the essential vixen flicks

the ultimate biller wilder film noir classic with the smashingly riveting barabra stanwyck in her glorious best. the plotline is widely known already: insurance man walter hooked up with a glamourous but vile married woman, phyllis, scheming to knock out her elder husband to gain the enormous profits of double indemnity, then two are set against each other to the last stop of murder, gravestone.

firstly about walter's motivation to consent to phyllis' suggestive provocation into murder...out of his love for phyllis? perhaps not. it's more like long-lurked subconciously formed brooding gained from observing people's conning contrivances daily...the occurance of phyllis is only the catalysizing bait....walter is the slave of his own darkly shadowed thought and phyllis is the one who pushes him into the abyss of it. as he claims in the narration, after the murder, he cannot feel his footsteps and it's like the walk from a dead man that symbolizes his official pledge to the devil in his mind at the cost of his soul. he's not a romantic steer as lancaster in "the killers" or john dall in "gun crazy"....he's rotten as well, and it's more of a matter of degrees.

of course, you can not pretermit the kick-ass performance from edward g. robinson as the cynical but righteous insurance investigator keys who utters the best quib lines in this movie with all those sharp-to-the-bone dialogues...he's the re-incarnation of furies who serves justice even only rewarded with piles of cheap cigars without matchstikes...a biggest, kindest heart ironically trapped in an obnoxiously scolding face with a runty-trunked body who is the most likable character in this movie.

as for dynamic barbara stanwyck as the rotten phyllis, she dominates the screen with all the accessory gadgets of sex appeal for a bad girl: her sleazy blonde hair, big square emerald ring, inscrided anklet who catches walter's attention and acid icy tea which stirs his gustation....etc....unknown to the most, this femme fatale image is attributed to the wardrobe of edith head who also designs the wardrobe of lots of hitchcokian icy blondes in the blooming 50s and 60s....

the stanwyckesque femme fatale archetype had been aforementioned in my "baby face" review: gutsily takes what she wants as a man would at any expense of mercilessness, tough and shrewd like a man, especially the scene the camera centers on her pupils when walter's killing her husband in the backseat of the car, she shows no blinks but only blistening twinkles in her eyes that manifests the bliss of her manipulative acquisitions.

one big enigma about stanwyck in DI would be her demise: she could have disposed of walter by firing the shot but she chooses not to then askes him to embrace her tight... "i have never cared for anyone, i was rotten to the heart until i can't fire that second shot, i don't know what's wrong with me?".....why she reveals her frailty in a winning crucial moment as this? it's never ceased to puzzle me for years. maybe it's like an awakening from a persistantly haunted spell of nightmare, then she suddenly obtains a heart? strangely, stanwyck's sleazy blonde image sorta reminds me of david lynch's "lost highway"...patrica arquette's sleazy blonde also resembles stanwyck in DI.

prestigiously, the seamless tour de farce script is written by billy wilder and two noir masters: james m. cain and raymond chandler. how could you resist a flick like that? huh?

a story enhanced by murder and deceit. and the best thing in this movie shall be claire trevor's performance as the ambitious, complicated seductress who is in eternal struggle between the crave of peace and security and the longing for strength, excitement and corruptness. naturally this ambivalence is anchored by her choices of men: the rich loyal fred and the shrewd ferocious sam(lawrence tierney). besides the warobe of miss trevor in this movie is dynamically femme fatale to delineate the iceberg women with the coldest surface and rottenest inside. one of the pleasure for the film noir aficinados is the savor of its dialogues of cynical wisecrackers which reflects the simmering irony of life. and this one shall have one of the best scripts. for example. "life is coffee, the aroma is always better than its actuality"....besides it's also the best chance to take a glance over the young lawrence tierney (one of the coolest original tough guys)whose youthful dashing looks matches his razor-sharp toughness.

the fable of little foxes craving for the sweet vines then wrecking the town is adequate for the story. bette davis plays another power-thirsty strong female who solicits what she wants at any cost. davis's role is an eager opportunist who is desperate to hold everything right upon her palm. davis looks mostly glamourous in the southern belle constume shined with matron glitter if her character is not so gluttonishly greedy, audience might take further heed of. and our dear bette's wardrobe is endorsed again by orry-kelly who also attributes bette's glamour in "marked woman."

"there're people who do bad things and also people who just stand there and let them do it" demonstrates the spirit of this play. regina and her philistine siblings are the little foxes who ruin the country with their conscienceless exploitations on the common folks. the entire story centers on the mergence of one valuably built business which would realize every ambition and dream regina has had. but her husband is a great hindrance becuz of his reluctance to make a fortune by squeezing out workers' labour. so she holds grudges against him by confiding her long-harbored contempts on him for being a gullible soft fool since the beginning of their marriage that serves a catalyptic shock to deteriorate his heart issue. steal-hearted regina refuses to aid him with his medicine becuz he would spoil her scheme to blackmail her siblings as long as he's alive. so regina obtains everything but her daughter's affinity. eventually regina observes her daughter's departure with a ghastly frown gaze, left alone lost in the room her husband just demises at.

davis' regina is not really a great evil menace but more of egoist who yearns for things but bound by her gender and limited resources. she awaits long with this angst which turns her incorrigible. one scene regina glimpses the picture of her youth with scowl and sighs hidden tight beneath her solid surface. she has no intention to manipulate her daughter, and actually she practices things with basic decency as long as no one poses as obstacle to block her access, she would be in good humbor to perform duties, even without a bit of genuine compassion or tenderness.

