For S and G's. Published on Helium.com:
The choices great, rewards too --
Red or white, gold or blue.
Never drunk, the more to taste,
But do not a sample waste.
In my freezer I keep gin,
On the wine rack rests my Zin,
Absolut and Grand Marnier,
Medicinally, every day.
Single malts, the rich man’s sport
Unless you like a tawny port
Or fine Chateau-neuf du Pap.
Duvel beer pulls out the stops.
Moving on, my spirits high
I guess I’ll give this wine a try.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Thursday, February 3, 2011
New Poem
For your consideration, a new poem . . .
The Cycle of Love and Pain
Two nightshades off of a plumb,
A couple of bubbles on the square.
Falling in love is a bit like that.
No room for anything debonair.
Tulipomania, the market crashed.
Circle the flower carts, the roses have toes.
Being in love is a bit like that.
We sprinkled shared tears and watched orchids grow.
Blank verse poems written on Iambic columns
Carved of rock hard pent-a-meter.
Losing your love is a bit like that:
Like hummingbirds visiting an empty feeder.
The stages repeat whether rhyming or no,
We all always want to give love a go.
The Cycle of Love and Pain
Two nightshades off of a plumb,
A couple of bubbles on the square.
Falling in love is a bit like that.
No room for anything debonair.
Tulipomania, the market crashed.
Circle the flower carts, the roses have toes.
Being in love is a bit like that.
We sprinkled shared tears and watched orchids grow.
Blank verse poems written on Iambic columns
Carved of rock hard pent-a-meter.
Losing your love is a bit like that:
Like hummingbirds visiting an empty feeder.
The stages repeat whether rhyming or no,
We all always want to give love a go.
Monday, January 24, 2011
The King's Speech
Having unfavorably reviewed "Dutch Girls" I thought it fair to give Colin Firth his due . . .
Film Review: The King’s Speech (2010)
Directed by Tom Hooper. Screenplay by David Seidler.
The harshest criticism of “The King’s Speech” is that it is solid. “Entertainment Weekly” calls it satisfying but square. I think this means that it is a film with no surprises. As with many historical dramas, the end of the story is already known to us; it is the journey there that matters.
Executed with delightful precision, this is an actor’s film dominated by a troupe of actors who always hit their marks. That alone, to watch such skilled performers become so completely the characters they play, gives the film a nearly documentary veracity. We literally become flies on the walls of a behind-the-scenes drama about one man’s struggle with stuttering.
The importance of his impediment comes with the importance of the man. Shakespeare knew that truly great tragedy involved potentially great people who found themselves in situations far greater than their own lives. Tragedy was the arena of kings. As we meet Prince Albert, he is not yet king but we already know he will be -- and King of Great Britain when the Second World War broke out. The gravitas underscores Albert’s personal struggle with the demon that plagues him -- his inability to communicate effectively or with the confidence of a Royal.
Albert is the second son of King George V, the king who guided Britain through the First World War and can see the second one coming. George is charismatic and confident, but troubled by the prospect of who will succeed him, eldest son David. Albert is second in line. When George dies, David becomes King Edward VIII, perhaps the least suited individual ever to take the throne. When he abdicates within the year in order to marry American divorcee Wallis Simpson, Albert becomes the reluctant but necessary king, taking the name George VI.
Most of his reluctance comes from his stammer. Even as Prince Albert he was infinitely better suited to being monarch than his brother, something even their father recognized. But he cannot make a speech. No doctor or therapist has been able to help. Enter Lionel Logue, an Australian born speech specialist with his own ideas of how -- and where -- to practice. The film focuses mainly on the efforts of both men to become a team, one who is destined for greatness regardless of his own fears and the other who gladly would have embraced greatness if it had befallen him but would never attain it.
Through a series of witty and touching encounters we peer inside both men’s very souls. It is a remarkable thing to witness, and both men are so sympathetic that we find ourselves caring deeply about the outcome,. And would have, I think, even if Albert were not the man who would be king. It is a story of two men of totally different backgrounds united by a common purpose, who become friends. At times it is heartbreaking, particularly in the moments Albert reveals deep hurts within himself, but never sentimental.
