Casablanca (1942)

For sheer all-round entertainment, there are few films which can top Casablanca. No favourite 100 list is complete without it, and with good reason. It's not just a classic romance but also a colourful melodrama with great cynical one-liners, and also one of the best ever war thrillers without ever having to need any soldiers or actual warfare in it.

As the old saying goes, it's better to have loved and lost than not to have loved at all, and that's exactly the thing about Rick Blaine. A man jilted at a station platform in Paris during its darkest hour (German occupation in 1940), he has wound up together with his loyal bar room singer Sam (Dooley Wilson) in the ramshackle cosmopolitan city of Casablanca, with his own highly successful nightclub, which is a bevy of hopeful asylum seekers (as they would be called nowadays) hoping to escape the Nazis from the French collaborators in Morocco, to get to the United States. To do that, they need exit visas to get to Lisbon. To get visas, most of them need to use the black market, most of whom meet at Rick's. As Captain Renault (Claude Rains) explains, "everybody comes to Rick's."

Everybody Comes to Rick's was the very title of an obscure stage play on which Casablanca was based, brilliantly adapted by the Epstein brothers and Howard Koch (with the added subtle creative input of producer Hal Wallis) into a film which was ultimately much greater than the sum of its parts, a glorious contradiction of the auteur theory and proof positive that, sometimes, when a studio film involves the collaboration of several talented people, the result is cinematic gold.

As often seems the case with classic films, certain legends and myths have cropped up about its making: for instance, early publicity stated that the leads were going to be Ronald Reagan and Ann Sheridan - Reagan at the time was a likeable leading man, usually to be found in the supporting role in a major Warners Brothers' feature; Sheridan likewise was an emerging new star at the Warner studio, but the truth is that this was just a bit of studio publicity intended to engender interest in the film.

From the outset, there was only ever one choice for Rick and that was Humphrey Bogart. Having stuck around at Warners for so long as semi-protagonists or shady adversaries for the likes of James Cagney and Edward G. Robinson, Bogart's career had suddenly gone into fifth gear with The Maltese Falcon, and suddenly (thanks to John Huston) the studio had a figure of world-weary cynicism that somehow perfectly suited the atmosphere of 1940s, and the role of Rick Blaine was tailor-made to suit him and his admittedly slightly limited but malleable acting range.

The reason why Rick is so embittered with the world around him becomes all too apparent when that reason just happens to wander into his nightclub , in the shape of the beautiful Ingrid Bergman as Ilse Lund.

"Of all the gin joint in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine."

There were other glamorous ladies considered for this leading role, and I daresay those who've played this sort of role in the years since, but none of them could have struck the right balance as Ms. Bergman. Her apple-faced beauty combined with a winning smile and a certain inbred Scandinavian conviction were perfect for playing a woman that would easily steal the heart of Rick Blaine. As Captain Renault (Claude Rains again, who has all the best lines) so aptly puts it:

"I was informed you were the most beautiful woman ever to visit Casablanca. That was a gross understatement."

At Ilse's side, to Rick's further surprise, is eminent anti-Nazi Victor Laszlo, as played by Paul Henreid, who had recently become a heartthrob of sorts opposite Bette Davis in Now, Voyager, so he seemed an ideal choice for the third part of this love triangle - a tough role to play, as most female eyes were automatically turned towards Bogart.

An added irony to the casting of Paul Henreid was that for a time he was actually suspected of

pro-Nazi sympathies (being Austrian) when he first came to America - something which friends and colleagues in the British films he had been working in quickly dispelled - whereas Conrad Veidt (as the smooth chief Nazi Major Strasser)

was actually a refugee from Nazi Germany. In the movies however, the two stand-off each against other as very different sides of the same coin.

Which way Ilse chooses to turn (Rick or Victor) is pretty well known by now, so I won't bore the reader with plot details, and save those that haven't seen the film to enjoy it unravel for themselves. The thwarted love of Casablanca (as too in Brief Encounter) is the fundamental reason for its classic status, but what's less celebrated is the tremendous range of ensemble characters. It seems to add to its power that some of those gathered within Rick's "Cafe Americain" were actual refugees from the Nazis, such as Helmut Dantine (as a young Bulgarian newlywed), himself another fervent Austrian anti-Nazi; ironically, in Operation Crossbow years later he played the ruthless commanding officer at the German rocket base in Peenemunde, taking over from his predecessor played by: Paul Henreid!

The Warner studio itself had politically gone out on a limb by speaking out openly against Hitler with Confessions of a Nazi Spy in 1939 - two years before the US entered the war - and they also took on a wide range of European emigres who had forcibly fled the Nazis in the 1930's, more than any other major studio. So the Warner "stock company" at the time included a whole bunch of European actors such as the ever-likeable S.Z. "Cuddles" Sakal as chief waiter Carl, Leonid Kinskey as flirtatious barman Sascha, a great comedy cameo by Curt Bois as a smooth-talking pickpocket, and of course, two of Bogart's co-stars from The Maltese Falcon, Peter Lorre and Sidney Greenstreet - the latter having just become a star in his debut film (at the age of 60), and whose cameo as Signor Ferrari in Casablanca is fleeting, but like the good actor he is, he relishes every scene.

There was also Marcel Dalio - as Rick's smooth-talking croupier - who had fled his native France where he'd been a star of such notable films as La Grande Illusion and La Regle du Jeu. Come the German invasion of Western Europe however, Dalio was branded "the quintessential face of a Jew" and French Cinema's huge loss

was undoubtedly Hollywood's gain; in the scene where Dalio's wife, actress Madeleine LeBeau (who plays the disillusioned Yvonne, a rejected ex-lover of Rick's) sings La Marseillaise in the Cafe to a rousing chorus, the expression on her face (right) is more than just acting - you can see the sadness in her eyes for the country they love, borne out of personal experience as well as the whole political situation for France at that time.

