charishankar
Joined Oct 2010
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charishankar's rating
So iconic is 'Gaslight' that it resulted in the emergence, in the English language, of an entirely new expression - "gaslighting" - which refers to the manipulation of one person by another, into doubting her, or his, own sanity.
The basic plot premise of 'Gaslight', and its validity may, clinically speaking, be, perhaps, questionable, involving, as it does, the systematic psychological exploitation of Paula (faultlessly played by Ingrid Bergman in what may, arguably, be her finest screen performance) by her husband Gregory (Charles Boyer), into believing that she is insane.
It hardly matters.
The credibility of the premise, as it ultimately unfolds, tellingly, on the screen, is attributable, to a large extent, to the absolutely spine-chilling manner in which Boyer has portrayed the character. It remains one of the greatest depictions of villainy I have had the fortune to witness, and Boyer, as Gregory, deserves to be ranked as one of the greatest screen villains ever. So internalized, indeed, is Boyer's act that it necessarily, required, as its foil, a performance of equally sustained intensity, by a matching performer, and it is hard to imagine anyone but Bergman essaying Paula. Bergman's role is especially difficult, and is played, by that consummate performer, as required by the script, in several layers, and at various levels. From star-struck adoration, to progressive mental debilitation, to steely self-determination in the concluding moments of the film, Bergman's act spans the entire emotional spectrum, without missing a single beat.
Between them, Boyer and Bergman create an unforgettable cinematic experience, rewarding and cathartic in equal measure. THIS is superlative film noir, which, ever so often in lesser films, tends to falter towards the end. 'Gaslight', however, remains as rewarding, in its climactic moments, during which Joseph Cotten provides much-awaited relief from the palpable tension that pervades the film. We know, eventually, how the story has to end, but, in its telling, we remain transfixed.
Undeniably a Cukor masterpiece, and deserving of every one of the ten stars that I have chosen to award.
The basic plot premise of 'Gaslight', and its validity may, clinically speaking, be, perhaps, questionable, involving, as it does, the systematic psychological exploitation of Paula (faultlessly played by Ingrid Bergman in what may, arguably, be her finest screen performance) by her husband Gregory (Charles Boyer), into believing that she is insane.
It hardly matters.
The credibility of the premise, as it ultimately unfolds, tellingly, on the screen, is attributable, to a large extent, to the absolutely spine-chilling manner in which Boyer has portrayed the character. It remains one of the greatest depictions of villainy I have had the fortune to witness, and Boyer, as Gregory, deserves to be ranked as one of the greatest screen villains ever. So internalized, indeed, is Boyer's act that it necessarily, required, as its foil, a performance of equally sustained intensity, by a matching performer, and it is hard to imagine anyone but Bergman essaying Paula. Bergman's role is especially difficult, and is played, by that consummate performer, as required by the script, in several layers, and at various levels. From star-struck adoration, to progressive mental debilitation, to steely self-determination in the concluding moments of the film, Bergman's act spans the entire emotional spectrum, without missing a single beat.
Between them, Boyer and Bergman create an unforgettable cinematic experience, rewarding and cathartic in equal measure. THIS is superlative film noir, which, ever so often in lesser films, tends to falter towards the end. 'Gaslight', however, remains as rewarding, in its climactic moments, during which Joseph Cotten provides much-awaited relief from the palpable tension that pervades the film. We know, eventually, how the story has to end, but, in its telling, we remain transfixed.
Undeniably a Cukor masterpiece, and deserving of every one of the ten stars that I have chosen to award.
Doc Hollywood is, by far, one of the best comedies, as well as one of the best romantic comedies - the two constituting distinct and different films genres - I have ever seen.
Michael Caton-Jones, directing the film, has taken exquisite care to ensure that there is not a single dark moment, and that the audience keeps smiling throughout. The plot is one long hoot. Ben Stone - whose unfortunate name acts up against him when he rams his car into a fence and a local villager asks - "Did he say he's ben stone?" - is a doctor who decides to migrate to LA to learn cosmetic surgery and, en route, as noted above, rams his car into a fence in Grady, a small village, which kicks off a series of haps and mishaps, each more side-splitting than the one before it. Ben (winningly portrayed by Michael J. Fox) is convicted, for having rammed said car into said fence, by Judge Evans - who incidentally is also the owner of the hapless fence, and seems blissfully unaware of the basic legal principle that one cannot be a judge in one's own cause - to 48 hours of community service at the local Grady Hospital. He has his car taken apart by the local mechanic, thereby extending his stay at the village, willy nilly; falls in love with ambulance driver-cum-single mother Lou (a luminescent Julie Warner in her first significant acting role, who steals every scene she's in); is gifted an adorable pig, by one of his patients who claims to have no other means to pay Ben's fees; saves said pig from becoming the mechanic's dinner by a last minute dash to the butcher, because, incidentally, that's the reason why Lou agrees to go on a date with him ... it's one mad romp throughout, every moment of which is magic. The love angle between Ben and Lou, which unfolds ever so sweetly, and includes a transcendental waltz in a carnival, set to Patsy Cline's 'Crazy', in which everyone else magically disappears and leaves them dancing, alone and with each other, is sheer delight. Even Woody Harrelson, who pays the 'third angle' to the triangle involving Ben and Lou, and whom Lou, at one point, even agrees to marry, is no villain, but, instead, portrayed as a lovable yokel. Its like a classic Wodehouse novel ... there are no dark moments, there is no villian, there are an adorable hero and heroine, and the heroine, ultimately, has to reach the arms of the hero. Mind you, this can hardly be regarded as a spoiler, as the end of the film is forewritten with the very first sight Ben has of Lou ... in which, incidentally, she is in the nude. When Ben offers her a blanket to cover herself, she smiles - "if you're a doctor, I haven't got anything you haven't seen before."