At this writing Colin Firth has already won the Golden Globe for his performance as Albert and is the frontrunner for the Oscar. Geoffrey Rush was nominated for the Golden Globe for his role and Lionel Logue, in a supporting role, but the award went to Christian Bale for his work in “The Fighter.” An Oscar nomination for Rush would be well earned. Firth dominates the film as a complex, deeply flawed leader-in-the-making whose flaw is glaringly, embarrassingly visible. Rush is beautifully pained yet both exuberant and patient as Lionel, a remarkable, fiercely intelligent man whom time and society had ignored until now.
Helena Bonham Carter is loving and supportive, and regal, as Bertie’s wife Elizabeth (mother of Elizabeth II and later much beloved Queen Mum). Jennifer Ehle is equally supportive in the smaller role as Mrs. Logue. The rest of the cast is a who’s who of leading actors taking marvelous supporting roles: Sir Michael Gambon as George V; Guy Pearce as the whiny, self-absorbed David/Edward VIII; Anthony Edwards as Prime Minister Stanley Baldwin; Derek Jacoby as the manipulative Archbishop of Canterbury; and Timothy Spall, with a rare chance to play the good guy, doing a fine turn as Winston Churchill.
Albert became king in 1936. But it is the speech he gave on September 3, 1939, that climaxes the film. The speech announces to all citizens of the United Kingdom that Germany and England are at war for the second time in his lifetime. In it he addresses his subjects, his people, at the gravest moment of their history and must show both his concern for their future and confidence in ultimate victory. With Lionel Logue at his side, he speaks with all due deliberation, and not a single stammer, for nine minutes, and is truly the leader his people need at that grave moment.
One critic noted that the film did not address David’s sympathies with Germany, which indeed would have been interesting but distracting to Albert’s story. It is also noted that the timeline is compressed for dramatic effect, that Logue actually began working with Albert in 1926, much earlier than the film implies. Another critic mentioned that Churchill did not have as obvious a presence in the 1936 court as the film suggests. It is known that Churchill was very fond of George VI and suspicious of Edward VIII, and that Churchill’s admonitions regarding Hitler went virtually ignored until it was too late, but adding his presence to the film gives historical recognition for many of us who are vague on the inner workings of British politics in the time leading up to the war.
Otherwise, the film is as accurate as any drama based on factual events can be. And as compelling to watch.
Film Review: The King’s Speech (2010)
Directed by Tom Hooper. Screenplay by David Seidler.
The harshest criticism of “The King’s Speech” is that it is solid. “Entertainment Weekly” calls it satisfying but square. I think this means that it is a film with no surprises. As with many historical dramas, the end of the story is already known to us; it is the journey there that matters.
Executed with delightful precision, this is an actor’s film dominated by a troupe of actors who always hit their marks. That alone, to watch such skilled performers become so completely the characters they play, gives the film a nearly documentary veracity. We literally become flies on the walls of a behind-the-scenes drama about one man’s struggle with stuttering.
The importance of his impediment comes with the importance of the man. Shakespeare knew that truly great tragedy involved potentially great people who found themselves in situations far greater than their own lives. Tragedy was the arena of kings. As we meet Prince Albert, he is not yet king but we already know he will be -- and King of Great Britain when the Second World War broke out. The gravitas underscores Albert’s personal struggle with the demon that plagues him -- his inability to communicate effectively or with the confidence of a Royal.
Albert is the second son of King George V, the king who guided Britain through the First World War and can see the second one coming. George is charismatic and confident, but troubled by the prospect of who will succeed him, eldest son David. Albert is second in line. When George dies, David becomes King Edward VIII, perhaps the least suited individual ever to take the throne. When he abdicates within the year in order to marry American divorcee Wallis Simpson, Albert becomes the reluctant but necessary king, taking the name George VI.
Most of his reluctance comes from his stammer. Even as Prince Albert he was infinitely better suited to being monarch than his brother, something even their father recognized. But he cannot make a speech. No doctor or therapist has been able to help. Enter Lionel Logue, an Australian born speech specialist with his own ideas of how -- and where -- to practice. The film focuses mainly on the efforts of both men to become a team, one who is destined for greatness regardless of his own fears and the other who gladly would have embraced greatness if it had befallen him but would never attain it.