as regina's daughter, teresa wright is always a good casting choice to play the innocent ingeuine, and wright has a natural virtuous grace upon her without contrivance that is competent for good-girl roles like this, such as another her good performance in hitchcock "shadow of a doubt".

this flick is great parable of capitalist breaching the world little by little with their sly wits to drill thru the loothole of laws. but pathetically others are just bystanders to connive their sins.

it's a great parody on maternal love with its contrary perversion. directed by versatile michael curtiz who creates the legend of errol flynn swashbucklers as well as humprey bogart's war romance "casablanca"...this time curtiz bridles the fierce joan crawford to gallope full throttle, and crawford's absolute woman power gets enhanced further by her wide-shouldered mink coat, but backfired by her trampy grasping daughter. as one line eve arden suggests "alligators have the right idea. they eat their young" which would be the most advocative notion after viewing this flick.

crawford plays title character mildred pierce who possess the ironly mettle to perform her maternal duty. after her husband's sudden collapse of career which unfortunately leads to divorce, she stiffens her heart to go thru all sorts of hardship to be a successful businesswoman who could offer her children the best qualities of life. ironically this grandeur female menace is pupeteered by an adolescent brat whose every snobbish comment could induces ripples, sometimes even waves of tides, inside mildred that enslaves her into a unrepetent sucker-alike provider, just like nature's merciless circuit of food chain. worse of all, later her giglo-alike lover joins the league of her daughter on the scheme to drain the last penny of this seemingly powerful woman.

ann blyth plays the highly manipulative daughter who combines sinisterness and childishness into the right dose of objectionability. only eve arden who plays mildred's confidate could almost upstage blyth's bitch-perfect pungency. when blyth remarks "i like you, ida...you're so delightful...for a bitch", she conducts herself with ease.."i like you, too." that means a toast back to fellow-bitch.

the best pleasure of this flick is to witness a bunch of shrews urgently vying for their paranoiaic sense of esteem effortlessly. also crawford's boisterous private family affair of "mommie dearest" might also contrast or complement "mildred pierce" as another page of best exemplified cynicism in old hollywood history.

if you'd like to categorize "gun crazy" as the earlier version of "bonnie and clyde", it might have some parallel to resonate but somehow the core spirit might differ to a degree. "gun crazy" is mainly about a couple with the shared obsession for invincible power gained from shooting as well as their fetish craze for guns. they form their bond thru the mutual recognition of gun-fetishes. then peggy cummins' character laury shifts her craze for guns into the crave of power....she's the harpy vixen who could pull the trigger ruthlessly as her well-being get endangered, anytime someone hinders her way, the sympton for homicidal violence. as for john dall's bud, he's more of a romantic steer whose appetite for destruction hasn't been explored throughly as laury's if he has any. as a child, he would commit theivery to get a gun as he's the puppet for guns. bud identifies himself thru the thrill of firecrack but suffers from a backset guilty conscience for death. so basically laury takes the wheel with her manipulative allure and tigress-alike shrewdness, guiding bud into the empheral life once the gun is fired off, the spark is briefly annihilated as well as its immediate ruin.

laury is a more interesting character with sociopath tedency, bud is the slave of her wild spunk just as bud is the puppet of his own gun-craze. she conducts herself with the ambition as mighty as any incorrigible male con, but limited to her gender as a female, love shall be her gang so bud is her sidekick. she seeks a man who is tough enough to depredate everything from the world for her, or at least obedient enough to grant her wishes and comply her will as bud. the idea of aggressive female dominating over the submissive male is something differentiated from bonnie and clyde since bonnie is more of a moll who approves and accomplices clyde. bud is more of a gentleman with his bourgeois upbring, reluctant to smear off any life on earth; laury is more of a ghette street-wise woman who has been kicked around all her life that stimulates an avid vengence for her to hit it top against society.

the end of their demise together is more like a final confrontation between the two's living values: bud shoots laury to stop her from shooting his childhood friend while he gets killed by the police surrounded just becuz he fires a shot....bud chooses a last preserved virtue of mercy as laury chooses to abide her primitive survival instinct thru killing. bud is the domestic kitten which cannot adapt into the dangerous edge; laury is the savage feline existing among the perilous jungle. maybe bud could be the hapless romantic anti-hero with strong love for his woman......and our femme fatale in this time is raging amok with all her ammunitions that you could not ignore....gone(gun) crazy.

jean harlow's notorious sex farce in the 30s that originally enraged the moral code...(barbara stanwyck's "baby face" was released next year. all tales about material girl climing toward wealth by sex )...as i discussed in "baby face" review. the femme fatale stereotype is "gluttonish sensuality and sex appeal" which is attributed to red-headed woman....she's utterly mercenary and she would not pull back once she's determined to claim what she desires...once her appetite is tickled, she wants more and more and more..the loothole of greed could never be fulfilled....always un-content and un-grateful, and her misdemeanor is purely out of avarice. (bad without a cause.)..stanwyck's babyface utilizes men more out of a revengeful hatred toward their exploitations...generally red-headed woman is a flat character for comic relief without the grim complexity of stanwyck's babyface.

unlike babyface which could be deemed as a social satire about a ghetto girl's eager angst to clander to the top in search of power, harlow's reddish circe is more like a ridicule of sex such as the scene she's trapped in the phonebooth and the absurd connotation of sadism & masochism as harlow remarks "do it again! i like it!!!" when the man slaps her facecheek...the first 30 mins, she illuminates her lecherous glitter to pierce audience's eyesight...miss harlow's wardrobe looks its best as the red-headed woman is still on wrong side of the track, later the glamour of flashy ornament is a bit redundant. it offers what the audience wants, it serves you with a shamelessly joyful happy ending for the bad girl to get her way. in a nutshell, jean harlow definitely gratify your mental libido with pleasurable orgasm, then she incarnates into sex itself.