That scene, with the two rival anthems (bragging Germans drowned out by the gallant French) is the quintessence of the film; it has everything: romance, intrigue, heart-pounding tension, excitement, and great music. Ironically, the Nazi anthem sung by Major Strasser and his cronies (Wacht am Rheim) was actually slightly frowned upon by the Nazis - the song was more in keeping with the Teutonic spirit of the First World War, not that this really matters.

Politically speaking, the film has largely a very US-centric view on WWII (it was America's War even back then): Rick's initial apathy and cynicism, which later transforms into definite action, can be considered a microcosm for the general American perspective on the war. As he says to Sam in a moment of drunken reflection:

"It's December 1941 in Casablanca, what time is it in New York?.........I'll bet they're asleep in New York. I'll bet their asleep all over America."

As far as any other affirmative action in the war is concerned, the most the British ever get a look in merely consists of a few bumbling tourists, very much in the P.G. Wodehouse tradition of 1930's Hollywood "silly ass" aristocrats. Not even the French get a very good showing, although Renault does at least discard a bottle of Vichy water - at the very end.

Basically, America is Rick Blaine and the film bubbles up to its most exciting moments once Rick springs into action, having simmered and watched over the intrigue for the first two-thirds of the story. In an interesting ad lib, Ingrid Bergman's character immediately goes to Victor's

side when Captain Renault tries to arrest him, but Rick suddenly turns on his slimy friend, and intervenes to help Laszlo escape.

Victor's parting words to Rick again echo the sense of American interventionism:

"Welcome back to the fight. This time I know our side will win."

One considerable improvement on the original stage play is that the climax is moved from within the cafe to the exterior of the airport, where Laszlo escapes but Strasser emerges on the scene to try and stop him, until Rick decides to shoot. In an interesting bit of "Han shooting Greedo first"-style revision, Bogart originally shoots Veidt without provocation (as seen in the film's trailer), but come the final cut, this was changed to Strasser drawing his weapon first. As the French police arrive on the scene seconds later, the observant Captain Renault suddenly realises that Rick's life is in his hands, and he senses the turn of the tide:

"Round up the usual suspects."

As I've mentioned already in this blog, the good captain has all the best lines, and likewise for Louis as for Rick, there was only ever one choice for the role: Claude Rains' most famous film role was his very first one, The Invisible Man (in which he was barely seen!), but his stock-in-trade in subsequent years became smooth-talking, charismatic antagonists - perhaps the early precursor of the smooth English villain so common now in Hollywood - and the best of all his smooth operators was Captain Louis Renault. And it is Rains, who walks off with Bogart (and arguably the film) into the mist of the end titles (and a reprise of La Marseillaise), at the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

Casablanca won the Oscar for Best Picture of 1943, and was also a case of happy timing - just before the Casablanca conference between Roosevelt and Churchill, and the American invasion of North Africa that year. Not only is it therefore a great film but also marks a turning point in world history, unfurled cinematically for all time on a soundstage recreating a foggy airport runway.

It's one of those rare films that caught the mood of the time perfectly, and seems to suit whatever subsequent time or mood the viewer is in (whether upbeat or pessimistic) through its many repeated viewings, for being well made, sharply scripted, rousingly directed (by the legendary Michael Curtiz), and colourfully played by an international cast, but immortalized largely thanks to the enshrined image of Humphrey Bogart.

The mighty Stockport Plaza (complete with original organ installation) was the perfect venue for showing an old classic

like this.

The Godfather (1972)

The famous profile of Brando that sold a thousand books, and several thousand cinema tickets.

My first experience of this gangster epic was in the mid to late 1980's, when The Godfather Saga(1977), was re-aired on TV, an amalgam of the first two Godfather films. There I caught sight of Marlon Brando's Don Corleone sat, illuminated in the rich golden hue of Gordon Willis's classic cinematography, listening to a fellow Italian immigrant (a moving monologue by Salvatore Corsitto) giving his perspective on the life they have cultivated for themselves in the Land of Opportunity:

"I believe in America. America has made my fortune. And I raised my daughter in the American fashion. I gave her freedom, but I taught her never to dishonor her family. She found a boyfriend; not an Italian............These two boys were brought to trial. The judge sentenced them to three years in prison - suspended sentence. Suspended sentence! They went free that very day! I stood in the courtroom like a fool. And those two bastards, they smiled at me. Then I said to my wife, for justice, we must go to Don Corleone."

This forms the core of the whole perspective of this particular Italian experience in America, of a good-natured but intermittently violent people who come to America to live the Dream, but when it starts to turn sour, they defend themselves to the utmost, especially where vengeance is concerned. Like it or not, no matter how they try to play by the rules, some can't help slipping towards the life of crime.

Little by little, as this TV series screened in the following weeks, I caught various glances and became increasingly aware of The Godfather. After one evening watching an episode, I saw a video cover for the film in the shops, and realised I had unwittingly watched my first adult (ie. certificate "18") film.

Coppola films the transference of power scene,
together with Brando's famous cue cards.

The one name that soon emerged after a few viewings was that of Francis Ford Coppola. Italian-American raised of course (his father Carmine was the son of an immigrant), Coppola was initially reluctant to take on the project, with all the stereotypical associations with the Mafia (the word is never used throughout the film) that it entailed. An influential independent film maker however, and a noted screenwriter (he had just won the Oscar for co-writing Patton in 1970), he needed the money after the recent failure of his fledgling studio American Zoetrope; with The Godfather, his career was well and truly up and running.