Through a series of witty and touching encounters we peer inside both men’s very souls. It is a remarkable thing to witness, and both men are so sympathetic that we find ourselves caring deeply about the outcome,. And would have, I think, even if Albert were not the man who would be king. It is a story of two men of totally different backgrounds united by a common purpose, who become friends. At times it is heartbreaking, particularly in the moments Albert reveals deep hurts within himself, but never sentimental.
At this writing Colin Firth has already won the Golden Globe for his performance as Albert and is the frontrunner for the Oscar. Geoffrey Rush was nominated for the Golden Globe for his role and Lionel Logue, in a supporting role, but the award went to Christian Bale for his work in “The Fighter.” An Oscar nomination for Rush would be well earned. Firth dominates the film as a complex, deeply flawed leader-in-the-making whose flaw is glaringly, embarrassingly visible. Rush is beautifully pained yet both exuberant and patient as Lionel, a remarkable, fiercely intelligent man whom time and society had ignored until now.
Helena Bonham Carter is loving and supportive, and regal, as Bertie’s wife Elizabeth (mother of Elizabeth II and later much beloved Queen Mum). Jennifer Ehle is equally supportive in the smaller role as Mrs. Logue. The rest of the cast is a who’s who of leading actors taking marvelous supporting roles: Sir Michael Gambon as George V; Guy Pearce as the whiny, self-absorbed David/Edward VIII; Anthony Edwards as Prime Minister Stanley Baldwin; Derek Jacoby as the manipulative Archbishop of Canterbury; and Timothy Spall, with a rare chance to play the good guy, doing a fine turn as Winston Churchill.
Albert became king in 1936. But it is the speech he gave on September 3, 1939, that climaxes the film. The speech announces to all citizens of the United Kingdom that Germany and England are at war for the second time in his lifetime. In it he addresses his subjects, his people, at the gravest moment of their history and must show both his concern for their future and confidence in ultimate victory. With Lionel Logue at his side, he speaks with all due deliberation, and not a single stammer, for nine minutes, and is truly the leader his people need at that grave moment.
One critic noted that the film did not address David’s sympathies with Germany, which indeed would have been interesting but distracting to Albert’s story. It is also noted that the timeline is compressed for dramatic effect, that Logue actually began working with Albert in 1926, much earlier than the film implies. Another critic mentioned that Churchill did not have as obvious a presence in the 1936 court as the film suggests. It is known that Churchill was very fond of George VI and suspicious of Edward VIII, and that Churchill’s admonitions regarding Hitler went virtually ignored until it was too late, but adding his presence to the film gives historical recognition for many of us who are vague on the inner workings of British politics in the time leading up to the war.
Otherwise, the film is as accurate as any drama based on factual events can be. And as compelling to watch.
Saturday, January 22, 2011
Dutch Girls, the movie
Once upon a time I promised myself to throw myself whole heartedly into blogging -- anything to be able to write every day. Looking back, I have not done very well, averaging about five blogs a month. That is not going to change anytime soon, I fear, as my life rushes toward a major move to the beautiful and exotic country of Montana. But once I am settled, I hope to be more dedicated to this fun task to which I have committed myself. And maybe, just maybe, I will have more of you following me if I can find the right sorts of things to say.
For today, though, I just want to offer for your enjoyment the following review. I offer it for two reasons, one, that it is shorter than most of my reviews, and two, that it proves that -- contrary to my own opinion -- I don't always like everything I read, hear or see. Here goes:
Dutch Girls (1985) Directed by Charles Foster. Screenplay by William Boyd.
Not every project even a great actor enters into can be a masterpiece, or even a memorable role. There will always be those parts he nor she wished they had never done, or wished had been done better. This is true particularly of their earlier works, before they made a name for themselves and could afford the luxury of selectivity. Tony Curtis once remarked how fortunate he felt he was to have been involved in a dozen or so worthwhile films in a career that spanned decades. Mandy Patinkin once commented how fortunate he was to be part of just one in particular -- it made his career worthwhile.