the notable legendary bond of marlene dietrich/joserf von sternberg in the 30s...particularly the one scene dietrich wears tuxedo strutting imperiously then kisses a woman arrogantly as if she were a man that was deemed defyingly ultra-sexy in a conservative time of 30s...dietrich became the female martini idol who made millions of closet lesbians drooling endlessly, and also titilated male audience with a provocative sense of vanquishing lust.....except this offbeat gendre-ambiguous breakthru and sternberg's artsy lighting in black and white, the rest of the movie sinks into a conventional mode of love story between cabaret singer and a flippant soldier(gary cooper) trapped by the circumstance of war and seedy past...of course there's an un-requited suave provider (adolpe menjou) who loves her unconditionally but only rewarded with a hasty big hug rushly like an unworthy sap.

could "morcocco" be considered milestone of feministic assertion since dietrich built her self-sufficient vixen facade by this movie?... perhaps not. it might be an intense feministic declaration of self-choasen will for love since she selects to chase behind the soldier barefoot in the desert (who flings around with women and could offer nothing but a wide innocent smile) instead of the selflessly patient gentleman who politely awaits her in the cozy limousine....it is a strong sense of self-chosen will indeed, but ironically it's like being the necglectful queen of an respectful worshiper but an romorseless dedicated slave to a ghetto hulk. somehow sadistically mosochistic. just like one fashion editor once remarks, dietrich combines the dublicity of a queen and a whore.

maybe behind the grandeur facade of every shrewd vixen dwells a soul of petite woman who clings even to the shade silhouette of her beloved man. perhaps ideologically speaking, it's deliberantly arranged so since the bourgeois mass(the majority of movie-goers) would identify more with cooper machismo than the polished chivalry of adolphe menjou.

something worthy a mention, adolphe menjou was spotted as the typecasting of charming rich gentleman since charlie chaplin's "a woman of paris", and menjou was prestigous for his appropritately aristocratic presence...maybe only william power could be the competent equivalent for his rackishly witty image in "the thin man" series.

another dietrich/sternberg collaboration which highly emphasizes the supreme feminism through emanicipated sex charisma as means to dominate over men, maybe over the entire russian nation deflected upon the lens of a promiscuous historical woman figure "catherine the great" who has been re-incarnated by the husky deviously attractive marlene dietrich.

the flamboyant visuality of bizarre architectures and palace inner embellishment is amazingly inked with the signature of the usual sternberg's pompously lushness, particularly the ancient russia backset relentlessly provides sternberg with grand material to carve incisively with raw exotica.

maybe the pace of this story is a bit protracted with too many passages on catherine's loss of puberty innocence. as you observe upon an inadequate marlene dietrich with girlish curly bang over her forehead, swiving pupils with lips ajar, sighing over the irreversiblility of her youthful rosy dreaminess. could you imagine that?

the akwardness declines as dietrich reappears as her usual luscious self who lays her eyes to select her liason candidates among juicy young soldiers, dressed in warrior armour with big furry beret conquering russia with her military worshippers, exuberating sensuality even thru masculine outfits, no other woman could have that sort of luring duplicity interwoven with ambundant individuality to accomplish such task as dietrich.

you could parellel "scarlett empress" with greta garbo's "queen christina" exemplified as feministic assertions. that sort of connived appreciation over female aggression might only be reserved in an ambiguous decade like 30s with conservative audience simmered with lecherous smolder underneath.

as dietrich chooses riding on the horse to wave the mass in celebration of her successful domination, garbo's queen christina would rather denunciate her crown for private liberaty(she just wants to be alone! left alone!). both cases also reflect the living attitude of this two legendarily adrogynous actresses.

"baby face" was an mighty milestone to set up the stanwyckesque femme fatale image before the fatally classic "double indemnity"...generally..the vital charm of most femme fatales is their gluttonish sensuality and sex apeal...but the allure of stanwyck's femme fatale is based upon her ruthless toughnes and also her un-willing-ness to comprise..sorta refreshing...it's just like a man who takes what he wants without hesitation...basically BF is an heavily melodrama-driven story even it's worthy being praised for its audacious outrage in a conservative decade. to apply nietzscheistic superman into the "bad girl survives and rules" pattern is indeed feministically offbeat that could be considered a defying moral dynamite at that time. babyface's hostility against man is motivated by her experience of being exploited by men, especially her father. her remarks about her father philandering her was incredically explicit in the concern of the censor in the 30's. the quick wit and dare-devil adventurousness of stanwyck's material girl sorta savor the audience's appreciation over babyface's resourcefulness. but the devilsih brazen fun of the movie is somehow hindered by the moralistic closure. (bad girl is suddenly stricken with the meaning of love.) if interpretating it from a different perspect, perhaps it could be a touching story of an astray female discovering the warmth of bona-fide human affection. only stanwyck's swiftly polished acting talent could carry it off without diverged distortion.

the billy wilder classic of noirish inside-hollywood story which centers on a middle-aged woman who cannot lead a life exclusive of camera, daydreaming in the fragments of reminiscent glories, norma desmond(gloria swanson). this tale also involes an ill-fated writer(william holden) who stumbles into her elephant-alike mansion then dwells in it as her kept man, as well as her voluntary loyal servant(erich von stroheim) who used to be her first husband, who loves her so much that he dedicates the rest of his life to maintain this woman's wanton reverie of eternal stardom regardless of his own pride and self-esteem.

enough has been said about this flick's master touch of sharp-tongued poignancy, and its gothic sense of decadence on the remnants of tumultous 20s aura in stark anachronism that is strangely enhanced by the guest celluoid of buster keaton....gloria swanson and erich von stroheim are practically impersonating their own caricatured versions. swanson's the role of yesterday's glamour queen was once assigned to the vamp sex symbol theda bara. william holden is the first actor in cinema history to play a giglo, and his role was once dispatched to montgomery clift who chose to pair elizabeth taylor then in "the place in the sun"(good choice, monty!).....the last scene in the movie is literarily a creepy parody of silent macabre constrasted with 50s news reel, one last remained saving grace for the damned dreamer.

