A Hard Day's Night: The Beatles Have Arrived to Stay Forever

If one were to dissect the fantastical hybridization of genres within Richard Lester and the Beatles's A Hard Day's Night, it might look something like a pseudo-mock-doc-musical-proto-music video film...Well, it was worth the shot, but I would like to strip away all that and categorize it as free-form fun, through and through. The timelessness, disregarding the huge fact that the Beatles, themselves, have become timeless, is found in the diversity in technique and the brilliant carelessness of any solid function within the film. The film, made in 1964, was said to have taken only two weeks to shoot. Frankly, it does seem that way, but just as frank, it looks raw and fantastic. We start out with the iconic scene of the Fab Four running away from an army of screaming girls, one of them falling (not improvised, mind you), and it seems like that is the philosophy of the film in general, which is perfect. 

Then there is another aspect of the film that is so bizarre but fits appropriately with the free-flowing mantra of the filmmakers. Take, for instance, the scene in the train where the old man sits with the band. Generational tension arises through quick one-liners here and there and the Beatles are fed up and leave the room. We then seem them outside the train, running along side of it and then teasing the old man. It is a moment of brilliant arbitrariness that we can only smile at. We don't question it or scoff at it because, in the end, they are the Beatles, who, at this time and for the screaming girls watching it, seem to transcend any sense of time and space. Thus, they can do whatever they want. Note the hilarious gag with Lennon in the bathtub. The world the band lived in was unimaginably crazy, so such craziness is embraced by the film and gives the film and the story a playful edge.

One very intelligent element of the screenplay was the distribution of lines the guys were given; they are made up of one-liners and direct observation. The Beatles seem to do well at delivery, retaining the sense of carelessness and playfulness, and there are memorable pieces of dialogue that arise from such simplicity: Ringo Starr describing himself as a 'mocker', George's reaction when he sees a man in the wardrobe, and Lennon's wise-cracks. All this works because the amount of lines given to them doesn't seem forceful but, again, free-form.

When it comes to form in a more technical perspective, cinema-verite comes to mind instantly, and this film may have popularized the technique. The camera work correlates with amateur film, further immersing us with the fun in the day in the the life (no pun intended...aw, who am I kidding) of the Beatles. Spontaneity seems to be the motivation, and some of the running scenes have shaky cameras, but it never feels overdone. When the show they perform in starts, the camera work changes to half static, half frantic, the frantic shots being the ones of the slightly neurotic girls turning into mush, whose screams almost drown out the Beatles as they sing 'She Loves You'. There is a shot of a girl breaking into tears, no actor can mimic that. A Hard Day's Night is a constant blend of authenticity, fantasy, and absurdity that meshes together in such a captivating manner.

Renowned film critic Roger Ebert has it one his Great Movies list, saying, "...it stands outside its time, its genre and even rock. It is one of the great life-affirming landmarks of the movies." I agree, wholeheartedly. In the same sense that Singin' in the Rain and My Neighbor Totoro have limitless joy, A Hard Day's Night becomes something that celebrates this joy. In addition, it has become a document of a time that seems like it will never happen again; a time where we see the Beatles as both innocent and full of youthful energy before they become (for better and for worse) convoluted with drugs and disillusionment. Nevertheless, A Hard Day's Night becomes something much more than a promotional, which is what it started as. Here is a film that doesn't place the Beatles within the context of a predetermined cinematic structure. Rather, it goes for a ride and treats us to wonderment and exuberance.

A Human Tragedy

There is a famous saying that, "only the dead have seen the end of war." 

This statement's power and truthfulness has never become more pertinent in popular culture than now, at least in my opinion. It is sad to see  an unfortunate, yet human, phenomenon occur in such a savage way to one man. Joe Paterno has died today and I have never seen such hysteria and disorientation. His life is now being labelled as scarring or contradiction; people, after such a short time, our painting the easy picture of him saying we must remember his rights and wrongs, and that's it. It seems frighteningly systematic and dehumanizing that such a life can be fittingly outlined in several basic phrases and passed on. That is the culture of the mass media, of ESPN, of the internet.