What Coppola very quickly imbued into his treatment of the story (together with original author Mario Puzo) was a sense of family honour and tradition. At the same time he also sought to dissociate himself from the whole gangster shtick by having them ultimately corrupted and isolated by their own power, as well as trying to make a statement about the inherent good nature of Italians (one character later openly expresses this sentiment at a Senate hearing - see below).










Several film-making friends of Coppola were extras in The Godfather Part II's Senate hearing scene - standing centre with a camera round his neck: future Star Wars producer Gary Kurtz.


I became attracted to the film initially because of the name Marlon Brando in the title role, whom I had seen in one other film at that time, Superman (also co-scripted by Mario Puzo). Brando isn't in the film very much, but his powerful presence makes itself felt throughout the film. It was here also where the famous Brando mumble came into play most effectively - although in truth only a small percentage of Brando's diction was ever mumbled or "naturalistic". Together with his haggard looking make-up (see right), he grabs every scene - or perhaps Coppola makes him - with an intensity and a power that is especially moving in the scene where he learns from his Consigliori Tom Hagen (the excellent Robert Duvall) that his eldest son Sonny (James Caan) has been killed.

If Brando pulled in the punters (though not necessarily the enthusiasm of Paramount Studios), then the one face that emerged out of Brando's shadow in The Godfather was Al Pacino. New to film, having done strong work in the theatre (under the tutelage of Lee Strasberg), Pacino's diminutive but steely presence makes its way gently into the film at first, arm-in-arm with Diane Keaton as his girlfriend Kay Adams (one of the few "outside" voices in the film) at his sister Connie's wedding, and though young and naive looking in these early stages, he nonetheless has that steely look in his eye, as he regales a story to Kay about his Family's methods of "making an offer [they] can't refuse." As the film progresses, that steeliness grows with conviction when his father is assassinated (another moving performance by John Cazale in the assassination scene), and Michael finds himself drawn into the Family Business that he had tried to avoid, in order to protect his father - again, family duty comes into play, and explains in a stroke (if not necessarily justifying) the reasons for the Mafia's brutal methods.

That brutality, when it comes, is beautifully wrapped up within the general brooding stylish sumptuousness of the film. Typical is the infamous horse's head in the bed of studio head Jack Woltz (John Marley) - based loosely on Harry Cohn - or the demise of Luca Brasi (Lenny Montana) who arrives at a swish nightclub run by the rival Tattaglia family, who are in cahoots with the sinister Sollozzo (Al Lettieri). Luca pretends to want to join the Tattaglias, but they're onto him, and he is suddenly stabbed and throttled (in a manner mimicked in Return of the Jedi for Jabba the Hutt's demise), and the subsequent Sicilian message is sent back to the Corleones, together with Luca's discarded bullet-proof vest: "Luca Brasi sleeps with the fishes."

At three hours, The Godfather was long, but totally absorbing, and also something of a ground-breaking film, for which THE GODFATHER PART II (1974) followed up by being even more innovative, extending the Corleone Saga another three and a half hours, intercutting between Michael's increasing power and isolation, to scenes originally cut from the book detailing his father Vito's rise to power, as played stylishly and meticulously by Robert De Niro.

The De Niro scenes in Little Italy in the early 20th century, settling down to a life in the brave but spartan New World, have a delightful sense of fin de siecle nostalgia (accompanied by Nino Rota's superb music), and it is perhaps the one "prequel" to most successfully explain how its main character grew into the infamous figure he later becomes.

Michael Corleone continued to rule with a saddened iron fist in the underrated THE GODFATHER PART III (1990) - perhaps 16 years too late after the first two, but Pacino nonetheless gave a superb performance of King Lear-like gravity, and supporting him this time was Andy Garcia (as Sonny's illegitimate son Vincent Mancini), very much in the mould of the younger Michael, as the heir to the Family crown. Coppola once again was on top form, although having cast his own sister Talia Shire in a key role back in 1972, he ended up repeating the trick for Part III when Winona Ryder pulled out of the important role of Michael's daughter Mary, and so Coppola (for whom Michael was becoming something of an alter ego) naturally cast his own daughter Sofia, who received the biggest flak from the critics for her slightly perfunctory performance. At least she was keeping it in the family - she isn't at all bad actually (and has since become an acclaimed director - with a little more help from Daddy), and has in fact been an ever-present (like Pacino) through all three Godfathers: it was baby Sofia who was being christened in the church (right) during the brilliant climactic montage of the 1972 film.

I saw The Godfather in the cinema for the first time on a 1994 re-release at the Lumiere cinema in St. Martin's Lane, London. Even then, only 22 years after its release - in the groundbreaking 1970's - it made me reflect already that they just don't make films like that anymore. Maybe we need to give them an offer they can't refuse.

And honourable mention goes to...

At this point in the New Year, a chance to mention some of those that I could have included in this list of 100 favourites, and therefore deserve some sort of recognition all their own:

_______________

The Accused (1988)

The first "adult" (ie. "18" certificate) film that I saw in the cinema, classified so because of the harrowing matter-of-fact rape scene at the end. As a legal thriller the plot's pretty one-dimensional, the real intention being to make a powerful statement about general attitudes towards rape victims. It also introduced me for the first time to the re-emerging talent of Jodie Foster, shedding her "child star" image to become one of America's best actresses.

The African Queen (1951)

I'm slightly amazed I haven't included this in my original 100 list. Bogart and Hepburn made for unlikely screen chemistry but were a perfect example of opposites attracting beautifully. The moment when Bogart's Canadian (changed from Cockney) boatman realises Ms. Hepburn's Rosie is still alive - and incriminates himself in the process - is one of the most joyously affecting moments in cinema. And all this in torrid conditions when director John Huston (who's also on top form) was more interested in shooting elephants than movies (as the film White Hunter Black Heart suggests.)