"sunset blvd." is holden's chance to make a turning point in his withering career then, and he dignifies the role with his mocking machismo, despite the fact his mr. gilis is a dishonorable man who makes a living on woman's allowance, you could still perceive his reluctance to succumb to her domineering compulsion as well as his strong sense of self in repulsive resistence of her inflicted confinement. gloria swanson delives the best flatulent lines as a tigress woman who refuses to surrender to the course of nature: decay and death that somehow ironically circulate around her, especially when she says "i'm still BIG, it's the picture gets SMALL!"

erich von stroheim's role as the hound-alike max with sullen face deserves more attention and recognition. in spite of his grim-countenance, max is severely self-aware, and also a romantic steer concealed under his frown solemn outlook. stroheim is cooly idiocyncratic with his thick accent and his distinctively exotic (xenophobic?maybe) outfits that suits his soldier-alike demeanors. his character simmers with undercurrent nobility which you could also identify with his role as the decent nazi in renoir's "the grand illusion"...

maybe on some sunday afternoon, as you're weary of those hollywood glamously inflated flicks, you might be welcomed to drive into the desolated "sunset boulvd." as your ultimate retreat of cinema wasteland.

"the loves of carmen" is rita hayworth's excerpt of sex appeal in the end of 40s. the marvellous novelty is that the music score doesn't include the cliched opera tune of carmen but a bunch of swifty catchy flamenco which rita hayworth dances feverishly along, especially in the scene of gypsy squad. hayworth sways her long skirt and you glimpse her fair lengthy legs during the vivacious choreographic sequence as if she's caught on fire, sizzling with millions watts of charisma despite she's full-clothed under the gypsy constumes without baring her crevice but the tender neckline of hers is enough to intoxicate you.

hayworth incarnates into the love godess carmen who embraces the epicureanism of ephemeral fun for life, love as you want, do whatever you want for the sake of ultimate gayety in spite of morality and commitment. supposedly, the role of carmen is a nymphamaniac tramp, but she is queen bitch who dominates men under her skirt. but hayworth's interpretation transcends her into something tinted with a oblvious naivety to a degree, a charming ingenue who disregards the consequence of her deeds but live with all her passion of life. besides hayworth's sensuality is never too blatantly exposed, considering the routines of bombshell liks monroe or bardot, the feminine accesories of hers remain concealed for most of the time except several crucial scenes her legs become the catalysis of don jose's doom. mostly she allures you with her brillaint smile and the shiny marble grin of hers. (her teeth look so incredibly beautiful indeed when she grins)...even in some scenes, rita curses, glares and spits but she would never leave you an impression of being vulgarly chessy.

don jose is played by glenn ford who is dashingly handsome to match hayworth whether ford is polished enough to be the well-bred don jose. ford does perform well as the don jose with boyish admiration for carmen, a man of pure vigor that could burn for love. the technicolor hues are cheerfully spirit-reviving that is appropriate to embellish the background of carmen's tumultuous affairs (or simply just romances. she only appears as a sporty heart-stealer, not really specifically a horny phallis-stimulater. oh. pardon.)

above all, some further notes would be the wardrobe designer jean louis and the hairstylist helen hunt who help to accomplish rita's refinded devilish allure on her gorgeous constumes and flamy wavy hair. of course, mostly the music score is worthy of applaud for composer mario castelnuovo-tedesco. and the choreographer is robert sidney who might be the hispanic male who dances with hayworth in the gypsy squad.

at the last scene, the camera angle is also well-shot with hayworth laying upon glenn ford over the stairs in distance then a black cat passes the flatform as fatalistic closure of the story.

one of the mighty classics from the versatile howard hawks, and this settles as the enormous base of screwball comedy gendre.

the gender reversal between grant and hepburn is apparently figured as grant's tucked in a female silky nightgown then utters "because i just went gay all of a sudden!" gayness then is still utilized as joy, but the pun is undeniably amusing. hepburn declares enough mettle of her female individuality since it's her susie who solicits grant as her love of life, after her strike of determination, she squeezes up every frivolously chidlike little scheme to keep grant over her palm, courting him without reservation. despite such strong assertion of her vigorous want, her character remains mischieviously likable without descending into a nymphomaniac, even she always intervenes in the conversation to interrupt you.

even grant evidently plays a milder nerdy character whose awkwardness causes his own mishapping to get stuck with trouble-maker susie, but he evolves himself with his suaveness. as several times, hepburn's character sinks him into recurring irretrievable jams, his character still demonstrates great demeanors as a gentleman to tolerate hepburn in spite of his obvious imapatience. (who wouldn't be?ha) as a fashion critic comments on grant that the reason why he's so mysteriously attractive is: always women chase behind him, he rarely takes any active move, always gentily considerate enough to yield to the ladies that contributes to his ultimate status of lady's man, complimented with his gorgeous male beauty, who wouldn't fall for the charm of cary grant? huh?

the episode of leopard creates a sense of absurdness in this particular gendre, and a uniquely applied plotline, refreshingly unusual but believable in the same time. it is laughably hilarious as the leopard is fond of listening "i can't give you anything but love"...and the sequence of chasing after puppy george in search of the dinosaur bone is also another ingenious comic touch.

even under this prosperously arranged condition as everything goes topsytuvy, love could still occur and nourished....as she sabotages his four years of dinasour model, she wails "could you still love me"..then they embrace with through acceptance and mutual affections. simply cute, maybe a bit too cute.

