Archive for Live Now Pay Later

Page Seventeen II: The Smell of Fear

Posted in FILM, literature with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on September 27, 2021 by dcairns

Callendar’s shop window had been smashed by and angry girl who had thrown a bicycle through it. It was now boarded up and the timber slates bore the commemorative legend in white chalk:

“You agreed to take the beasts.”

The water was boiling and I sterilized the instruments. Infection can follow even the most rigid asepsis and his dusty kitchen for an operating theatre hardly gave the man on the table a sporting chance. For a minute I considered not operating at all and letting fate decide.

I went forward mechanically, swung the spade over my shoulder and smashed the blade of it with all my strength against the protruding chin. I felt and almost heard the fabric of his skull crumple up crisply like an empty eggshell. I do not know how often I struck him after that but I did not stop until I was tired.

It seemed to the Procurator that the cypresses and palms in the garden gave off the smell of roses, that the accursed smell of roses was mingled with the odors of the convoy’s leather gear and sweat.

He rolled his head back and sniffed, but there was no smell of roses in the room. He was getting dizzy and weak, but at least there was no smell of roses.

“Smells like an earthquake,” said Margaret, and dressed. Emily remembered the awful story about the governess and the hair-brush: certainly Margaret did not use one for its ordinary purpose, though she had long hair: so it must be true.

Seven short passages from seven page seventeens selected from various books lying about my person.

Live Now, Pay Later by Jack Trevor Story; The Island of Doctor Moreau by H.G. Wells; Donovan’s Brain by Curt Siodmak; The Third Policeman by Flann O’Brien; The Master and Margarita by Mikhail Bulgakov; Last Call by Tim Powers; A High Wind in Jamaica by Richard Hughes.

The Kid IS the picture

Posted in FILM, literature with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on September 18, 2021 by dcairns

THE KID, continued.

Charlie’s job apparently also afford the opportunity to meet and flirt with housewives — I’ve just read Jack Trevor Story’s Live Now, Pay Later, a funny, bleak kitchen sink dramedy or dromedary about buying on credit, a new craze of the sixties, and the “tally boys” of the story are great seducers of bored housewives. Unfortunately, Charlie is fooling with a kop’s wife. Chaplin reveals this with an artful wide shot of the corner, showing Charlie and the missus chatting by the window on one side, and the kop coming home via the door on the other: Hitchcockian suspense a la MARNIE’s safecracking scene (Hitchcock observed in 1964 that his former preference for intercutting was now “old-fashioned”).

A great “he’s behind you!” moment as the kop appears at the window, and the framing actually suggests the scenario of the Punch and Judy show which is where Chaplin as a lad may have learned this routine, a sure-fire way of getting the audience hysterical with both laughter and tension.

When the kop kollars Charlie, amusingly, he thinks its the housewife putting her arm around him, and it takes a moment for him to realise his mistake even when he’s being throttled. My English teacher Mrs. Chapman explained this as “poignancy” or “dramatic irony,” neither of which seems quite to suit the comedy version.

After that, the inevitable chase isn’t a show-stopper, but has some nice tight alleyway shots — think Griffith’s PIG ALLEY perspectives but in fast motion — and shows CC’s ability to cut from (I think) location to studio and back, seamlessly.

Time for lunch! Huge ladle-loads of steaming muck. Looks kind of appealing to me, but then I’m on the low-carb Mediterranean diet so pretty much everything does.

Edna, meanwhile, has become a theatre star. No particular reason why this should have to happen, but the narrative function it fulfills is to remove any sense of financial need, and let her focus on the absent child. And make her well-equipped to care for him, if she should find him. Chaplin cut back on Edna’s scenes when he re-released the film, evidently feeling he’d given her screen time because she was his friend and regular co-star rather than because the picture needed it. And perhaps because, as Walter Kerr suggests, her stuff is “sentimental” in the bad sense.

Edna’s maid is May White, who we just saw as the first victim of Jackie’s window-smashing spree. A spot of makeup renders her easily able to do a Henry Bergman.