I made a Facebook post that linked Paterno's first, and last, interview after he was fired from Penn State, saying that, through the internet, it was easy to make such rash and definitive judgments about one man's life and his actions. Sometimes I hate the fact that this observation is so true, undermining any sense of emotional capacity and deep thought, which people almost instinctively forgo when making a comment about the scandal on a website or posting a status of it on Facebook...Twitter as well with its hash tags of one or two words as if we can describe numerous experiences and events in our life with so few words. Anyways, with this, people have made terrible opinions out of such a serious case. It is through this celebrity culture that we thrive on such controversy. Jerry Sandusky, though he is the main perpetrator, comes out as boring because he is just that. Joe Paterno is much more complicated; he has the legacy, the ferociousness, the wins, the competition, the school. Yet, by the end of it, we still reduce things to a few sentences and move on...might as well not say anything in the first place. I hate to see an individual and their life treated in such a hysterical manner.

Some say he is just a football coach who covered up child molestation.

This comes off quite saddening to me for a number of reasons. Joe Paterno coached at Penn State for around fifty years. He is synonymous with the college. Disregarding his position denies a passion few people have but many people search for. In addition, it reeks of ignorance of the importance his position was towards the school and a sport that is widely popular in the USA. Saying he covered up child molestation and that's it strips away much of the actual event. Official have said that his actions were the proper ones to make, nothing less and nothing more. We can all say that he could have done more, but just think of the uncertainty and fear that an individual can go through in making huge decisions like that. Why doesn't his actions seem logical, then? Because as a celebrity we need heroics or we need villains, and he is being painted both ways, nothing in between. I'm not saying he is free from fault, but I will say that such a position he was placed in is not an easy thing to describe or act upon.

We can see how passionate and connected he was to his football, he died three months after his firing. He had a place in life and he loved it, now in chaos because of one meeting that happened so many years ago. I don't know how he will be remembered in the coming month or years, but I will be curious as to what stance people take on him, if they are willing to forgive Paterno in some way, shape, or form. Forgiveness can be a beautiful thing, but just as it is easy to make conclusions on Paterno's actions, forgiveness on the internet may be just as bare-bones. I hope his death will inspire thought...then again, I wish it never took his death to inspire it.

I also wish such mass hysteria never happens to someone else ever again, that is the real tragedy. Paterno is at peace now, and he deserves it.

Triplets of Belleville: Accentuated Exaggeration at its Finest

To begin to describe Sylvain Chomet's Triplets of Belleville is an almost impossible feat. The activity in the film, regarding the animation, pacing, humor, and narrative, comes off in a titanic spectrum of impressions. It has a certain kaleidoscopic absurdity but retains some very touching human elements due to its simplicity in certain scenes. Before I try to describe the later narrative events, I want to first look at the second scene that involves the grandmother and Champion, since it is a far more gentler approach to the characters and motivations. The grandmother, through her silent determination, pushes her grandson to continue riding his bike in training for the Tour de France. Yet, this scene is propelled by the dog, Bruno, waiting for them at home. Over the years, a train track has found its way alongside the side of the house such that the dog stumbles up to the top floor to bark at all the passing trains. The dog waits for its owners, for attention and for food. The pacing of the scene is appropriate, slow and desperate. What culminates is a moment of humanity living at the speed of life, until the film explodes into feverish chaos and brilliant wickedness.

When Champion gets kidnapped by French mob men, the grandmother and Bruno follow them to Belleville, which seems to reflect New York City, except much bigger, in more ways than one...maybe a comment or two about American obesity? The duo meets up with three old women, who introduce themselves in a quirky and inventive song; they are the Triplets of Belleville, once stars during the Jazz Age. A slew of compellingly eccentric characters populate the film and through them a sense of insincerity as well as a unique style is evoked; it works because the film makes no stance in undermining it. It doesn't need to. Instead, it takes us along for the ride, offering us a chance to observe a world exceedingly exaggerated and darkly comedic.

In animation...for lack of a better way to construct this observation...animation is crucial in expressing certain elevated emotions; the medium of animation allows for certain exaggeration that amplifies a specific feeling or characteristic. There is a snobbish waiter in a underground yet high-end nightclub who seems to moving within the space as an obnoxious contortionist, complete with a rather stupid smile and a way with using his arms. Watching him move from table to table was hilarious and it fits so well because the world around him is just as ludicrous. Like the brilliant debut film of Miyazaki, Castle of Cagliostro, Triplets seems to distort physicality and the rest of reality because, through animation, it can do just that. Chomet has fun doing this nonstop in this film.