Having just seen “The King’s Speech” in the theater, which will stand as one of Colin Firth’s best roles, I rented “Dutch Girls.” “Dutch Girls,” released in 1985 when Firth was just coming into his own at age 25, appealed to me for two reasons: first, my affinity for anything to do with my native country, no matter how frivolous; and second, my admiration for Firth as an actor. And though Firth is the best thing about this earlier movie, unfortunately the film itself set low goals and reached them all.
“Dutch Girls” is a coming of age story about a boys’ field hockey team in England that goes across the channel to play exhibition games with teams in Holland. But the boys can only think about Dutch Girls, who are reputed to be easy. These boys frankly want to smoke, drink, and get laid, and the matches, much to their irritating coach’s consternation, take a far back seat on the traveling bus. The fact that the girls are nowhere as easy as the boys expect, coupled with the stuffiness of the boys themselves, should make for a fine comedy of errors. The errors occur, but largely are not funny.
Firth’s character, Neil Truelove, is the most interesting -- an insecure and shy young man who always steps back for his best friend. It is Firth’s awakening that we witness. The girl he meets and becomes attracted to is sweet, smart, self-assured and patient. She will help him grow up, but not in the way he originally sought -- by treasuring him for himself, and by honestly helping him figure out that his best friend is no friend at all.
Timothy Spall plays Lyndon, an oafish slob with no regard for anyone’s personal space or property. Neil and Lyndon are housed together with the family of one of the opposing players, and while Neil acts with decorum, Lyndon cannot even be bothered to flush the toilet. Yet at the end it is Lyndon who acts like a true friend, helping complete Neil’s short journey to self-realization.
All this should be either very funny or very endearing, or both, but is neither. It is played more like a ribald juvenile comedy without any zest or sex. The sequences in Amsterdam’s Red Light District may be the only truly real part of the film -- they make sex for rent look as sleazy and uninviting as it truly is. Yet this sequence is also uninvolving, frenetic and even irritating to watch.
Perhaps my biggest complaint with the film is that it is irritating. There is potential to really explore these characters, even in so short a time frame, yet the only character who grows even a little is Neil. There is no depth beyond that, and I felt as though I were nothing more than a still shot camera taking snapshots of a brief holiday in the rain.
For today, though, I just want to offer for your enjoyment the following review. I offer it for two reasons, one, that it is shorter than most of my reviews, and two, that it proves that -- contrary to my own opinion -- I don't always like everything I read, hear or see. Here goes:
Dutch Girls (1985) Directed by Charles Foster. Screenplay by William Boyd.
Not every project even a great actor enters into can be a masterpiece, or even a memorable role. There will always be those parts he nor she wished they had never done, or wished had been done better. This is true particularly of their earlier works, before they made a name for themselves and could afford the luxury of selectivity. Tony Curtis once remarked how fortunate he felt he was to have been involved in a dozen or so worthwhile films in a career that spanned decades. Mandy Patinkin once commented how fortunate he was to be part of just one in particular -- it made his career worthwhile.
Having just seen “The King’s Speech” in the theater, which will stand as one of Colin Firth’s best roles, I rented “Dutch Girls.” “Dutch Girls,” released in 1985 when Firth was just coming into his own at age 25, appealed to me for two reasons: first, my affinity for anything to do with my native country, no matter how frivolous; and second, my admiration for Firth as an actor. And though Firth is the best thing about this earlier movie, unfortunately the film itself set low goals and reached them all.
“Dutch Girls” is a coming of age story about a boys’ field hockey team in England that goes across the channel to play exhibition games with teams in Holland. But the boys can only think about Dutch Girls, who are reputed to be easy. These boys frankly want to smoke, drink, and get laid, and the matches, much to their irritating coach’s consternation, take a far back seat on the traveling bus. The fact that the girls are nowhere as easy as the boys expect, coupled with the stuffiness of the boys themselves, should make for a fine comedy of errors. The errors occur, but largely are not funny.