The Age of Innocence (1993)

Martin Scorsese's subtlest film, still rich in texture and with a great cast (many of them Brits) headed by Daniel Day-Lewis (now a Scorsese favourite), Michelle Pfeiffer and Winona Ryder.

A.I. (2001)
Steven Spielberg's requiem to Stanley Kubrick is one of the strangest versions of Pinocchio you're ever likely to see, but its timing (not long after September 11th) was eerie, and I felt very haunted about the fragile state of human existence when I walked out of the cinema that afternoon.

Alien (1979)
Can't say I really liked this film at first - Ridley Scott is just too manipulative both of his audience and his actors - but watching the non-director's approved "Special Edition" in 2003 was an eye-opener, restoring the missing scene with the ill-fated Captain Dallas (Tom Skerritt) giving the character a much more satisfying "closure" and for me, elevating the film towards the level of a classic which it is generally regarded.

American Graffiti (1973)
Some would say this is George Lucas's best film: certainly his warmest and most nostalgic, with some of his best ensemble cast performances, from the likes of Ron Howard, Richard Dreyfuss, Charles Martin Smith (a dead ringer for the young Lucas), and Harrison Ford - whatever became of him?

An American Werewolf in London (1981)

I sometimes wish there were more directors like John Landis who would come over here and make stirring pastiche comedy horror films, when we British are just a little too austere or too hard-edged for that.

The Angry Silence (1960)

Filmed partly in Ipswich (at the Ransomes tractor factory), and I remember seeing it at the Ipswich Film Theatre because of the local connection. A little dated perhaps (a more po-faced version of I'm All Right Jack), but its potency for the time still comes across. Richard Attenborough follows a familiar personal theme of his - social injustice - as the worker who is ostracised by his workmates (and worse) for walking through the picket lines for the sake of his young family.

Apocalypse Now (1979)
"The best ever film about Vietnam", shot shortly after the end of the conflict itself, is too expensive, too noisy and makes little sense - much like the war itself, some thought. However, nothing that Francis Ford Coppola does is ever dull (or wasn't up till then), and among the film's supporting players - in perhaps his last "obscure" role - was Harrison Ford (as "Colonel Lucas") just after he had finished making a film called Star Wars. I had the good fortune to see the "Redux" version of this film at the Empire Leicester Square, cementing its place as a near-favourite.

Arachnophobia (1990)
Jaws for arachnophobes; one of the best monster movies of recent times, playing on people's widespread fear of spiders, without overly manipulating the audience or turning too nasty. My Mum watched five minutes of this on video, until the scene where a spider leapt straight on the camera lens, and she was gone: a true test of a scary, but fun, film.

Awakenings (1990)

Robin Williams and Robert De Niro give powerful performances as doctor and unconscious patient respectively, in a story based closely on fact. De Niro as always is excellent (the first time I'd seen him in a film that was less than a '15' certificate), but the real revelation is Williams as the doctor (based on Oliver Sacks), completely shedding his funnyman trademark, and playing a genuinely warm, vulnerable, sympathetic human being. The ending is also refreshingly unsentimental.

Babes in Toyland (1934)

One of my favourite Laurel & Hardy features, although not necessarily one of their best comedies. Here they are the heroes (comedic ones of course) "Stannie Dum" and "Ollie Dee", at the house of the Old Lady Who Lived In The Shoe, helping Bo Peep and Tom-Tom the Piper's Son to overcome the evil Barnaby (an excellent sinister performance by William Brandon), in what was perhaps the only "crossover" L&H film where they dabbled into the fantasy genre. Three versions of this operetta have been made, but this one is the best.

Back to the Future (1985)

The appeal of this time travel comedy came to me late, in the 1990s (after the success of Who Framed Roger Rabbit), so I went Back to the Past to see it in Rep at the Ipswich Film Theatre. Not only is it a nostalgic evocation of the 1950s and a lively comedy fantasy, but also demonstrates how older people are never quite what you thought they were when young.

Battle of Britain (1969)

This would have been one of my top 100 favourites, but the battle scenes in the air are just too confusing (how does Michael Caine die exactly?), and the film also feels rather 1960's instead of 1940's. Laurence Olivier however gives my personal favourite performance of his, as Air Chief Vice Marshal Dowding (the first real-life character Olivier played that was still alive at the time), and the stirring music was composed by William Walton - controversially replaced by Ron Goodwin. The DVD has both scored versions of the film.

Before Sunrise (1995)

Ethan Hawke meets Julie Delpy on a train travelling through Europe, they chat amiably and decide to walk around Vienna together; that's the plot in effect, refreshingly free of "drama" or any sensationalist aspects, and rekindling the notion of romance in a very real, engaging way. I defy anyone not to relate to such a situation in real life. Together with its sequel BEFORE SUNSET (2004) where the two characters meet up again in Paris, this duo are a couple of minor classics.

Ben-Hur (1925)

The original and best version - chariot race included - of Edgar Wallace's yarn about a rich Jew who is affected by the life of Jesus - amply demonstrating why biblical epics were so much better in the silent days. I saw this version the first time at the Royal Festival Hall, with Carl Davis live on stage conducting his own stirring score with the London Philarmonic Orchestra.

Big (1988)

Tom Hanks' best performance - relatively early in his career - capturing expertly the personality of a 12-year old in an adult body. There were several Hollywood "body-swap" films at the time for some reason, but this one is by far the best, thanks to a decent script and Penny Marshall's sympathetic direction.

