful not to get caught up in peoples’ woes. I can’t help but think that Clooney was selected for this film, not only for his considerable talents as an actor (and he truly nails this performance), but he IS the actor – and star - of the day, so life imitates art, in an unusual way.

There are so many perceptive moments in the screenplay and there is one scene in particular where Reitman and Turner have Bingham artfully shift one man’s sorrow into a vision to his unfound dreams. Having just fired an employee face to face (the need to do this one-on-one rather than over the internet is a critical point of this film), Bingham listens to the man complain about how he will not be able to pay for everything from the mortgage on his home to medicine necessary for his daughter’s condition. He then reminds the man that he has a culinary degree and that now, despite the immediate gloom that he sees, his new life – that of pursuing his real love of French cooking – can start. The anger this man feels over the loss of his job slowly turns to a glimmer of hope, thanks to Binghman’s composure in a stressful moment. It’s one of the most beautifully written scenes for me in years and it’s also marvelously directed and edited (Dana Glauberman was the editor).


The film also works with the character of Natalie Keener, energetically played by Anna Kendrick. She is the one who wants to use the internet to coldly fire people and it’s Binghman who takes her under his wing to show her how ridiculous this decision truly is. I like the way that her character is at first put off by Bingham, then slowly sees the genius of his work and is so won over by him that she empties her soul, letting him know that her boyfriend has broken up with her. It’s a nice shift and I must credit Kendrick with fleshing out her character so marvelously, as this role in lesser hands might have come across merely as a bitchy young female executive trying to make it in the real world. There are things not to like about her character, but deep down, she’s just someone looking for security and Kendrick finds that in her character, while maintaining a nice edge throughout.

As for the other female in Bingham’s life, Alex Goran (played with great charm by Vera Farmiga), their relationship is all about flirting. They text suggestive messages and we’re led to believe that they sleep together, although we never see them actually do so. Alex is the fire in Ryan’s life, while Natalie is the stability. It’s nice the way the screenplay introduces them as two very disparate parts of Bingham’s life and then slowly enmeshes all three together in their daily business routine.



It’s the relationship between Ryan and Alex that eventually brings this movie to its most surprising twist. I won’t give it away, but it comes as a shock to the viewer and to me that shock is shock for its’ own sake. She has been lying to him about her life and as soon as I saw her real situation revealed, I couldn’t believe that she would have never told him the truth during all their time together. When she speaks with Ryan on the phone after he learns her secret, she calls him a “parenthesis” in her life. For some, this line may be a key to her character, but I thought this line was a bit over the top, more cruel than what the situation called for.

The lie that Alex leads means that the wedding sequence in which Ryan and she attend is a poorly devised plot device to make the ensuing surprise even more of a stunner. On its own, the wedding of Ryan’s sister is the least interesting sequence on the movie; after we learn Alex’s surprise, we feel cheated and realize the wedding was totally unnecessary. We’re supposed to see Ryan in this situation so that the light bulb goes on in his head and he can finally realize that he should commit to a woman and a more stable lifestyle. But this is cornball, Psych 101 stuff and it is clearly below the excellence of the rest of the story and screenplay.

By lying to us both figuratively and literally, the screenwriters keep “Air” from being an even better film than it could have been.


As for The Invention of Lying, the title cleverly takes us to a world where no one has ever lied. It’s a neat concept and co-writers (and co-directors) Ricky Gervais and Matthew Robinson create some great setups as well as write some pretty funny lines. A television commerical for Coke has the spokesman tell us not the qualities of the soft drink, but instead pleads with us to not stop buying it. An ad on a bus tells us that Pepsi is for those moments when “you can’t find a Coke.”

The film starts off brilliantly, with Mark Bellison (Gervais, in full inferiority complex), arriving at the home of Anna McDoogles (Jennifer Garner) for their first date. As no one can lie, Anna reminds Mark that she doesn’t really find him attractive, but doesn’t want to spend the night alone at home. Mark understands all too well, as his life is at a crossroads; he knows he will be soon fired for the poorly written screenplays about the Black Plague that he labors over.