Firth’s character, Neil Truelove, is the most interesting -- an insecure and shy young man who always steps back for his best friend. It is Firth’s awakening that we witness. The girl he meets and becomes attracted to is sweet, smart, self-assured and patient. She will help him grow up, but not in the way he originally sought -- by treasuring him for himself, and by honestly helping him figure out that his best friend is no friend at all.
Timothy Spall plays Lyndon, an oafish slob with no regard for anyone’s personal space or property. Neil and Lyndon are housed together with the family of one of the opposing players, and while Neil acts with decorum, Lyndon cannot even be bothered to flush the toilet. Yet at the end it is Lyndon who acts like a true friend, helping complete Neil’s short journey to self-realization.
All this should be either very funny or very endearing, or both, but is neither. It is played more like a ribald juvenile comedy without any zest or sex. The sequences in Amsterdam’s Red Light District may be the only truly real part of the film -- they make sex for rent look as sleazy and uninviting as it truly is. Yet this sequence is also uninvolving, frenetic and even irritating to watch.
Perhaps my biggest complaint with the film is that it is irritating. There is potential to really explore these characters, even in so short a time frame, yet the only character who grows even a little is Neil. There is no depth beyond that, and I felt as though I were nothing more than a still shot camera taking snapshots of a brief holiday in the rain.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
A Prayer of Thanksgiving
I wrote this poem thirty years ago, when I was at the height of my "religious period," if you can call that chapter of my faith journey that. Odd to think that recent events in my life have made me look back at earlier work with a small degree of admiration and not a small degree of agreement. Not to put too fine a point on it, lets just say my faith journey continues -- call it my journey to spiritual awareness if you like. This poem basically says I am grateful to recognize that I am on such a trek, and that it is the trek that matters.
Here goes:
Now, when I talk to you
My heart is filled with thanks.
There are times I feel desperate
And alone and very very scared
And petition you to please come help.
There are times I want success
By yardsticks of wealth and fame
And petition you to move mountains
On Publisher’s Row
On my behalf.
I ask so much of you that sometimes
Just once in a while
I want to offer thanks.
You gave me a will and a mind that ask
And you lend me an ear that listens.
Here goes:
Now, when I talk to you
My heart is filled with thanks.
There are times I feel desperate
And alone and very very scared
And petition you to please come help.
There are times I want success
By yardsticks of wealth and fame
And petition you to move mountains
On Publisher’s Row
On my behalf.
I ask so much of you that sometimes
Just once in a while
I want to offer thanks.
You gave me a will and a mind that ask
And you lend me an ear that listens.
Friday, January 14, 2011
The Wall
The Wall is a novel by Jeff Long, published in 2006. This is my review for Helium:
Some writers surprise you. I read “The Wall,” by Jeff Long, because I had read and thoroughly enjoyed three other books by him, “The Decent,” “Year Zero,” and “Reckoning.” Each of those was decidedly different from the others, yet unified by a strong sense of both story and character and a deft hand at holding back the key strokes until just the right moment, though the clues are there. “The Wall” continues the trend that Long has established in his writing.
If you had told me that I would enjoy a full length novel about mountain climbing -- let alone hate when it was over -- I would have scoffed. Mountain climbing is not a subject that calls to me, possibly because I have a healthy fear of heights. So a climb up Yosemite’s El Capitan, even one that turns into a desperate rescue mission, would seem to me worthy of a short story at best. But Long weaves his magic, mostly through the perceptions -- eyes, ears, tastes, smells and mostly touch -- of Hugh Glass, a 50 something mountain climbing veteran looking for one last hurrah with his best buddy, Lewis. Yep, that’s Hughie and Louie -- but these guys are no joke.
They mastered El Cap decades ago, and are legend for it even though others came after, went farther, and did it faster. They were pioneers. Now they want to retrace their steps and forget all the years in between.