"leave her to heaven" could be considered iconclastic to gene tierney's divine woman image she has flashed in "laura" that also fathoms the depth of her acting scale. and tierney's irresistibly sugary charm is the best asset to blaze the shivering black humor of "leave her to heaven".

tierney plays a woman who falls head over heels in love with a writer who resembles her dead father. she obtains his love with her passionate but tactful courtship, then he marries her. afterwards all she schemes is to acquire the absolute intimacy exclusive of others, so she paranoidly resorts to murder and intented miscarriage to gain her little privacy with her hobby, and eventually she could go so far as to her own demise.

the first half of the flick is delusive with stale backset of a perfect household cozy atmosphere, tweedy wilderness, shimmering moonlight, and also a fair womanly creature awaits the prince charming she yearns for over the cliff. the deceased rot is only foreshadowed with the suggestive paternal fixation of tierney's bereft affections on her passed father. she behaves submissively pleasant with all her flirtatious hints to her beloved man. everything seems like a lyrical dream of ideal romance for anyman made of flesh and blood.

under the microscope, tierney's true self zooms in, a pathological manipulator whose love is as lethal as arsenic, but horridly coated with honey. she's literarily the pretty poison which lures you to swallow downward your throat insidiously, just like a serpent which crawls nearby then grasp you with her fatal bite clandestinely. her love is devoted but monstrously possessive that leads her to eliminate every possible candidate to distract her husband's focus upon her.

the electra complex is the main drive in tierney's character, as a daughter, she wants to devour her father's love all by herself, then as a mature woman, she obsessively seeks substitute from another man with similiar appearance. just like a girl who refuses to fledge into genuine mental ripeness but persistents on sheltering in the castle of the perennial paternal tenderness, the ultimate daddy's girl.

as one proverb in india's buddha textbook, a woman with honey in her mouth usually scatters poison in her heart. "leave her to heaven" shall be the best example. after viewing this flick, abrasive vixen like joan crawford (or bette davis or barbara stanwyck) would seem leastly perilous since danger is written soundly on her face. as a matter of fact, people should respect women with such candid expressiveness. don't you agree??

the 30s "cleopatra" is cecil b. demille's epic piece as well as claudette colbert's ultimate height of shimmering glamour in lavish period costumes by the 30s fashion genius travis banton.

the triangle between cleopatra, caesar and marc antony is grandeurly reputed and celebrated with the rosiness of feministic romance to the seductress blessed with beauty, intelligence, wealth and supreme power, wholeheartedly in love with elite studs. it's simply too surreally divine to befall on earth.

compared with the 60s cleopatra made with elizabeth taylor, demile's aware of the art of conciseness, and his cuts of cleopatra's affair with caesar is transient but sharp to the crucial point: caesar doesn't love cleopatra but infatuated with the inquisiton of her gold as well as the deliciously prosperous egypt.

then the scenery shifts to the romance with marc antony who contempts love and deems women as the play things of the warriors that makes it tastefully witty to witness how cleopatra conquers the steel-hearted antony by disarming him level by level with sly humor. and the showcast of those egyptian vaudevilles are tour de farce which could only be presented by demille's wheeling camera, such as the she-leopard circular flame-diving sequence. and henry wilcoxon as antony delivers enough virility to dignify this grandly masculine man melted by the lure of a siren. the scene he reacts to roman's defying duel with reckless bravado to fight with his last breath is the exemplification of primitive manhood while cleopatra kneels beside him to surrender as a woman in love, a conquest of his enormous machoness then she nullifies the fickle scheme to poison him into death.

the prestigious suicide to declare cleopatra's sacred love is written with mighty aloofness "be careful when you seek love, if you cannot find love, don't give a thing...if you're rich as cleopatra, give everything!"...then the camera looms over her statuesque dead posture as she demises by the snake bite, permeated with her egoistically lofty pride which prevents her from consdescending at last moment, even defeated by backfires.

"out of the past" is one mighty example of the old proverb "women are not to be trusted"...jane greer is the incarnation of classic noir femme fatale who backstabs men for profits and survival, a giant rotten swelling beneath her strikingly angelic beauty.

jeff bailey(mitchum) is a private eye hired by mobster whit (kirk douglas) to retrack back his mistress kathey(greer) who shoots him four times then elope with $4000. as the moment bailey sees her, he's enchanted to her, so both of them together cheat whit to shelter upon the north for thier love-nest. unfortunately their traces are spotted that leades to one murder which also unravels the sordid darkside of kathey. then bailey recluses in some countryside to reform and seek a kind gentle woman as love companion until one day whit sends his sidekick for bailey....

spontaneously all the men in "out of the past" are chain-smokers who transcend fume circles into enigmatic white clouds that might be an indication of their masochistic empheral doom. everywhere mitchum goes, he ignites a cigarette even at the crucial moment of robbing important documentary. maybe their choice of the woman is the best eloquent case of such chronical suicidal tendency which reflects on non-stop smokings.