The Big Country (1958)
The distinctive opening music by Jerome Moss instantly conveys the atmosphere of the Wild West, and the story's a gripping mixture of Shakespearian feudal tragedy and Cold War allegory, as Gregory Peck inherits an ongoing conflict between the upstanding Tyrrells and the gruff, bullish Hennesseys (Burl Ives is on great form as their boss.)

The Big Red One (1980)

My favourite of Mark Hamill's films outside of the Star Wars saga, as a rookie member of Lee Marvin's platoon in the US Army 1st Infantry (hence the title), who discovers on the field of battle that he cannot bring himself to kill another man (and who hasn't wondered about that?) until however, he visits his first Concentration Camp, and decides to shoot a German soldier using all his bullets. Samuel Fuller tells the (autobiographical) story of war in a no-nonsense, truthful fashion, as neither the glamorous or horror-filled environment it is often perceived to be.

Blade Runner (1982)

Ridley Scott's cult sci-fi is a triumph of design over story - not much of which makes any sense: Harrison Ford's Marlowe-ish cop Frank Deckard hunts down robot "replicants", whilst Rutger Hauer as their leader decides to hunt Deckard down too. The 1991 "Director's Cut" vastly improved on the original's happy ending (lampooned in Brazil), but I confess I still miss the much derided narration.

The Blue Lamp (1950)

Ealing's classic crime drama. The word "bastard" was used in a British film for the first time because it was describing a man who had shot PC George Dixon (Jack Warner) who became a jovial enough figure to be revived for the long-running TV series Dixon of Dock Green. I sometimes wish that Britain could make more films like this - gritty crime dramas with a careful moral compass. Then again, I wish Britain would make more films. Period.

The Blues Brothers (1980)
Loud, noisy and action-packed - like some of the numbers (with several notable guest appearances by Ray Charles, James Brown, John Lee Hooker, Aretha Franklin, etc.) - this was perhaps the dying gasp of the Hollywood film musical, in very modern clothes. By the time I came to it (decades after first release) it was already a cult item, and a frequent slot at 11pm on Saturday nights. John Belushi and Dan Aykroyd had echoes of Laurel & Hardy or Abbott & Costello about them (although both those comedy pairings were better), and their onetime soulmate Carrie Fisher was at her feistiest (outside of Princess Leia) as a vengeful beautician at the "Curl Up and Dye" Salon.

Chicago (2002)
Rob Marshall's musical high heels and lethal ladies extravaganza, quite faithfully adapted to the screen and heavy with influences of Bob Fosse and Cabaret, which I found nostalgic. It brought Catherine Zeta-Jones her first Oscar, and helped me through a slightly difficult time at the beginning of 2003 with its cheerful cynicism and flambuoyant style. Also the first film I saw at the new Odeon Colchester multiplex.

Citizen Kane (1941)
Every critic features this on a 100 Best list, so I suppose I have to as well. It’s more a film that I admire and respect than adore, however. Orson Welles’s cinematic tricks are wonderfully inventive (thanks also to Gregg Toland’s superb photography), but tricks just the same, more than plot, and Welles himself enjoys being the centre of attention just a little too much. That twist ending is great, but even that was out of compromise between Welles and fellow writer Herman Mankiewicz.

Dad's Army (1971)
The feature film of the classic TV series followed a fashion for rushing out variably amusing spin-offs of hit comedy shows in the 1970's, and was admittedly a little overstretched in its thin plot (the first third was merely recycling the first TV episode), but the regulars were all present and correct and on good comic form. I've since visited some of the locations used for this film, including the lovely village of Chalfont St. Giles, the Dover Cliffs, and Littleton Church - just outside Shepperton Studios (see pictures).




















The Devil Rides Out (1967)
Christopher Lee's favourite Hammer film, cast against type as the dynamic hero battling Satanists, which makes his presence all the more effective with the horror confronted, epitomised by Charles Gray as the smoothly ruthless Mocata. The cast in Terence Fisher's commendably straight-faced drama also included Paul Edington and Sarah Lawson.

Digby the Biggest Dog in the World (1973)
One that I first enjoyed on children's TV in the 1970's, then happened to see at the Ipswich Film theatre years later, its humour and its quaintness undiminished.

Empire of the Sun (1987)
Time has withered my impression of this Spielberg epic, especially in the light of his subsequent masterwork Schindler's List, but this is still a sumptuous work, a little languid in parts, with the drawn out scenes in an internment camp reminiscent of an episode of Tenko, but the young Christian Bale is excellent as the boy who treats the war as one big adventure - at first - and Spielberg and J.G. Ballard seem as one in terms of the film's imagination.

E.T. The Extra Terrestrial (1982)
Apathy and partial jealousy prevented me from seeing this film on its first release. As the Empire Strikes Back blog will explan, I'd turned away from the cinema, and the notion that this was an even bigger film than Star Wars also prompted a certain amount of antipathy. Curiosity and the skill of Steven Spielberg's direction won me over in time however (the video release didn't come along until as late as 1987.) Despite a certain amount of cloying sentiment and parts of the film that lag, it is by and large a classic of entertainment, and so simple yet so grand in its concept. I finally got round to seeing E.T. in the cinema in 2002 - a partially revamped "Special Edition" which thankfully didn't change too much, and helped blow away the blues of the Queen Mother's death at the time.

Eroica (2003)
It doesn't seem to me that there's been a really good film about my favourite classical composer, Ludwig Van Beethoven: Immortal Beloved had a stab at it, but dwelt on speculation and the women in Beethoven's life, although Gary Oldman gave a good account of himself. But this BBC film is perhaps the closest it has come so far to a decent biopic. The real star is the 3rd ("Eroica") Symphony itself, played in its entirety throughout the film.