Hugh’s wife Annie died in the desert a little while before the story begins. Lewis’ wife Rachael wants to leave him, has outgrown him. For Lewis, the climb is an odd chance to win her back. For Hugh, the demons he keeps at bay are even more personal -- and buried so deep that Lewis cannot manage get Hugh to talk about it. Although Lewis wants to act as friend and listener, and Hugh has thoughts of helping Lewis accept Rachael‘s leaving, the code of “real men“ applies, and both men are more comfortable discussing the logistics of their climb than the tragedies in their lives.. Both men seek to escape their sadness at the wall. More, to transcend it.
But a trio of female climbers gets in trouble and Hugh finds himself in the middle of a rescue attempt spearheaded by young Augustine, a man with demons of his own. One of these is Andie, one of the three women in peril. In an environment where even the smallest mistake can be fatal, these men must climb the sheer El Cap -- the Wall -- and retrace the steps that brought the women into mortal danger. When they reach their goal, the danger is just beginning.
Long weaves a spellbinding tale, mostly because Hugh Glass himself is so stoic and closed-mouthed. Yet Glass is our point of view. We see the world as he sees it, we feel every inch of the Wall as he climbs it, and even the uninitiated can understand the process as he describes it. The intimacy is powerful and makes the climax unforgettable.
Some writers surprise you. I read “The Wall,” by Jeff Long, because I had read and thoroughly enjoyed three other books by him, “The Decent,” “Year Zero,” and “Reckoning.” Each of those was decidedly different from the others, yet unified by a strong sense of both story and character and a deft hand at holding back the key strokes until just the right moment, though the clues are there. “The Wall” continues the trend that Long has established in his writing.
If you had told me that I would enjoy a full length novel about mountain climbing -- let alone hate when it was over -- I would have scoffed. Mountain climbing is not a subject that calls to me, possibly because I have a healthy fear of heights. So a climb up Yosemite’s El Capitan, even one that turns into a desperate rescue mission, would seem to me worthy of a short story at best. But Long weaves his magic, mostly through the perceptions -- eyes, ears, tastes, smells and mostly touch -- of Hugh Glass, a 50 something mountain climbing veteran looking for one last hurrah with his best buddy, Lewis. Yep, that’s Hughie and Louie -- but these guys are no joke.
They mastered El Cap decades ago, and are legend for it even though others came after, went farther, and did it faster. They were pioneers. Now they want to retrace their steps and forget all the years in between.
Hugh’s wife Annie died in the desert a little while before the story begins. Lewis’ wife Rachael wants to leave him, has outgrown him. For Lewis, the climb is an odd chance to win her back. For Hugh, the demons he keeps at bay are even more personal -- and buried so deep that Lewis cannot manage get Hugh to talk about it. Although Lewis wants to act as friend and listener, and Hugh has thoughts of helping Lewis accept Rachael‘s leaving, the code of “real men“ applies, and both men are more comfortable discussing the logistics of their climb than the tragedies in their lives.. Both men seek to escape their sadness at the wall. More, to transcend it.
But a trio of female climbers gets in trouble and Hugh finds himself in the middle of a rescue attempt spearheaded by young Augustine, a man with demons of his own. One of these is Andie, one of the three women in peril. In an environment where even the smallest mistake can be fatal, these men must climb the sheer El Cap -- the Wall -- and retrace the steps that brought the women into mortal danger. When they reach their goal, the danger is just beginning.
Long weaves a spellbinding tale, mostly because Hugh Glass himself is so stoic and closed-mouthed. Yet Glass is our point of view. We see the world as he sees it, we feel every inch of the Wall as he climbs it, and even the uninitiated can understand the process as he describes it. The intimacy is powerful and makes the climax unforgettable.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Dirty Harry Turns 40
In honor of the film's 40th anniversary, and in keeping with the spirit of this blog, I offer for your consideration the following review.
DIRTY HARRY, 1971. Directed by Don Siegel. Screenplay by Harry Julian Fink, R.M. Fink, Dean Riesner, and (uncredited) John Milius and Terence Malick.
“Dirty Harry” is a remarkable film, one of those rare cinematic events that extends and defines a genre. 40 years old this year, the film has not aged because we are still asking the same basic questions it poses. The film has been lauded as one of America’s finest efforts and has spawned a great many similar stories, including three sequels.