What also surprised me was the fluid transitions between dimensions in this film. In a lot of animations, 2D dominated animated feature specifically, there are attempts to implement three-dimensionality in certain scene to amplify visualizations and feelings, sometimes with awkward results. The animation seems to transition between 2D and 3D seamlessly and diversifies the strange world we witness. The ending sequence, which involves a rather stupendous chase, is a solid case for this facet, as the characters run through the maze-like streets the camera shifts in dimensionality to expose all the action and tension that is needed to maximize enjoyment, and it succeeds.

Triplets of Belleville is an animated film with a strong sense of weirdness, notwithstanding hints of grossness, rhythm (the music is superb), and pride. It's rare to find a film with this much imagination as well as an uncanny ability to sucker punch you in the face. In the States, we have South Park and Family Guy  as the closest but I find them inadequate compared to the world of Sylvain Chomet. Chomet's most recent work was the heartfelt film, The Illusionsit, a realization from the late Jaques Tati, which has its strangeness, just not as flamboyant as this film. I left this film with an eerie sense of motivation...maybe it was because of the music...I don't really know. It's hard to really know anything after watching that film.

You Can't Take It With You: To Begin to Act Like a Human

I've seen many Frank Capra films many times; I wouldn't doubt you may have as well. I have seen It Happened One Night, Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, and It's a Wonderful Life more times than I can remember, the last one can be seen annually during the Holiday season. These films hold a strong sense of belief of one's ideas, pure American ideologies, human and familial sentiment, and amusing interplay between the characters; they are all classics of Hollywood cinema. Yet, I once had the chance to see Capra's 1938 film, You Can't Take it With You, years ago on TCM and was fond of the story and of the wonderful cast of characters that moved within the frame with dazzling strangeness and delightful joviality. It was unfortunate that I had forgotten the emotions I had felt that first time...or maybe it wasn't. When I saw the film for sale at Barnes & Noble there was no way I could avoid it; a certain sensation of happiness rushed into me. I understood the story, and I love Jimmy Stewart and Jean Arthur very much, but I could not pinpoint specific feelings that urged me to buy it; I just knew I wanted this Capra film.

You Can't Take It With You is perhaps my favorite film of his, more so than his seminal classics. This film is kaleidoscopic in structure. It is filled with the usual Capra techniques and philosophies, mentioned in the last paragrpah, along with an unsual notion of eccentricity, an underliying sense of cynicsm, and a plethora of characters to accentuate the dynamism of a remarkable screenplay. I watched it for the second time recently and I was giddy with excitement through every minute of this film; there are so many reasons why it caused this happening, but one of the reasons that stood out was the appropriateness of its content to contemporary times.

So the story is about a man, Tony Kirby (Jimmy Stewart), who has just been named VP at his father's (played by Edward Arnold) banking firm, falling in love with his secretary, Alice Sycamore (Jean Arthur). Kirby's parents are snobbish millionaire who encourage their money and power to numb them of any decency. Alice's family, headed by the wise Martin Vanderhof (Lionel Barrymore), is amusingly eccentric but not afriad of its ambition. Tension arises when Alice wants to win approval of Tony's parents and their families' differences are the source of many conflicts. This description can be decribed as simple, slightly rigid, and conventional. On the contrary, leave it to Capra to develop such wonder and gentleness that reigns supreme in his films and is something no other director has mastered. The esemble creates a colorful array of intricacies and depth. Alice's family consists of a ballerina, a playwrite, a toy and mask maker, a couple of firework moakers, a xylophone and football player, and a Russian dance instructor and wrestler. They all play their parts with such playfulness; we become engaged even with their small roles. Moments of hilarity come well in scenes that are lengthy but become increasingly absurd as the family fills in the living room space with thier own passion.

Of course, the four main characters played by Stewart, Arthur, Arnold, and Barrymore are incredible. Jimmy Stewart's style of acting, his use of humor, specifically, is incomparable. Watch, and listen, of course, the way in which he delivers his jokes. There is a combination of sarcasm, amusement, gentleness, and normality. He inserts his jokes not as a bookend or as an emphasis of satire or bewilderment; he treats the joke calmly and equivalent to all of his other expressions, which makes the content of his amusements so much more endearing. Jean Arthur is lovely, one of my favorite classic screen actresses. She carries with her a certain sass that retains her pride and identity. Her squeaky voice helps to enforce this idea. When she becomes damaged and disoriented, we becomes so absorbed in this struggle since we hardly ever see her in such a position. Edward Arnold does a great job at being the powerful Mr. Kirby, who we can hate and sympathize at the same time; he falls into the same categories as many other Capra antagonists. I personally feel, though, that the great Lionel Barrymore steals the show as the grandpa. His disposition, the sentimental wisdom that he carries, coupled with his primitive physicality which includes the way Barrymore expresses with his faces, the way he uses his wrinkles to accentuate a feeling, whether of anger or unrestrained excitement. In a film with colorful characters, the slightly benign energy of Barrymore  becomes supremely charming, depicting a man who has aged and slowed down but who cherishes moments of pure emotion. I especially love the scene where he discusses love with Jean Arthur, he enjoys the moment of truthful expression, and makes sure he is true to his granddaughter on the notions of love.