Etre et Avoir (2002)
A beautiful French documentary about a small country pre school, all about the joys of early learning and the first building blocks of life. One typically charming moment is where a pet tortoise crawls slowly through the classroom while the snow rages outside. I can see why teacher friends took up the profession after seeing this film.

Evita (1996)
After 20 years waiting for a film adaptation of Tim Rice and Andrew Lord Webber's hit stage musical, Alan Parker did a more than creditable job, and even more surprisingly he etched out a suitably spirited star performance from Madonna, in perhaps her one and only film to effectively unite her talents as both actress and singer. This was also the most recent case of a full blown cinematic opera, and the wall-to-wall music (in Dolby Digital sound) made for a full-blown cinematic experience - together with a trailer for the 1997 Star Wars Special Editions, it's one I remember vividly.

Falling Down (1992)

I'd often wondered what it would be like to do a film about an ordinary everyday man taking his own personal revenge on the world around him (especially during the 1980's.) Michael Douglas's "D-Fens" wasn't quite that "ordinary", as plot details later reveal him to be psychologically disturbed as well as unemployed, but it was a compelling performance in a wry black comedy action drama, where he rampages across urban LA pursued by Robert Duvall's retiring detective (on his last day of course). "I'm the bad guy?", Douglas ironically asks as he and Duvall showdown at the end. I borrowed some of Douglas's look for a similar character I played in a stage play, Nasty Neighbours in 1995.

Flash Gordon (1980)
This is a cult favourite, and although hardly in the same league as Star Wars (George Lucas himself tried and failed to secure the rights to Flash Gordon years before), it has many exuberant elements such as Max Von Sydow's majestically evil Ming the Merciless, a young Timothy Dalton as dashing Prince Barin, the stunning Ornella Muti as Ming's daughter, and a sountrack by Queen. Brian Blessed thinks it's the greatest film ever made (so a friend tells me), and you can't can blame him, as he gives such a hearty performance as Vultan. Director Mike Hodges was brought into this typically overblown Dino de Laurentiis production of a comic strip - and that's exactly how he chose to make it.

From Beyond the Grave (1973)

One of my favoruite Peter Cushing films, even though he's mainly a linking device as a sleazy antiques dealer to a series of dubious customers who await grizzly ends to their ill-gotten gains, in what I think is the best of Amicus's horror compilations. Among the stories were David Warner and Ian Ogilvy compelled to commit murder by ghosts hidden within the antiques, Ian Carmichael and Margaret Leighton hamming it up in the comedy segment, and both Donald Pleasence and his daughter Angela in a macabre little tale of murder with Ian Bannen and Diana Dors.

Galaxy Quest (1999)
A wonderful fusion of spoof and homage to Star Trek, as Tim Allen, Sigourney Weaver and Alan Rickman play former TV sci-fi actors now reduced to doing the convention circuit, until they are hurled into a real life Galaxy Quest and have to call upon the strengths of the characters they played. Anyone who's been to a few sci-fi conventions or sat through a few episodes of Star Trek will recognise the jokes.

Gallipoli (1981)

The first video rental I saw (courtesy of my Dad) in the mid-80's was this rambling but powerful - if anti-British - war drama about two friends cajoling each other into joining up to fight the Turks at Gallipoli in World War I. The final image of youth lost on the battlefield (to the music of Albinoni's Adagio) is as heart-rending as they come.

Gremlins 2: The New Batch (1990)

The first Gremlins had something of a 1980's feel to it, with some of Spielberg's sentiment tinged with darkness and Joe Dante's enthusiasm for horror pastiche: the sequel choose not to top it, but instead piled on a whole series of in-jokes and a typically surreal moment when the Gremlins get into the projection room (or the video machine, depending on your viewing media), done in a general healthy atmosphere of 1990's niceness. Composer Jerry Goldsmith even puts in an appearance, and the credits are presided over by Bugs Bunny, Porky Pig and (mostly) Daffy Duck!

Hannah and Her Sisters (1986)
The first Woody Allen film that I got round to seeing, and it's a clever mixture of wit and pathos (although Crimes and Misdemeanours was even cleverer.) The cast included Carrie Fisher, Barbara Hershey, Diane Wiest, Max Von Sydow, and of course, Mia Farrow, and Allen himself, who's on great form, and also as director selects some great music (mostly jazz). Need I say more? It also showed me for the first time that Michael Caine can really act when the right script comes along. The scene where he tells Hershey he loves her, and senses an element of reciprocation, is easily identifiable.

Howards End (1991)

The best, certainly my favourite of all the Mercant-Ivory period pieces from the 80s/90s which, regardless of their artistic merit or lack of contemporary resonance, always had the indellible stamp of quality. The ever reliable Helena Bonham Carter played a feisty English rose, and the film did wonders for the career of Emma Thompson, whilst I strongly related to the character of Leonard Bast (Samuel West), and E.M.Forster's novel did have something to say about the class system which still strikes home with society today.

Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1955)

The original and best version of Jack Finney's Body Snatchers short story, with Kevin McCarthy conveying a gripping portrait of gradually mounting terror as he sees all that he knows around him transformed into cold-hearted strangers inhabited by aliens. Director Don Siegel creates the maximum amount of horror and suspense with the least amount of gore or special effects. A "happy" ending of sorts was added by the studio but frowned upon by most fans, although poor Kevin surely deserved some sort of recompense after all his rushing around; come the 1978 remake, he was still warning the citizens of San Francisco of the oncoming danger.