Starting with Steve McQueen’s “Bullitt,” in 1968, stories centering on hard boiled cops who disregarded the rules and the orders of their superiors became a fan favorite. These films included “Coogan’s Bluff,” which was released the same year as “Bullitt” and also starred Clint Eastwood with Don Siegel directing, and Academy Award winning best film for 1971, “The French Connection.” The ultimate car chase sequence in “Bullitt” became a standard others tried to equal or top, but in “Dirty Harry” the action, though none stop, does not depend on imitation.
Clint Eastwood portrays Harry Callahan, another maverick cop patrolling the streets of San Francisco in his own way. For Harry, justice does not require kid gloves in the application -- Miranda is a hindrance to be avoided. In many ways, Harry is an extension of the character Deputy Sheriff Walt Coogan, but here even more of a “loose cannon.“ Facing a brutal killer named Scorpio, Harry proceeds with just the right combination of righteousness and revenge to satisfy all the members of the audience who believe in the ideals the justice system stands for, but realize that system’s shortcomings when it comes to protecting its citizens instead of its sociopaths.
The dilemma is broadly stated here. Just how far should and can you go against the rights of a suspected killer in order to save innocent lives? The audience may wonder at the answer. Harry Callahan has no doubts.
Scorpio starts a grim and deadly game of cat and mouse by coldly killing a young woman swimming laps in a pool with a difficult shot from his high powered rifle. He leaves a ransom note demanding $100,000 or the next victim will die. Harry finds the note and is assigned to the case. After a diverting but defining robbery sequence that even plugs Eastwood’s own directorial debut on the marquis of a local movie theater, the chase begins in earnest as Scorpio leaves an increasingly brutal trail behind him, then takes Callahan’s pursuit as an opportunity to flaunt his own invincibility. The end result may be predictable, but the journey is harrowing and well told.
New York City, and then Seattle was supposed to be the setting for the story, but the filmmakers decided on San Francisco instead. The City’s recognizable scenery, plus the success of “Bullitt” three years before, probably drove the change in locale.
Eastwood is perfectly cast. The original concept for Harry Callahan intended to portray him as a grizzled 50ish veteran police officer jaded by his experience. Among those considered for the role were Burt Lancaster, John Wayne, Robert Mitchum and Frank Sinatra. Wayne actively campaigned for the role, but at 63 was considered a bit too old. Sinatra became the frontrunner, but had broken his wrist while filming “The Manchurian Candidate” eight years earlier and found it painful to wield the trademark .44 Magnum Callahan handles like a toy. And with the success, both critical and financial, of “Bullitt,” making the main character a younger, cooler individual offered the filmmakers the chance to appeal to a wider demographic as well. With his steely eyes and quiet menace, Eastwood made Harry Callahan his signature role.
The character of Scorpio is one of the greatest villains in film history, and Andy Robinson, at the time an unknown actor with an angelic face to contrast with the hellish brutality of this killer, is spellbinding. What motivates him is not the story here. What he does, how he does it, and how to stop him are the driving forces in Callahan’s story. What Scorpio is -- a monster -- is abundantly, convincingly clear. Amazingly, the part was offered first to Audie Murphy, but Murphy was killed in a plane crash before he could answer. Robinson played the part so convincingly that the real life pacifist found himself receiving death threats and had to change his phone number to an unlisted one.
“Dirty Harry” forgets the car chase. Instead, it places the most innocent among us -- our children -- in jeopardy at the hands of someone lacking any moral code. This is a brilliant stroke: no society feels more vulnerable than when its children are at risk, which makes the undertone of the film, the underlying theme all the more real and important. By the dramatic conclusion, we find ourselves agreeing with Harry that he must do whatever he has to in order to stop an uncontrollable monster, procedure be damned. In a society squeaking with moral ambivalence, this film poses interesting questions on what is going too far, with slam-bang action to boot.
DIRTY HARRY, 1971. Directed by Don Siegel. Screenplay by Harry Julian Fink, R.M. Fink, Dean Riesner, and (uncredited) John Milius and Terence Malick.