Speak of the devil, here’s Henry as “Professor Guido, impressario.” Yeah, don’t know why we need him here.

Then a walking wall of flowers comes in, carried by a little Black kid. Nice to see a non-white character given something to do that’s not outright degrading.

One little seed is planted for later: a mysterious bunch of toys is brought in by May White…

Back to Charlie & Jackie, finishing their meal. Jackie has acquired some of his foster father’s delicacy, requesting a splash of Charlie’s glass of water to make a fingerbowl. He dips his hands in it, then wipes them on his shoulders, and drags his sleeve across his mouth, rather ruining the genteel effect. Charlie then borrows some of the water and wipes his own hands and face on the tablecloth. This focus on behaviour, the gags buried deep within it, is the kind of thing Chaplin could rarely get away with at Keystone but had already been itching to try.

Edna, meanwhile, is handing out toys in the neighbourhood. Fulfilling her maternal instincts, or searching for her lost son? And is that May White in a third role, as a friendly slum mum?

There’s quite a weird shot here, ostensibly depicting Edna as she goes into a thoughtful dwam at the babe in her arms, but actually favouring Charlie & Jackie’s front door. Of course the unusual effect is completely lucid: without her knowing it, that door is exactly what she’s thinking about. And now Jackie comes through that door, which was the true reason for the framing. I’m not sure whether Chaplin always intended to use the negative-space-that’s-really-positive-space in this way, or if it was chance that in covering the scene he got this useful and expressive material.

Jackie is, of course, adorable. By avoiding the melodramatic cliche of the mother and son instantly recognising each other, but showing an instant bond between them, Chaplin can build greater suspense and BETTER MELODRAMA.

And on that poignant note — with more than half the film left to run — I’m going to leave it there for today as I have a shit-tonne of work to do. Might mean I’m still writing about THE KID through next week, but I hope nobody objects to that.

Leave it to Cadaver

Posted in FILM, literature, MUSIC, Painting with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on October 14, 2009 by dcairns

vlcsnap-469563“What’s he doing in our bathtub?”

A rare factual error from Pat Hitchcock in the DVD extras of THE TROUBLE WITH HARRY — the Jack Trevor who appears in Hitchcock’s CHAMPAGNE is not the same fellow as Jack Trevor Story, author of the source novel of this, sometimes cited by Hitchcock as his favourite film. They have different dates and places of birth and death, and of course, different names.

Story is otherwise best known as author of the satirical Live Now, Pay Later. The only thing I’ve read by him was an intro to a Michael Moorcock novel, which was funny and vitriolic and gave free rein to the author’s humorous jealousy of his even more prolific friend. Looking through his CV, he clearly had a genius for titles: Mix Me a Person, Man Pinches Bottom, Dishonourable Member, Hitler Needs You.

harry2

Transferring the very English comedy of manners to New England, Hitch and John Michael Hayes create a very warm, witty piece, a black comedy that’s really rather sweet at heart. “The British are funny about death. Mention death in Britain and immediately somebody laughs,” observed Spike Milligan. And while Hitch has puckish fun with the rather shocking callousness with which his assorted cast of eccentrics responds to the arrival of an unwelcome stiff named Harry Worp, he also invites us to love and root for the five off-centre persons at the heart of his plot.

Shirley MacLaine has to rate as Hitchcock’s greatest acting discovery (although it was his producer who spotted her), and she was lucky enough to be spared all the stress Tippi Hedren later went through, emerging onscreen rather un-made-over, very much her adorable self. John Forsythe is remarkably relaxed and alive here, in what probably is his best ever role. It obviously helps that he has a good script to back him up. In THE GLASS WEB, a decent but uninspired piece of writing, Forsythe seems sullen and devoid of charisma. But the man in HARRY is entirely different, a live wire, intense, attentive, sympathetic yet a little askew. And there’s something nice about the way Hitch casts the stalwart player as a quirky goof, probably drummed out of the beatnik movement for failure to conform. His delivery of the line “Little men with –” (dramatic flourish) — “hats!” is memorable. In fact, everybody gets a line they were born to say in this movie. For my money, Mildred Natwick’s apologetic handling of the sentence “He fell into a threshing machine,” is pantheonic. And I’m always quoting little Jerry Mathers’ rendition of the seemingly ordinary line “I don’t understand that.”