both bailey and whit (mitchum and douglas) are shrewd men with sharply fierce sight to see things thru, but they still select to embrace the defying perils, such as bailey knows whit wanna frame him, but he still goes for it; whit understands kathey is no good but he still want her back at any cost. they're tough guys with imperious confidence preferring to be surrounded with apparent danger, enjoying messing up with beautiful dame who is utterly no good just like boys like to play with firecracker even it might blow them off into pieces. jane greer would be the best pretty poison for these two extraordinarily cocky men.

in one dialogue, greer tries to persuade mitchum into her faux innocence, mitchum simply replies "oh baby, i don't care!"...men in "out of the past" are prodigals stuck in their transient life philosophy under the adrenlined sensations for the dazzling sparks, always some case, some feud, some unexpected doublecross to settle, eventually mitchum's character explodes by the forthcoming curse of his tragic flaws.

fritz lang's "clash by night" is a psychological drama about the paradoxical mentality of female perplexity about life and its harboring cease. babara stanwyck would be the individualistic rebel lady who drifts everywhere to seek her dreams even eventually she winds up with "big dreams, small results"

stanwyck plays mae doyle, a woman who wanders from home for 10 years, a prodigal daughter retreats back to her homeland with one bitter remark "home is the place to go when you run out of places", a woman who wants her man to "fight off the blizzards the floods" just to make her feel "confident"....a egoist who abides nothing but motivated by her anguishes to live and explore the world with novelty. a woman who claims that she would never be satisfied enough to give any man happiness since her character is webbed with too much ambivalent affirmations to be genuinely tamed by any man, and mae shrewdly sneers at the world with her sass and sharply sardonic wits until she meets her fellow rebel earl (robert ryan) who is a cynical grudgy man embittered with spousal tumults, uttering quibs like "wouldn't you wanna cut a beautiful dame up?" "i like the woman who stays on ceiling when i throw all of them above"...a volcanic man with enough individuality to rival mae....and this resistant ambiguity also arouses mae's animosity.....thus she chooses to marry her another suitor jerry with the clumsy looks of ape but has a generous heart of gold despite his simple-mindedness cannot provide the thrilling kicks of life mae's always craving for.

it might appear somehow melodramatic but the script offers plenty of wisecracking wisdom between the lines to depict each character with enough distinctive contour of humanity. and the episode of marilyn monroe who plays the girlfriend of mae's brother is also quite pleasantly juxtaposed with her talks of feminism and refusal of being trapped as cannary in marriage....

inevitably mae's being lured away by charismatic earl who whispers love with more refined skills than stupified jerry....ultimately mae succumbs to her sense of feminine duty instead of her intense drive of egoism....accurately speaking, she lifts up the veil of her selfism to ripe into mature womanhood since the world is not always "her disappointment, her unhappiness"...

only brilliantly talented stanwyck could incarnate into such fickle role with multiple outbursts of complexity conviningly....only stanwyck has enough charisma to redeem this character with comprehensible pathos...a well-performed stagy flick upon the theme of woman and her choices over the crossroad of life.

could you imagine rhet butler's favored blonde prostitute belle walting in "gone with the wind" impersonating a chinese dragon lady? that would happen under the directional trademark of josef von sternberg.

ona munson plays the casino-owner mother "gin sling" in shaghai of china, and she schemes to claim her retribution upon her primary past fued from the new-arriving official sir guy charter. meanwhile she ensnares a young beautiful dame who calls herself poppy smith(a still burgeoning gene tierney) into the allure of the arabian giglo-poet omar(victor mature)....maliciously she intends to corrupt the girl into further deprivity by the thrills of gambling and sexual slavery. gin sling proceeds her conspiracy with resourceful levels to settle her so-called former debts.

gene tierny luminates with brightful glamour in the outset with her flighty manners, and you could forsee a future major star then while ona munson endeavors herself at her perverse chineseness with her stuck-out cheekbones and the twisted slanted eyes contorted by her straight-lined raising eyebrows. the cosmetics of mother gin sling is literarily a grostesque from caucasion's stereotyped image upon a dragon lady magnified over a thousands times to create an imaginary monstress. maybe it's really histrionic but it's certainly attention-grappling and definitely not dull to watch. a ultimate realization of the best camp!

the background sceneries appear engrossingly campy with all the absurd chinese exotica as if von sternberg collects all the eccentric antics of china to dispatch them together to conjure up an aura of lush nightmarish foreign land with creeps and living wax figures of "caucasian chinese"....and the script is written upon the occidental concepts of some incomprehensible chinese conventions as if it's strutting its enormous knowledge on chineseness, such as the elder china-man with five wives who flaunts his acquired conceptions upon women(another white chinese imatation with types on his eyelids) or gin sling's remark of filial piety....and gin sling likes to speak with her sentence began as "we chinese...."

but is "shanghai gesture" derogatory to chinese? apparently not. how could it form any harm to the china image since it's so obviously fake? just like the mythical theme of arabian nights, you could gallope wild in your most wanton fantasies of exoticism. contrarily, it's well-depicted pulp fiction of the raging sound of minority races in a very idiocyncratic way since it's a getting-even tale of a grudgy chinese woman who battles her conscienceless caucasian lover who tramps her with severe exploitations. some might criticize the asiastic villainy in early hollywood cinema was uglifying those oriental races, but under another spectacle, it's more aloofly characteristic to be raw and untamed....the contemporary asian castings as user-friendly adapters to the occident is lackluster and characterless in comparasion with the ancient edginess of recalcitrants since asiastic races were still considered mean, insidious people in 18th century novels....on the other hand, what's so cool about chineses (or asiastic) being dosmeticated as the meek ones like nowaday trends of globalization?

