Grace Kelly, Mika

I've been listening to this song non-stop for the past two weeks or so. It's silly, and it's stupid, completely retarded and nonsensical - but it's so damn catchy I can't help but loving it. Everyone hates it for how mainstream and stupid it is... but Vicky wuffs it.

So, here it is...

In the 1930's...

The decade where the baby of the 1920's, the Talkie, grew up and developed into a fully grown, sometimes grand creature. My favorite romance of the decade, Gone with the Wind (also my favorite film, period) is one of those grand experiences: a massive, beautiful and perfectly flawed epic affair.

As Scarlett irritatingly ignores Rhett during the whole 4 hours, it's impossible not to be marveled at how the story develops: the wonderful dialogues, beautiful settings, the very amazing performances and that very Hollywood air to it. However discussion might fit into its status as "the best movie of all time" it's definitely Hollywood's grandest affair. And I adore every minute of it.

Not to say, of course, it's the only great romance of the decade. As sound grew up, some of the greatest screen legends did as well: Gary Cooper, Bette Davis, Errol Flynn, Joan Crawford, Jean Harlow, Cary Grant, Clark Gable, Katharine Hepburn, Greta Garbo (eek) - some of the owners of the 30's. One of the greatest actors in history, sir Laurence Olivier, also saw his birth as a star in this decade... most notably starring in the gorgeous 1939 adaptation of Wuthering Heights.

A movie that never seems to be mentioned, even if it gave birth to possibly my favorite genre, the screwball comedy. It Happened One Night, to this day, remains to be one of the freshest romantic comedies in existence, with a very fun script that feels quite natural, and a god-like performance from sexy Clark Gable, as he tries to tear down the Walls of Jericho - biblical references were never as sexy...

Just because I can, another wonderful romantic comedy, this one starring the goddess Kate, lovely Cary and the most famous leopard in film history: Bringing Up Baby. One of the single wackiest movies ever made, it's a perfect example of what a screwball comedy should be: fun, crazy, nonsensical and simply a joy to watch. Not as favored as It Happened One Night was in its original release (which was the first film to win all 5 major awards: Picture, Director, Screenplay, Actor and Actress) in this day and age it's possibly the most loved movie of its genre, and it damn right deserves it.

And finally, for the man who stood by what he believed and made two of the greatest movies ever, let alone the 30s, without falling into the new fashion. Always, Charlie Chaplin's beautiful 30's films: the fantastic Modern Times and my favorite silent film, City Lights.

Movie romance...

Seeing as the dumb little 100 Years... 100 Movies list is getting pimped out this week, and as I'm drowning in my own sense of romanticism these days, I thought I'd make a little series myself (obviously not as bad as AFI's) but with a different approach: listing my favorite(s) love story of each decade, from the 1930's to the 2000's so far.

Anyway, I'll post the first list... soon. Probably this week :)

As time goes by...

They're in Paris, and it's the summer of 1940. The Germans wear gray, Ilsa wears blue, and the whole world is falling to pieces around them. But it makes no difference: they're in love, the piano plays softly behind them, and they'll run away from all the madness together and live happily ever after. But something happens, Ilsa can't make it to the train station... and there Rick stands, with a comical look on his face because his insides have been kicked out.

It's not a wound he'll ever recover from, but it's much easier to attempt to forget, to pretend to move on, than to actually think about her. It's too painful, and it's too pointless. Better to just be aside, detached from the world, drinking, smoking, ignoring.


But fate brings Ilsa back to him, the soft piano with the familiar song reappears, and it stirs up feelings that had been long put away. However, she's not alone: she brings a husband and the load of a cause worth dying for. Two options appear before Rick: stick his neck out for nobody or fight for the world. And Rick was always a hero underneath.



Was it ever really an option to be happy, to keep love? Probably not: the problems of three little people don't amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world. But they will always have Paris... and we'll always have Casablanca.

My man Hitchcock

Probably one of the most entertainment-based directors, and definitely one of my personal favorites, Alfred Hitchcock was pure genius. Just looking at his filmography there's no way but feeling, at the very least, amazed by the man's capacity to create masterpieces, still staying steady in his own genre, and still keeping his own style.


However... I do feel Hitch did his best when he left that style. Not that the usual identity crisis's his characters went through didn't work, but it was when he ventured in the unknown where he excelled.