The Manchurian Candidate (1962)
This is one of the most terrifying films ever made. Though the plot is crazy, it's too scary not to believe it couldn't happen - especially with all that we now know about Communist infiltration and attempts at brainwashing during the Cold War. Frank Sinatra is the traumatized Korean War veteran who can't understand why he so idolizes fellow veteran Laurence Harvey - a war "hero" who is prepared to kill indiscrimately at the merest gentle request from the true villain of the piece, Angela Lansbury. Jonathan Demme directed a variable remake updating the story for the Iraq War, but there's no way he could have topped the sinister atmosphere John Frankenheimer created for the original.

Mars Attacks! (1996)

Released coincidentally (and unfortunately) the same year as Independence Day, which celebrated the American Way, whereas this Martian invasion trashes it. The fact that the film flopped is testament to the fact that an all-star cast and an overconfident prodcution team are no guarantee of box office success, although Tim Burton clearly was having a ball, as too were Jack Nicholson (in 2 roles a la Peter Sellers in Dr. Strangelove), Glenn Close, Pierce Brosnan, Martin Short, and others (even Tom Jones). Natalie Portman as the President's daughter is left behind at the end of the devastation to reward Lukas Haas as the gawky hero who has discovered the secret weapon (and it's a hoot) to destroy the Martians - much more fun than the resolution to Independence Day. At the time I first saw it, I felt this was going to become a cult classic.

One Hundred and One Dalmatians (1961)

Back in the 1970s like most kids I was brought up in the cinema on a regular diet of Disney films, most of which were the classics from the 1940s. This one resembled a 1940s classic too, except that to my later surprise, I found that it was a much more recent entry in the Disney canon. The moment when a crook accidentally grabs hold of a cat's neck instead of a wine bottle delighted me at the time, I remember. I also secretly enjoyed Stephen Herek's live action remake (he of Bill & Ted fame) in 1996 with Glenn Close, Jeff Daniels and Joely Richardson, with Hugh Laurie and Simon Williams as Laurel & Hardy-style crooks.

The Phantom of the Opera (1925)

The great Lon Chaney in probably the most famous of all his many cinematic rogues, and the best (Andrew Lloyd withstanding) of all the adaptations of Gaston Leroux's novel. The scene where the Phantom's hideous face under the mask is revealed still packs a hell of a punch. Imagine how it felt for audiences in 1925.

Poltergeist 3 (1988)

No great classic in its own right, I freely admit - following the law of diminishing returns as sequels go - with only Heather O'Rourke reprised from the original family of Poltergeists 1 and 2. But this was the first horror fim I saw in the cinema. On a wet afternoon in the Odeon Colchester, it had me hiding behind my seat with terror on many occasions. The scariest (and saddest) thing about was the end credit: a tribute to Heather O'Rourke, who died after the making of the film, at the age of only 13.

The Road to Perdition (2002)

This was the last film I saw at the old Odeon Colchester, and it has a suitable feeling of pathos about it. Sam Mendes is a good theatre director, who I find as a film-maker is overrated. Certainly American Beauty was, but here his poetic touches add something to this gangster saga approaching Greek tragedy, as Tom Hanks plays the hitman who grimly has to take vengeance on his father figure of a boss (Paul Newman) because his real son (the psychopathic Daniel Craig) has murdered Hanks' family. Newman and Hanks are moving and powerful, and even the OTT presence of Jude Law can't spoil this from being a classic.

Seven Days to Noon (1950)

I remember first seeing this on the telly one random Thursday afternoon, like the average British film you'd see every now and then, only this one drew you in more and more. Part of its effect is how someone as humble looking as Barry Jones could set the whole of London on Red Alert, as he threatens to blow up the capital with an atomic device if the arms race is not stopped. The Boulting Brothers crank up the tension and also provide many moments of ensemble character light relief.

2046 (2004)
A futuristic paean to nostalgia and lost memories by Wong Kar Wai (his first American road movie My Blueberry Nights was a less successful but nonetheless interesting variation on the subject.) The title refers to the year when Hong Kong will complete its transfer from the UK over to China, so it's a suitably melancholic time to reflect on past and future. The Sars virus broke out in Hong Kong at the time, abandoning the original production, so Wai rejigged it into a sequel to his previous film In the Mood for Love, with Tony Leung as a womanising but reclusive writer who pens his futuristic 2046 novel. A film better for general atmosphere than overall content, and it also has a great soundtrack CD that I often play.

________________

.....and I'll think I'll have to stop there, as there's still another 50 near-favourites that I still haven't yet mentioned, and believe me, there are probably another 100 out there that I could have further enthused about, that I may well have missed out!

Oliver Twist (1948)

With David Lean's centenary still upon us, and at this chilly season seems an apt time to reflect upon one of his darkest and most memorable films. As a benchmark of Lean’s career Lawrence of Arabia was probably the pinnacle of his success, but for many, his adaptations of Dickens were in another class altogether, and for me, his Oliver Twist is the most striking and enthralling of all his adaptations.

Like most of my generation, I have to confess that my first awareness of the Charles Dickens novel was through the film musical Oliver!, made in 1968 by another noted British film director, Carol Reed. Many would take this version to be the basic definitive telling of the story, yet many amendments were made to the original novel, and those scenes that were cut down or re-emphasised were not actually adapting the Dickens novel - but the Stanley Haynes and David Lean film script of 1948. Such is its impact.

David Lean with Josephine Stuart at Pinewood Studios

Where the musical mentions certain notable events of the book in passing (and then gets on with the songs), the 1948 film emblazons them in bold, dramatic style. Not least is the atmospheric opening, purely and perfectly visual, charting Oliver's birth, as a storm swells up reflecting the pains of his mother (Josephine Stuart) who struggles to the workhouse. An effect of tree branches (similar in some ways to the opening of Great Expectations) turn to spiky thorns as she struggles from the pain of labour. The weather (and her condition) deteriorates, but she fights on through to the workhouse, where the baby is born - just as the storm clears - and has just enough strength to hold the child in her hands and kiss it, before she dies. Back in the days when I was writing my own Star Wars prequel trilogy, this was how I envisioned the dramatic build-up to the birth of Luke Skywalker.