"the damned don't cry" is the ultimate epitome of joan crawford's irreconcilable womanhood in its hybridized maximum: ghetto mother's heart-aching tale as foreshadowing, then the brazen survivor attitude as she utters "the world is not for nice guys", and the flattering success proceeds afterwards, and eventually her social-climber dream crushes into irreparable ruin by backstabbing mobster feuds. inevitably, it has a moral message to be delivered: every sin has a price to be paid.

crawford this time begins as a affectionate mother in a poor family, striving to earn a living, heartbroken by her son's sudden demise after her stingy husband refuses to grant the boy a bicycle for christmas. (analogous to "mildred pierce") then crawford is determined to wrestle her way thru the city jungle, utilizing her sex appeal to pebble prominent men toward the top of the world. it's intertwined with gangster genre as crawford becomes the moll who tumbles over two mobster heads when one and another are keen to doublecross and eliminate each other.

"the damned don't cry" could be a closure for joan crawford's tough gun-posing dame image initiated by award-winning "mildred pierce". and also she gives another perfect interpretation of being "cheap and hard" but this time there's no agreeable ending for redemption or salvation as her character no longer slaps men or women around, and she even receives the rumination of being bludgeoned to bruises then rots in the gutter at last with a gun wound.

this is also crawford's final cooperation with director vincent sherman (whom she also had an affair with) and b-actor david brian, and crawford exploits her last draining potentialty at her golden period in 1940s, so there's nothing innovative she could really launch upon this genre until her revival in "sudden fear" and her tentative trial fir musical in "torch song". it is worth watching as a dirge of the 40s crawfordian icon, as its title suggests, the damned shall never cry but lives just like joan crawford wouldn't cease to re-invent herself in this merciless cinematic field with discriminative men.

1949 "tension" is an underrated b picture with audrey totter who made her cameo in "postman always rings twice" as the flirtatious red-head hooks with john garfield, of course, also richard basehart who later archieves international fame in fellini's "the road" in europe right after this picture. it has all the quintessential noir elements melt with kitsch-like melodrama, but what else you could expect? it's a b picture for aficionados with a quaint knack for noir in various forms.

but its scenarios are grappling in its blatant way: a drug-store nobody who pursues his dream of 50s suburbanite lifestyle by slaving himself over the nightshifts to earn as much as he could to please his harpy wife who only fancies the luxurious goods like mink coats. but this harpy blonde would sneak any chance to cuckold him as soon as she finds some other sucker to take care of her bills, so she elopes with a liquor salesman who is apparently more capable to provide her what she wants. then this miserable nobody still refuses to concede his wife without fighting, so he shows up in the love nest of the wife and the cuckold, but he gets beaten up and sneered as "four-eyed punk"....to reclaim his pride as a man, our protagonist decides to launch a make-over of himself by getting rid of his coy glasses to re-appear as a hunky sheik named paul sothern to assassinate the cuckold...

it has the castrated sap, the ferocious dame with trademarked blonde hair, and the scheming detective copper as the fury who squares for justice. the story wheels along with a detached narrator whose simmering cynicism boils out to resonate audience's nosy by-stander mentality. as noir frequently favors to dichotomize women, there's alawys feminine nurturer to contrast the lady predator who nearly gulps men alive to attain the happy ending after the justice is served.

audrey totter was contracted b actress of mgm studio which recruits her as the bubble-bath blondie to shape another starlet with semi-lana-turner-like aroma, don't totter's hairdo and wardrobe in "tension" somehow reminiscence a bit of "postman always rings twice" in which totter also has a small but impressionable part? but totter's femme fatale may not be as glamourous as turner but definitely much more aggressive here while she glows her lines with comtemptuous mockeries to basehart. the woman characer in "tension" becomes an exaggerated grotesque of femme fatale, since b picture tends to have very limited resources so it must create its dramatic tension by deepening its stereotypes. that's what happens with "tension". it even has a music score for totter's entrance in every scene to enhance the effect as if it's notifying the audience: here comes the sexy bad woman, pretty tacky, isn't it?

(ps)

just like most normally functioning dames in her time, totter chooses to settle for marriage and homelife instead of manuevering her starlet career like a down-to-earth dame, but acting comes like fun for her to tackle ocassionally during intervals. she also leaves another noir classic "the set-up" with robert ryan as the caring brunette girlfriend. "tension" and "the set-up" proves her caliber as an actress that she could play benevolent lily and malevolent wench.

"lost highway" is actually not as incomprehesible as most people think by first-time viewing, and it's probably the most "linear" storytelling of lynch, a zigsaw awaiting to be jointed together. from my perception, it's about a night-club jazz musician's suspicion upon his wife who constantly cheats on him and possibly an underground amateur porn actress. so the betrayed hubby sets his way to brutally slaughter all the cuckolds involved, then escaping the police as well as his chaotic life forever in the lost highway. the rest is his nightmarish imaginations of love, lust, self-loathe and hate. so he dreams of killing his wife to be sentenced to electric chair to be redeemed/rejunvenized as a stud-like young dude who gets laid around, particularly the blonde seductress who resembles his estranged wife (in reality, he's so traumatized by doubts that he cannot even consummate the intercourse, ain't we always dream what we can't have?). but when the issue of the woman's promiscuous treacheries occur, the gleeful dreams of erotica awakens by the gruesome reality as he gazes her orgastic expressions on the pornographic screen, shame and humiliation start to take over in its way to torment him. then he retreats to his impotent older true self after the young dude makes love and exclaims "i want you" repeatedly...the response is leanly echoed, as our femme fatale whispers insidiously "you will never have me!"(truth revelt.)...all this wronged husband could do is to obliterate his rival who disgraces him. at the last scene, he talks to the doorgate speaker "dillon is dead!"(as if his mission is completed) then drives toward the highways to get lost for good since his affections cannot be requited and his possessive lust cannot be fulfilled despite he revengefully gets riddance of his symbol of shame in the middle of desert.

