Yoda Pegged It

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Remember the scene in The Empire Strikes Back where Jedi Master Yoda tells Luke Skywalker that Luke's problem is that his mind is always looking away, always somewhere else, and not focused on whatever business is at hand?

When I watched It's A Wonderful Life, again [how many years in a row has that been, now?--Ed.], on Christmas Eve, I suddenly realized that George Bailey is the spiritual father of Luke Skywalker. His mind was always somewhere else, not on what was going on around him. His resentment of the circumstances that kept him in Bedford Falls, away from his dreams of college, of seeing the world, and apart from the larger life he thought he wanted, all would have made him an ideal candidate for being turned to the Dark Side of the Force.

Thank God for Clarence the Angel! Clarence was no Yoda--nor even an Obi-Wan--but he had enough practical intelligence to get through to George before it was too late. Clarence showed George that the world was a much meaner place without him; Yoda showed Luke that Luke was in literal danger of making the world a meaner place by becoming his father. Both mentors succeeded in convincing their students that living in the moment, being contented with what they had, was all that mattered. And they both ultimately achieved their happy endings.

[A quick aside: I read a review of It's A Wonderful Life which claimed it didn't matter that George, through the generosity of friends and family, repaid the $8,000 shortage in the savings and loan's accounts. The reviewer claimed the crime had still been committed and George would still have to pay the price. The reviewer obviously was no lawyer. Not only did George NOT steal the money, neither George nor his uncle had any intent to defraud the savings and loan. No intent, no crime. Yes, charges may have been filed, and investigations would be done, and sooner or later, it would be seen that the evil Mr. Potter wrongly kept the money once he realized George's uncle had unwittingly given it to him. Ultimately, Potter, in trying to engineer George's final downfall, merely hastened his own.--Ed.}

The ending of It's A Wonderful Life always used to irritate me. I thought it would have had more impact if no one had come through with the replacement money, but had shown up to give George moral support. After this year's viewing, however, I'm not so sure. Maybe I need a little "happy ending" fantasy of my own . . . maybe it's the downward drag of current nationwide economic circumstances . . . maybe it's just that I'm a little older, a little wiser, and a lot sadder and more disillusioned about humanity in general . . . for whatever reasons, I found myself sobbing by the end of the movie, grieving for the suffering its plot revealed and wishing desperately that such an ending were a real possibility in this world.

I haven't felt that much visceral pain in a long time. I hope I don't have to experience any more any time soon.

The Mouth That Roared Is At It Again

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In his latest literary foray, Call Me Ted, Ted Turner, the infamous "Mouth of the South," defends his practice of colorizing old black and white movies. Excuse me while I cringe. Years ago, when he first bought the MGM film library, I feared trouble was afoot. But after watching the obvious care and affection with which movies are treated on his Turner Classic Movies cable channel, I decided that Robert Osborne and Ben Mankiewicz (hosts of some of the better TMC series) must have corrected Turner's thinking. My bad.

I am no Luddite. I do not disagree that colorizing some old movies is OK. It's fine to colorize old classics such as the Laurel and Hardy films and the Abbott and Costello films. Those movies would have been shot in color in the first place had the technology and the financing been available. If colorizing them now makes them more interesting to a new generation of film fans who otherwise would never bother to watch, so much the better. Familiarity with Stan and Ollie and with Bud and Lou is essential to any film fan's knowledge base. That colorization is flat and relatively lifeless does not harm one's ability to appreciate their movies. Their humor gives those films their real liveliness and reveals their comedic genius. No amount of colorization can kill that.

But it's flat-out wrong to colorize any film noir. And it would be sacrilege to colorize Citizen Kane. Noir films rely on black and white cinematography for their mood and effect. Orson Welles designed Citizen Kane to be shot in black and white. Colorizing it is intolerable. Period.

There may be other films that are on the border between "colorize" and "don't you dare!" Off the top of my head, I can't think of any specific titles. Suggestions are welcome, along with reasons why or why not the suggestions should be colorized. I suspect we're into a "case by case basis" analysis. [Not unlike the ballot-by-ballot recount in the Minnesota US Senate race.--Ed.] This would be a great topic for a dinner party discussion. Come on over--I'll cook!

Revisiting The 70s

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I was channel surfing last night when I discovered that one of the cable networks was running all three Airport movies (Airport, Airport '75, Airport '77). It was fun, revisiting the pop culture of my latter high school and early college years, but it was also disquieting. Like watching a train wreck in slow motion.

I loved seeing the old Hollywood stars--everyone from Gloria Swanson to Olivia deHavilland, Joseph Cotton to Jimmy Stewart, Charlton Heston to Burt Lancaster, Lee Grant to Helen Hayes--mixing it up with young, important (in the day) stars like Brenda Vaccaro and Karen Black, Monte Markham and Erik Estrada (yes, that one--playing a curly-haired obnoxious kid)--and, of course, the acting link uniting all three films, George Kennedy. Not to mention the colorful cameos provided by everyone from Sid Caesar to Jerry Stiller to Darrin McGavin. It was both interesting and instructive to see how real stars, with real star power, tried (albeit with varying degrees of success) to make very, very thin material worthwhile.

[For my money, Burt Lancaster's best role ever was not in Airport; it was as Doc Graham in Field of Dreams. Efram Zimbalist, Jr., as the wounded but gallant pilot in Airport '75, was about the only credible thing in that film. However, Olivia deHavilland, in Airport '77, was a totally delightful hoot as a Steel Magnolia with a penchant for playing poker.--Ed]

But the clothes were awful, each movie's plot was less and less credible than the one in the movie before [--not to mention that the state of airport security was less than woeful . . . especially by current standards.--Ed.], and the attitudes! Well, all I can say is, we have come a long way, baby!