You've got reincarnation, phobias and obsession in Vertigo; Oedipal complex and repressed sexual desire in Psycho; fear of the uncontrollable aspects of nature in The Birds; wicked desire to excel while using rather experimental character positioning in Rope; and probably ennui in Rear Window - coincidentally, some of his most acclaimed work, and some of my favorites by him (Rope in particular)


Still, he was wonderful at all times, and the style that made him famous most certainly deserved the recognition. The whole obsession with identities, missed opportunities, the accused innocent man - what made Hitchcock the man he was. And it worked so well in so many films - a particular favorite being North by Northwest, which quite obviously shaped a lot of upcoming ideas of espionage, most notably the characterization of James Bond (also making Cary Grant a serious competitor for the role, come adaptation time)

However anyone might prefer him, in his wildness or keeping it safe, there's no doubt as to how much more fun it is to be a movie buff thanks to Alfred Hitchcock. All hail the master of suspense!

"Why does my heart cry...?"

In my entire life, there have been very few scenes that have captivated me at the level of Moulin Rouge!'s El Tango de Roxanne. I'd always found this quality, this certain power surrounding it I couldn't quite describe...

After what must be about the thirtieth viewing, I think I finally put my finger on it - passion. Burning, wild, hurtful, complicated and wonderfully heartfelt passion.

Not often have I been transmitted this sort of feeling by a movie scene... right now, only Marlon Brando in his endless regret and frightened moment of weakness comes to mind - that wet, ravaging Stanley Kowalski crying for his wife at the bottom of a staircase in - what else? - A Streetcar Named Desire.


Of course, the passion in Rouge is the complete opposite to that of Streetcar. While the latter is, as Blanche herself so accurately puts it "desire, just brutal desire", El Tango de Roxanne, as the entire film does, sends so many beautiful images of missed chances and lost love, presented so bluntly and with such deliciously dark cinematography...


It's both terrifying and wonderful to see all these characters fall into a hopeless stage of doom as the film enters its final and darkest act: the very one-dimensional (up to that point) Argentinean, bleeding from [unfilmed] love wounds, hurts the cold and unromantic Nini in an attempt to gather some sort of response from her, only managing to gather all eyes on the courtesan; a heartbroken, desperate Christian cries to a woman that must deceive him to save him; Satine loses her self control and tears apart a most well-thought plan to keep her love and her stardom - and even the despicably possessive Duke burns in jealousy as he finally understands, too late for the doomed couple, that undying love is more powerful than all the diamonds in the world.

Beauty, Freedom, Truth and Love - is there anything else worth all the trouble in life?

And the Oscar goes to...

Well, come to think of it, just how many movie buffs really care about the Oscars? Does it, honestly, make a difference that, for example, Citizen Kane didn't win Best Picture? Well, no, not really. Most of us realize it's a popularity contest, as political as any other award ceremony (and more, seeing as so many influential people have their hands on the cinematic industry, and always have), and just, generally, a damn silly way to rate greatness.



But, still, every year, in the last Sunday of February, there we all are, watching the whole thing for hours, making predictions months before, and bitching about every envelope that opens. But hey... we don't care, do we?




Of course, there's also the historical perspective to them. Again, sure, they don't really matter (however, tell this to someone that doesn't know much about movies and they'll spit in your eye), but tell that to a history of awarding that looks just as sexy as the acting awards have looked over the years: Ingrid, Katharine, Marlon, Al, Elizabeth, Vivien, Bette, Gary, Jodie... we'll argue that half of those didn't deserve the Oscar in such or such other year, and that while they took the glory others were left behind (Ava, Monty, Gloria, Cary!)... but hell, what's done is done, so it was Grace instead of Judy and you may now stop whining about it. Nobody's big enough to admit that, even if Judy might've been better, she couldn't have looked half as well as Princess Grace did on that red carpet - and that's what, in the end, this whole madness comes to.



The thing is, they're a chance to see all those pretty people we've been talking about for months and say random crap about how they look, interact and behave publicly [you must remain perfect at all times, for I, the almighty viewer, command it!] It's an adorable, big circus orchestrated for our own amusement.



Chances are, the person you're really rooting for isn't even nominated. Chances are he or she didn't even bother to show up. Hell, they probably weren't invited. Agree with the Academy or not, you're there. And truthfully, it doesn't matter, there are still things to count on - because Cate Blanchett will remain looking classy, George Clooney will still look dreamy in a tux...


And yes... Björk still wore a swan to them. Dear God - talk about deglamming...