patricia arquette shall be one of the hottest actresses in the 90s, ideal incarnation of neo-femme-fatale, blonde bombshell and the gritty it girl with edges. she has to bare and dangle her tits over 5 men within this movie, from young to old, handsome to ugly(they're all lucky bastards. ha)...it surely does transmit a daredevil raw sensuality like a contemporary barbara stanwyck without hesitant pretension but brazenly unlimited sesuality while she struts naked in her immaculate luring body. spicy furry red heels or leopard short-jacket, any overly gaudy clothings just look right on her. she even has a bettie page reminiscence hairdo at the start.(everything about this woman is all sexualized.) in one moment, she even poses a gun to tease the man and tells him to stick it into his pants(what an obvious insinuation), and she wears leopard jacket like woman predator with a residual of vintage glamour. which actress in the 90s or 2000s could rival THAT? patricia arquette is the coolest postmodern femme fatale/phallic woman could ever be in the pinnacle of the prime stage of 1990s.

bill pullman is a mighty surprise since he was the typecasting of mr. right in those 90s chic flicks. and belthazar getty does have it-boy aura of marlon brando in "the wild one" with his leather jacket and the big harley. (david lynch must love those archetypes since the vintage hollywood hommage appears even stronger in muholland dr.) "lost highway" would probably be the best neo-noir ever made in 1990s(letting alone the tarentino jokes) as well as lynch's most contagious work so far since it has one of the best soundtrack in contemporary cinematic history when industrial rock'n'roll weds so gluingly with improvised jazz.

"a life less ordinary" is danny boyle's primary attempt to hit into american market after his smashing success of countercultural revolt in 1995's junkie cult "transpotting"...it was shot when ewan mcgregor still belonged to the trio of boyle/hodge/mcgregor screen team since "shallow grave", the art-house british channel 4 independent production before boyle sold him out in "the beach" by casting leonardo dicaprio in the role he was supposed to play, long before mcgregor's become commericialized star-war prop..it took place also when cameron diaz still played sassy hard-boiled femme fatale before "something about mary" sweetens and softens her screen persona as romantic lead..

the scenario is goofy. it's about a stupid janitor who kidnaps his boss' daughter in a rage after he's fired and dumped by his live-in girlfriend..then these two fall in love absurdly. of course, even angels in the heaven are their guidances to the journey of celestial bliss despite the course involves mayhem and bloodshed. it's generally a mixed genre of romantic comeday and neo-noir. don't expect rationality and sensible plot-developments because the essence of this movie is a brazen cheer of slacker's hashish daydreaming and mcgregor's presented as a character of proteriat outrage in the oblivion of the generation x, a mutant divergence from his trainspotting persona. he fantasizes about writing a blatant trash-novel to redeem his miserable existence of ephemerality, and his ideal romance is a game-show called "perfect love", favored by a pampered brat who appreciates such weakling demeanors and even aids him to get the ransom from her abrasive father who insists on cutting off her allowances. they pretend they're pop-stars and cabret dancers along the melody of bob darin's "beyond the sea"...in spite of their slacker narcissism, they do have a naively sacred respect over the bond arranged by fate but their deterministic conventionalism's got to be rendered in their deviant imaginations like angels act like noir villains to help the course of destiny, blah blah blah...oh, bank-robbery could be a pleasant stimulus of passionate kiss..

basically "a life less ordinary" is a celebration of "style over substance"..the costumes and location shots are particularly elaborated with a boyle trademark, such as mcgregor's mullet hairdo and floral shirt, diaz's bob-headed siren who high-hats men around..as for the location, i bet it's around the borderline of nevada and california where i've driven for several times while heading for las vegas, or it's around the woods in colorado??(i would be happy if anyone tells me where it's shot)...the valley cabin as the hideaway spot and the desolate driveway within the desert hills are well-selected and they all give you a otherworldly feeling of american universalism due to the unique perspective of a british director shooting america..

audience might neglect it's neo-noir trying to act like romantic comedy, or the other way around, holly hunter and cameron diaz are the neo-femme-fatales who conduct themselves rough and ruthless like avenging fury with a pistol in well-tailored suit..diaz coaches mcgregor how to perform lethal dialogue to ask for ransom while hunter orders delroy lindo to murder mcgregor in the corder of dark woods digging a hole beforehand for the burial...the deliberate gender-reversal's gonna make you giggle..but eventually it's less a romantic comeday than dark farce since our hero only concedes his emotions to our heroine after someone persuades him with words "she's a glamorous pussy in heaven and you're a two-dime worker cleaning floor in hell, why bother to think too much over whether she's your type or not??" this movie has so many colors on its palette that it's too distractive to enjoy..but ain't the life-style of lovelorn slacker so? also, it has one of the coolest soundtracks ever like trainspotting since the soundtracks of danny boyle's movies always have a it chicness before he reached international fame by 28 days and slum millionaire.

(ps) around the same year, alicia silverstone made a stupid comedy about love in the course of kidnapping with benicio del toro, called "excessive baggage"....the sketch of storyline does have a parallel but it's much less creative and much more mundanely melodramtic(should i just say cheesy?)...don't get mistaken by that.