Edmund Gwenn, who Hitch had tinkered with since early talking pictures, without quite finding a decent use for the guy (WALTZES FROM VIENNA and THE SKIN GAME miscast Gwenn as a bully and a lout; FOREIGN CORRESPONDENT attempts to make of him a mild-mannered English assassin). Here, at last, he is successful — Gwenn’s Captain Albert Wiles is cherubically adorable, and his December-September romance with Natwick (where her advanced years seem to be the biggest issue) is charm itself.

harry11

Everybody here is a kind of fantasist, or creates the world in a way pleasing to them, except Deputy Sheriff Calvin Wiggs (Royal Dano), who as a policeman and a hard-headed realist is doubly damned in Hitchcock’s world. Although even he becomes sympathetic when Forsythe humiliates him with a lot of fancy talk and destruction of his evidence. It’s a gentle movie without bad guys — even Harry was “too good,” rather than the kind of cad he’s taken for, with his two-colour socks and shiny shoes.

harry10

Forsythe has decided that he’s a great artist, and in the best Howard Roark manner, he doesn’t require the outside world’s validation. Captain Wiles has constructed a romantic past for himself, as globe-trotting sailor, and Natwick’s Miss Ivy Gravely hardly speaks an honest word in the whole movie, carefully constructing an identity some years younger than her own. MacLaine is more straightforward, but her son Arnie (Jerry Mathers from TV’s Leave It to Beaver, which I’ve never really seen) makes up for that — as Richard Hughes writes in A High Wind in Jamaica — “Their minds are not just more ignorant and simpler than ours, but differ in kind of thinking (are mad, in fact).” Arnie, with his curious and individual ideas about Time, almost meets his match in Forsythe. “Today’s tomorrow,” he announces. “It was,” agrees Forsythe, after some hesitation.

Robert Burks’ evocation of the hues of autumn is sheer visual poetry, and all the more impressive given that a storm devastated the New England locations after only a few background plates had been taken. Those who complain of the duff process work in Hitchcock’s films are perhaps unaware of how much really successful fakery is going on (note that in TO CATCH A THIEF, when Cary Grant looks out the back window of the bus, FX maestro John P Fulton has added a reflection of Grant’s face to the second unit shot of receding country road — beautifully done, and showing a fine attention to detail). Most of the interaction of characters and landscape in this movie never actually happened.

Joining Hitch’s team is Bernard Herrmann, soon to be a crucial member. His light, but not too whimsical and never sugary score adds a warm emotional blanket to the action. BH later used the main theme as a standalone concert work, dedicated to Hitch, and the documentary Dial H for Hitchcock makes good use of the piece as a motif — it’s even more suitable than the Alfred Hitchcock Presents theme, capturing more of Hitch’s antic wit and childishness. It’s an atypical score — Herrmann is often thought of as a heavy composer (his dismissal of Richard Rodney Bennett’s nostalgic theme for MURDER ON THE ORIENT EXPRESS — “Didn’t the composer realize that this was a TRAIN OF DEATH?” — was used by Elmer Bernstein to illustrate Herrmann’s lack of irony) — but it seems that under the right circumstances, Herrmann could do comedy with a lighter touch than his laughing jackass orchestrations in CITIZEN KANE suggest. Very soon, of course, he would find himself scoring some of the more solemn and shocking moments in Hitch’s oeuvre.

vlcsnap-468915

One of the ironies and inconsistencies which are so much a part of life — Hitch was extremely fond of this film, and yet long stretches of it could be dismissed as exactly the kind of “photographs of people talking” that he affected to dislike. On the other hand, in some shots, of which the image above is only the most glaring example, Hitch actually gets us to laugh at camera placement itself, making for a rare kind of cinematic beauty and humour.