The dinner conversation is hilarious, as the waiter lets Anna know that “this will be clumsy” as he finds her attractive. When he asks her if she’ll give him her number, she bluntly refuses (remember, she can’t lie). Mark tries to enjoy the evening, but knows that while he is attracted to her, she is out of his league, which she is all too happy to remind him of (even the waiter lets Mark know this fact).When he sees her to her door after dinner, she tells him that she enjoyed the evening more than she thought she would, which is about as positive a message as Mark can take away from their night out.

If only the movie could have kept up the hilarity and charm of these first few scenes! Unfortunately, the story gets predictable and despite a few clever scenes, such as when Mark tells a beautiful woman passing by that the world will end unless they have sex right away (and of course, she believes him, as remember – no one has ever lied), the film becomes a tired retread of “will the guy get the girl.” We know he will and while this can be fun to watch in some films, it isn’t all that entertaining here, despite the appeal of Gervais and Garner.



Another problem is that Gervais comes across as a sad sack and wants us to love – not just like – his character. While that sad puppy dog look of his is funny for a short time, it wears thin. Sympathy is not what makes this movie funny, it’s the spot on use of the truth to challenge us and make us a little uneasy. Like in many uncomfortable situations, we nervously laugh to relieve our uneasiness. That’s what’s best about this film.

So the messages in this film don’t always work. But at least the creators didn’t lie to us.

Oscar Time

Oscar statuette in bronze. This is an early form of the statue before it is dipped in gold.

(Photo by Tom Hyland)

A few thoughts on this year’s Academy Awards:

How I long for the period from the mid-1970s to the late 1990s, when Jerry Goldsmith and John Williams were nominated almost every year for Best Original Score. How uninspiring this category has become. I’m picking Michael Giacchino for his score for Up not so much that it’s a great score, but for the fact that he was passed over for his charming score for Ratatouille a few years back.

Speaking of music, I read that Ryan Bingham and T. Bone Burnett, composers of the song, “The Weary Kind” for the movie Crazy Heart, were not invited to the Oscar ceremonies and were told not to bother showing up. I guess we can eliminate that song. This is another category that has lost some of its luster. Remember when many of the winning songs as well as the nominated ones that didn’t win were gorgeous compositions that were perfomed by major recording artists? That was in the 1970s, ‘80s and ‘90s. Recently, in an apparent effort to seem more relevant and hip, the Acadmey has chosen some pretty obscure selections. That said, I predict that Randy Newman will win his second Oscar for one of his songs from The Prince and the Frog (sorry I can’t be more specific on which one).

It doesn’t take a genius to predict Jeff Bridges will win, but how nice for an actor who is a natural on screen. I’ll consider this a lifetime achievement award for him.

And finally, in the category everyone will be watching – Best Short Film (Animated), the winner will be French Roast. Don’t ask me why.

Old Time Politics

These days when every senatorial or gubernatorial election is treated with the seriousness of Biblical proportions, I thought it would be fun to look back at Hollywood’s efforts over the years with campaign films. There have been a few admirable ones, most notably 1972’s The Candidate, directed by Michael Ritchie and starring Robert Redford as well as Bob Roberts, the 1992 film directed by and starring Tim Robbins. One that doesn’t get a lot of attention however is The Best Man, a 1964 work starring Henry Fonda and Cliff Robertson. It was directed by Frankin Schaffner (Planet of the Apes, Patton, Papillon) and featured a wicked screenplay by Gore Vidal; you’d think with those credentials, it would have at least a following, but for some reason, it’s remained pretty much unknown.

The film takes place at the convention for one of the two parties (the screenplay does an excellent job of not letting on which party it concerns); it’s summer 1964 in Los Angeles and this party is about to nominate its candidate for the Presidency. The opening of the film takes place on the day the names of the candidates are put in nomination; while there are five in total, there are only two real front runners: William Russell (Fonda) and Joe Cantwell (Robertson). Though they appear similar at first glance (clean cut, well-educated, politically experienced), they are differ radically in their nature. Russell is a quiet, well-intentioned man who believes in talking about issues and hard work. Cantwell is a street fighter who loves the battle of politics and talks about issues in sound bites. This being 1964 and media at the time becoming a more important part of election coverage, it’s Cantwell who is the one who understands the need for personal style to woo voters, while for Russell, it’s primarily about organization and his campaign staff.