No matter that several female characters in the films had important careers of their own, requiring them to make significant, often split-second, decisions. In danger and crisis, all females cry, wail, and wring their hands because they don't know what to do until they are rescued by some big, strong, handsome man. (And while I agree that Jack Lemmon with a mustache was good-looking in an offbeat sort of way, his obviously thinning hair shot his credibility for me as a romantic lead. Charlton Heston in a too-thin yellow turtleneck that showed only his relative lack of torsal muscle tone, was, well . . . eeeeeuuuuwwwwww! Give that man a bra!) The only independently competent thing any of the females seemed to be able to do was provide care and comfort for the injured.

And every one of them, no matter how old, was a "girl." And no matter what her name was, she was "honey." And she had to be spoken to in strong, stern, parental tones to calm her fears so that she would be able to focus on what she was being told to do. 'Cause that was the only sure way to make her do it competently.

I thought I was going to puke.

Not to mention that every single "bad guy" somehow or another "got his" by the end--with just enough innocent victims along the way to make the bad guys' deaths somehow even more justifiable than they'd have been otherwise. The morality of these films was starkly black and white despite all their widescreen Technicolor splendor.

Still and all, if it weren't for these three films, we'd never have gotten Airplane!; that alone justifies the continued existence of the Airport film trilogy.

And stop calling me Shirley!

Snakes! Why'd It Have To Be Snakes?

"Indiana, he's my man
"He's my hero, I'm his biggest fan . . ."
[try singing it to the tune of the main title theme of the Raiders movies--it works]

I hate to admit it, but I am excited that Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull is about to invade movie theaters nationwide. I've been a fan of Harrison Ford's way back since American Graffiti was in initial release, and of George Lucas's for the same film. Of Steven Spielberg's? Since Jaws. Well, the first half of Jaws, anyway.

However, I was skeptical about this fourth installment in the Indiana Jones series until I heard that (1) Ford was going to play Indy at his own real age--'cause as good as Ford still looks, I don't think any 65-year-old can play 30-something realistically, and (2) Karen Allen would reprise her role as Marion Ravenwood from Raiders of the Lost Ark. We should get answers to some questions that have long plagued us--like did their relationship 10 years before Raiders end because Indy left Marian at the alter, or did he just seduce her and then dump her? And is Shia LaBeouf's character Indy's and Marian's son? (According to what I've heard, the answer to this is "yes.")

But now, I can hardly wait to see it. This is additionally miraculous because I no longer much enjoy seeing movies in theaters. Too much talking, too much cell phone silliness, too much loudness from the speakers--going to the movies hasn't been "going to the movies" for a long, long time.

I'm going to make the exception to see this one, though. From the trailer and the buzz, it looks to be just as good, funny, and exciting as any of the first three. In other words, well worth the time and frustrations of seeing it in a theater.

As part of the pre-release hype, the Omaha World-Herald has been asking readers to submit their favorite moments from the first three films. My all-time favorite moment so far comes from Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade: it's the scene wherein Henry Jones, Sr. (Sean Connery) hugs his son tight once he realizes that Indy didn't go over the cliff with the Nazi tank. The feelings washing over Indy's face at that moment--the sense of relief, of reconciliation, of redemption--are wondrous. He finally is getting the one and only thing he ever wanted from his father--unconditional love. And then, of course, it's right back to business as usual, Saving The World. The breeze blowing Indy's fedora back to him when his father drops him and Indy collapses to his knees, exhausted, is Spielberg's version of the opening of Beethoven's Fifth Symphony: it's Fate knocking at the door.

My second most favorite moment all-time also comes from The Last Crusade: it's the entire back-story of how Indy became Indy. River Phoenix was brilliant as young Indiana Jones [his death in real life was too tragic for one so young and talented--did you know he'd also played Ford's character's elder son in The Mosquito Coast? For my money, that's Ford's finest role, though it's incredibly painful to watch.--Ed.] Besides, it's screamingly funny and incredibly inventive. And it all makes perfect sense, given the context of what we already know about our intrepid archaeologist.

My favorite "moment" from Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom is actually the mine car roller coaster ride. It's a perfect encapsulation of what Indiana Jones movies are all about: extremely high production values, excitement, danger, humor, and revealing glimpses of the characters' inner selves, all delivered at breakneck speed. It literally careens almost off the tracks, without ever going too far over the edge into irrelevant campiness.

It's much more difficult to pick a favorite moment from Raiders of the Lost Ark. I watched it again last night, and realized just how much I'd been taking for granted of late. The entire movie is wonderful. It was unique when it was released in 1981; it remains so today. Though if I had to pick only one moment, it would be the one where the scimitar-wielding Arab in black is threatening Indy and with a look of perfect weariness, Indy takes out his pistol and shoots the guy. It gets the biggest and longest laugh of the movie. As I understand it, it was also Harrison Ford's idea. They'd been filming all day, he was suffering from dysentery, and he just wanted to be done. Spielberg and Lucas are to be commended for recognizing the brilliance of the moment and letting it stand, instead of filming the long "whip vs. scimitar" fight sequence in the original script.

No, I'm not objective about any of this. Harrison Ford has been an oddly significant presence in my life in many weird ways. My first date with my now ex-husband was to see Star Wars back when it was first released in 1977. We saw Raiders of the Lost Ark the night we got engaged in 1981. And the night I nearly died from my lung disease and it was finally diagnosed correctly was on Harrison Ford's birthday in 1988.

I wonder, though: at each of those moments, I thought Harrison Ford was my good luck charm. Given the way things have turned out, however, maybe I should hate him instead of being such a fan . . .