I said earlier that this film resonates with contemporary times; now, I shall explain why. The film is deeply rooted in ideal American philosophy, which was, in of itself, deeply rooted in Enlightenment ideals, most notably in individual progress and a democratic society. Capra is keen on providing his narrative conflict with such elements, he does in all of his other great films, save It Happened One Night, which may talk more about Hollywood than anything else. In You Can't Take It With You, the conflict arises between individual progress and the oppression of a corporate machine, which seems to have forgotten the ideologies brought forth by our founding fathers. Mr. Kirby represents a man who has taken advantage of personal freedom and, thus, sacrifices freedoms of others, including his son's, for his own empty benefit. Martin exemplifies the more human and just approach to such ideologies. At a time where the banks failed the country and many people were still under the heavy veil of the Depression, Capra wanted to attack this sort of corporate dehumanization that surrounded him. Since this film is based on a play, much of these thoughts come through within the ordinarily brilliant screenplay. For example, one scene involves a discussion between Martin and Alice's mother involving the world as an arena, or shopping mall, of ideologies:

"Ms. Penny, why don't you write a play about 'ism' mania?"
"'Ism' mania?"
"Yes, sure."
"You know communism, fascism, voodooism, everybody's got an 'ism' these days."
"I thought it was an itch or something."
"Well, it's just as catching. When things go a little bad nowadays, you go out and get yourself an 'ism' and you're in business."

Schools of thought have become almost meaningless in our world today, since they are thrown around with such inaccuracies, disrespect, lack of knowledge, or inconsistencies. Yet, they are still thrown around, and a school of thought, or an 'ism', becomes a false pretense for someone's identity and mindset. Martin later mentions Americanism, but does not compare it to the others he mentioned. In Capra fashion, he becomes nostalgic of pure American ideals and does not treat them as passing fads but, rather, something worth practicing with truthfulness. I think Capra here is commenting on the plethora of ideologies that ran a muck in the country before WWII. Given the rest of the plot, you could probably add corporatism to Martin's list, all forgetting about the national sentiment that was once carried with such pride. Today, the obscurity is just as bad, with the competition between the main political parties as well as the reduction social networking has caused when categorizing oneself. At this moment, I nodded but was weary of its lasting effect.

The most striking piece of dialogue comes from Jean Arthur, who is sitting on a park bench with Jimmy Stewart during their date. She tells him of what Martin has always said about America these days, it is something that directly effects our country but also me, personally:

"...'most people are run by fear, fear of what they eat, fear of what they drink, fear of their jobs, their future, their health. They're scared to save money and scared to spend it,' You know what his pet aversion is? People who commercialize on fear, scare you to death to sell you something you don't need."

Maybe fear can be considered a school of thought these days; I wouldn't doubt it may have occurred to Capra at that time. Nonetheless, the line is scathing because of its lasting truth. The joy of watching this film or any Capra film is his determination to maintain inspiration and true ambition among the austere reality. There are dark undercurrents in this film and Capra is sure to point those out from time to time, sometimes resulting in harsh moments in the film, but he doesn't let it triumph over high-spirited individuality and faith in others. Yes, there are moments of its age, especially when Martin asks an internal revenue worker why the country needs to spend money on battleships. He would shortly find out, anyways, when Japan attacks Pearl Harbor three years later.Once again, though, I consider You Can't Take It With You my favorite Capra film. It has a dynamism that seems more open than his other films. Then there's this charm, brought forth from the broad spectrum of characters that populate Martin's home, that seems eccentrically marvelous in its execution. I feel this film, under all the other Capra greats, is overlooked and needs to be watched, especially in trying times. A smile would certainly result in such an experience, a smile rendered tender, thoughtful, but most of all, human.