The third major player in this drama is former President Art Hockstader, charmingly portrayed by Lee Tracy (if you’re not familiar with Tracy, join the club. I had to look up his profile at imdb.com and discovered that his work was mainly in television; it’s a shame he didn’t have more movie roles). Hockstader meets with both Russell and Cantwell in their resepctive suites in the Ambassador Hotel (the film does an excellent job of placing the characters in a specific setting) to size them up. He asks both of them if they believe in God and asks what they would do in hypothetical foreign emergencies if they were in the Oval Office. He’s not too thrilled by Russell’s demeanor; he believes Russell is not decisive enough. But after speaking with Cantwell, he decides not to endorse him, as he senses that he is a schemer and cannot be trusted. Later that night at a dinner speech, he tells the assembled throng that one of five men will be the next nominee and that’s it the duty of everyone there to loyally support that candidate. Russell, Cantwell, the three minor candidates and everyone at this banquet know the meaning of this speech, as it’s what the President didn’t say by not coming out for any one particular man.

This means an open convention and let the fur fly. “There’s nothing like a low-down, dirty Presidential fight to put the roses back in your cheeks,” Hockstader says and boy do we get one here. Cantwell immediately threatens to publicize old psychiatric records, evidence that Russell once had a mental breakdown. He’s all set to have his staff distribute this information after the first ballot at the convention, which he and everyone else realize will not result in a majority for any candidate.

Russell on the other hand is pressured by both Hockstader and his campaign manager Dick Jensen (Kevin McCarthy) to fight fire with fire, as it turns out they have dug up charges of homsexuality by Cantwell during his days in the service, thanks to one of his fellow soldiers Sheldon Bascomb (squirmingly played by comic Shelley Berman). Bascomb is an inconsequential little man - a bit of a weasel actually - and he has to be badgered by Hockstader and Jensen to reveal all the dirt on Cantwell.




Trouble is, Russell doesn’t want to use this, as he’s an honorable man. Hockstader urges him to do so and it’s in this section of the film that Vidal’s screenply (based upon his play) is at its most perceptive. Hockstader lectures Russell on the question of attacking another candidate; “Power is not a toy we give to good children. It’s a weapon… If you don’t fight, this job is not for you and never will be.”

Russell replies, “I only want be human,” and asks the former President where all these personal attacks will end. “In the grave,” replies Hockstader. “where the dust is neither good nor bad.”

This is truly Vidal’s film; in fact the title of the film is “Gore Vidal’s The Best Man.” He writes sharp, to-the-point dialogue that’s sounds as real today as when he wrote it over 45 years ago; it’s a lot of evil fun. One of my favorite lines is spoken by Russell in referring to another possible nominee; “T.T. Claypool has all the characteristics of a dog, except loyalty.” Another great line from Russell comes in response to reporters about the reaction of his delegates on the convention floor when his name is put up for nomination. “This is spontaneous. We’ve scripted about 22 minutes of spontaneity.”

Vidal’s screenplay also touches upon school integration, a hot-button topic in 1964 as well as marital infidelity and the possibility of a minority candidate being president. The screenplay really is a small gem and it’s the backbone of this movie.

As for Schaffner’s direction, it’s pretty straightforward, as he portrays a world inside hotel suites and campaign staff offices along with a few scenes on the convention floor. There are lots of two-shots and closseups as well as medium shots of half a dozen or so staff members going every which way in their tightly conrolled environment. The great Haskell Wexler was the director of photography and he is able to contribute a few interesting low angle compositions looking up at delegates on the floor as they debate on how to vote during their turn. It’s a shame this isn’t a more pictorial movie and it’s a shame that Schaffner didn’t create a bit more tension in this film by cutting back and forth to the convention floor more often, but to be fair, the mano-a-mano duel between Russell and Cantwell during their confrontation on each other’s charges, is the dramatic high point of the film. Perhaps Schaffner (and Vidal) are saying that the real story of a convention is set in tight spaces, behind closed doors, rather than in the open air of the convention.

So while it’s far from a great film, it is a fascinating, beautifully written look into the business of Presidential politics. From what is presented here on film to what we see today on television, we know that in this field, the more things change, the more they stay the same.