“Dirty Harry” is a remarkable film, one of those rare cinematic events that extends and defines a genre. 40 years old this year, the film has not aged because we are still asking the same basic questions it poses. The film has been lauded as one of America’s finest efforts and has spawned a great many similar stories, including three sequels.
Starting with Steve McQueen’s “Bullitt,” in 1968, stories centering on hard boiled cops who disregarded the rules and the orders of their superiors became a fan favorite. These films included “Coogan’s Bluff,” which was released the same year as “Bullitt” and also starred Clint Eastwood with Don Siegel directing, and Academy Award winning best film for 1971, “The French Connection.” The ultimate car chase sequence in “Bullitt” became a standard others tried to equal or top, but in “Dirty Harry” the action, though none stop, does not depend on imitation.
Clint Eastwood portrays Harry Callahan, another maverick cop patrolling the streets of San Francisco in his own way. For Harry, justice does not require kid gloves in the application -- Miranda is a hindrance to be avoided. In many ways, Harry is an extension of the character Deputy Sheriff Walt Coogan, but here even more of a “loose cannon.“ Facing a brutal killer named Scorpio, Harry proceeds with just the right combination of righteousness and revenge to satisfy all the members of the audience who believe in the ideals the justice system stands for, but realize that system’s shortcomings when it comes to protecting its citizens instead of its sociopaths.
The dilemma is broadly stated here. Just how far should and can you go against the rights of a suspected killer in order to save innocent lives? The audience may wonder at the answer. Harry Callahan has no doubts.
Scorpio starts a grim and deadly game of cat and mouse by coldly killing a young woman swimming laps in a pool with a difficult shot from his high powered rifle. He leaves a ransom note demanding $100,000 or the next victim will die. Harry finds the note and is assigned to the case. After a diverting but defining robbery sequence that even plugs Eastwood’s own directorial debut on the marquis of a local movie theater, the chase begins in earnest as Scorpio leaves an increasingly brutal trail behind him, then takes Callahan’s pursuit as an opportunity to flaunt his own invincibility. The end result may be predictable, but the journey is harrowing and well told.
New York City, and then Seattle was supposed to be the setting for the story, but the filmmakers decided on San Francisco instead. The City’s recognizable scenery, plus the success of “Bullitt” three years before, probably drove the change in locale.
Eastwood is perfectly cast. The original concept for Harry Callahan intended to portray him as a grizzled 50ish veteran police officer jaded by his experience. Among those considered for the role were Burt Lancaster, John Wayne, Robert Mitchum and Frank Sinatra. Wayne actively campaigned for the role, but at 63 was considered a bit too old. Sinatra became the frontrunner, but had broken his wrist while filming “The Manchurian Candidate” eight years earlier and found it painful to wield the trademark .44 Magnum Callahan handles like a toy. And with the success, both critical and financial, of “Bullitt,” making the main character a younger, cooler individual offered the filmmakers the chance to appeal to a wider demographic as well. With his steely eyes and quiet menace, Eastwood made Harry Callahan his signature role.
The character of Scorpio is one of the greatest villains in film history, and Andy Robinson, at the time an unknown actor with an angelic face to contrast with the hellish brutality of this killer, is spellbinding. What motivates him is not the story here. What he does, how he does it, and how to stop him are the driving forces in Callahan’s story. What Scorpio is -- a monster -- is abundantly, convincingly clear. Amazingly, the part was offered first to Audie Murphy, but Murphy was killed in a plane crash before he could answer. Robinson played the part so convincingly that the real life pacifist found himself receiving death threats and had to change his phone number to an unlisted one.
“Dirty Harry” forgets the car chase. Instead, it places the most innocent among us -- our children -- in jeopardy at the hands of someone lacking any moral code. This is a brilliant stroke: no society feels more vulnerable than when its children are at risk, which makes the undertone of the film, the underlying theme all the more real and important. By the dramatic conclusion, we find ourselves agreeing with Harry that he must do whatever he has to in order to stop an uncontrollable monster, procedure be damned. In a society squeaking with moral ambivalence, this film poses interesting questions on what is going too far, with slam-bang action to boot.
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