As the mother dies, a greedy nursemaid at the workhouse happens to notice a little golden medallion worn by the dead girl, and pilfers it (a plot detail that will have crucial influence later on) whilst the baby himself is taken into the custody of the workhouse. Here Lean lapses into a rare instance of using written words on the screen, instead of his largely visual style:

"Oliver Twist cried lustily. If he had known that he was to grow up in under the tender mercies of the Beadle and the Matron, he would have cried even louder.”

The name Oliver Twist, we learn, was coined by the workhouse Beadle, Mr. Bumble (brilliantly played by Francis L. Sullivan as a sort of masculine Edith Evans), who pays a house call on the Matron (also forcefully played by Mary Clare). Shortly thereafter, we see the boy himself, now eight years older, with that famous, oddly beautiful countenance that seems out of place in such a horrid setting, just as Dickens intended.

Oliver is played by future TV comedy producer and all-round supremo John Howard Davies, and though there’s little sign of his future career to come, he perfectly suits the role, and clearly seems mature enough for one so young to handle material so demanding. That, and of course, he had a brilliant director to see him through the role.

Indeed, it is unfair to single out any individual character in a film like this, when practically all the performances etch them out so well and so distinctively: much later into the film comes Henry Stephenson as kindly old man Mr. Brownlow, played with a genuine air of grandfatherly benevolence and dignity by veteran Hollywood Brit Henry Stephenson. His mood of despondency when Oliver disappears during a chess game, I find incredibly moving. Elsewhere in the far from distant background can be see the likes of Hattie Jacques (as a Cockney tavern singer) and a young Diana Dors as Charlotte, maid and girlfriend of slimy Noah Claypole (Michael Dear), at the house of creepy undertaker Mr. Sowerberry, (amusingly played by Gibb McLaughlin) and Mrs. Sowerberry (played by the great Kathleen Harrison.)

And then of course, once Oliver escapes the Sowerberrys to London, there come the most memorable characters of the lot: the Artful Dodger (a brilliant young performance from the emerging Anthony Newley) who befriends the starving Oliver, but what he leads him into is something else indeed: a nest of a gang of child pickpockets, led by their Jewish mastermind, Fagin (Alec Guinness).

There were objections at the time (across the Atlantic in America at least) that the portrayal of Fagin - only 3 years after the end of World War II and all the horrors of the Nazi regime – was grossly anti-Semitic, when in truth all that Guinness, Lean, Stanley Haynes and make-up maestro Stuart Freeborn were doing were faithfully translating the character as written by Charles Dickens in the 19^th century. Freeborn’s make-up design (based upon the novel’s original illustrations by George Cruikshank) had all the stereotypes, but was nonetheless a vividly drawn character. I don’t believe Alec Guinness has ever bettered this portrayal for sheer total transformation into the character. Just think - from young Herbert Pocket in Great Expectations, just two years before, to old Fagin in Oliver Twist.

Some scenes that were censored from the American release of the film - where Fagin revels in his riches and also briefly encourages Oliver to become a pickpocket - were actually rather more endearing than anti-Semitic, and their omission only served to make Fagin appear like a monster. The enjoyable performance by Ron Moody in Oliver! compromised Fagin by trying to redeem him, whereas the portrayal in the David Lean film was totally true to the character as written, and was, as with many subsequent performances by Alec Guinness, the definitive article.

As if Fagin wasn’t imposing enough, in comes the terrifying figure of Bill Sikes, electrifyingly played by Robert Newton with demonic drunken torment. The drink element was not entirely fictional on Newton’s part: a heavy alcoholic, he could be inclined to ham on many occasions (and was a brilliant Long John Silver in later years), but his Sikes was an extremely focused and powerful performance, and it was thanks to David Lean’s skill that he was able to control his acting, and (where possible) his alcoholism.

Sikes’s “squeeze”, Nancy (given no surname but presumed wife/lover) is, often I find, a character slightly out of sync with the rest of the set-up, just a little too inherently good to really fit in with these extremely unpleasant men. Kay Walsh, who plays Nancy in spirited fashion, was in fact the instigator of the project. She was then married to David Lean – the opening scene was her conception – and what is clearly established in this version (and the other ones subsequently), is the semi-maternal attitude that Nancy adopts towards Oliver, that ultimately leads to her downfall.

There were many other characters and scenes in the book of course, and Dickens fans may lament the absence of Harry Maylie, Rose Maylie, and the wider significance of Noah Claypole's relationship to Oliver. But David Lean was making a film, not a book, retaining the book’s most memorable scenes, and where the characters and lines were omitted, Lean compensated with his own rich, visually Dickensian language, together with the help of Guy Green's striking Expressionistic black-and-white photography, a marvellous score by Arnold Bax, and John Bryan's brilliantly clever sets, making maximum use of limited space with seamless integration of matte paintings.

The memorable finale, where the mob pursues the murderous Sikes, who has also abducted Oliver (nowhere near this spot in the original novel), but is strangled by his own rope in his attempts to escape, is suitably rousing. The final moment, as Oliver is reunited with old Brownlow and his housekeeper Mrs. Bedwin (a lovely cameo by Amy Veness) captures all the excitement and satisfaction of Dickens, especially after all that has gone before.

Oliver Twist has not dated: this version is still as vivid and exciting as it was 60 years ago. This was David Lean at his most unstoppable. It was no wonder that within ten years he was on his way to even bigger films.

The original costume for Fagin (Alec Guinness) at the BFI South Bank's David Lean exhibition.








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