And yet, unusually for its time, there is no sex in the entire film. Rather, though Lou implores Ben, at one point, to forget everything and make love to her, Ben, gallantly, says that it would not be correct, as he is leaving town in two days. In any other film, this would be anachronistic; in this, it's just charming.
The only one scene which, in my view, could have been avoided, involves Ben and Lou devising a novel way to keep off hunters in the woods ... but even that scene, strictly speaking, is not really bad ... it's just not as perfect as the rest of the film.
See it. It's magic.
At one point, Ben and Lou have an argument, as to whether Ben had, or had not, won a bet he had, with the town mayor, that he would win Lou over within a week. Ben says he won it; Lou insists he didn't, and that he had breached the one week-limitation. You can see the film and draw your own conclusions; but I think he won the bet.
Michael Caton-Jones, directing the film, has taken exquisite care to ensure that there is not a single dark moment, and that the audience keeps smiling throughout. The plot is one long hoot. Ben Stone - whose unfortunate name acts up against him when he rams his car into a fence and a local villager asks - "Did he say he's ben stone?" - is a doctor who decides to migrate to LA to learn cosmetic surgery and, en route, as noted above, rams his car into a fence in Grady, a small village, which kicks off a series of haps and mishaps, each more side-splitting than the one before it. Ben (winningly portrayed by Michael J. Fox) is convicted, for having rammed said car into said fence, by Judge Evans - who incidentally is also the owner of the hapless fence, and seems blissfully unaware of the basic legal principle that one cannot be a judge in one's own cause - to 48 hours of community service at the local Grady Hospital. He has his car taken apart by the local mechanic, thereby extending his stay at the village, willy nilly; falls in love with ambulance driver-cum-single mother Lou (a luminescent Julie Warner in her first significant acting role, who steals every scene she's in); is gifted an adorable pig, by one of his patients who claims to have no other means to pay Ben's fees; saves said pig from becoming the mechanic's dinner by a last minute dash to the butcher, because, incidentally, that's the reason why Lou agrees to go on a date with him ... it's one mad romp throughout, every moment of which is magic. The love angle between Ben and Lou, which unfolds ever so sweetly, and includes a transcendental waltz in a carnival, set to Patsy Cline's 'Crazy', in which everyone else magically disappears and leaves them dancing, alone and with each other, is sheer delight. Even Woody Harrelson, who pays the 'third angle' to the triangle involving Ben and Lou, and whom Lou, at one point, even agrees to marry, is no villain, but, instead, portrayed as a lovable yokel. Its like a classic Wodehouse novel ... there are no dark moments, there is no villian, there are an adorable hero and heroine, and the heroine, ultimately, has to reach the arms of the hero. Mind you, this can hardly be regarded as a spoiler, as the end of the film is forewritten with the very first sight Ben has of Lou ... in which, incidentally, she is in the nude. When Ben offers her a blanket to cover herself, she smiles - "if you're a doctor, I haven't got anything you haven't seen before."
And yet, unusually for its time, there is no sex in the entire film. Rather, though Lou implores Ben, at one point, to forget everything and make love to her, Ben, gallantly, says that it would not be correct, as he is leaving town in two days. In any other film, this would be anachronistic; in this, it's just charming.
The only one scene which, in my view, could have been avoided, involves Ben and Lou devising a novel way to keep off hunters in the woods ... but even that scene, strictly speaking, is not really bad ... it's just not as perfect as the rest of the film.
See it. It's magic.
At one point, Ben and Lou have an argument, as to whether Ben had, or had not, won a bet he had, with the town mayor, that he would win Lou over within a week. Ben says he won it; Lou insists he didn't, and that he had breached the one week-limitation. You can see the film and draw your own conclusions; but I think he won the bet.
'Before Sunrise' is a love story like no other. To classify it as a 'rom com' would be to do it signal disservice. It is an exquisite montage of beautiful moments, over the course of a single evening and night, involving just two people, over which ... it cannot really be said that they 'fall in love'. They are in love from the very first scene; that's apparent, but, over that unforgettable night, they realize what it means to both of them. Their love, as it were, acquires form and takes shape. Which is why I say that this is a love story like no other - I have not seen another film which, instead of relating how the lead characters FALL in love, relates, instead, how they understand what their love means to each of them.
Ethan Hawke and Julie Delpy, she as beautiful as he is handsome, essay these characters (Jesse and Celine) with warmth and empathy. The film is bound to remind you of Audrey Hepburn-Gregory Peck's unforgettable day in Rome, and is, in a way, a modern take on that classic. There is, however, a lot more conversation here - meaningful and poignant in equal measure, dealing with everything from reincarnation to relationships, to love and childbirth, to politics and poverty. We immediately relate to it and, over the course of said conversation, the relationship between Jesse and Celine acquires contour and colour. There are ever so many scenes which you take home with you and which cannot be forgotten, of which my two personal favourites take place in a music hearing room in a record shop, somewhere during the first twenty minutes or so, when they listen to a record (and during which, as admitted by Delpy in an interview, she almost fell in love with Hawke), and later, when they declare their love for each other, in a telephonic conversation ACROSS a dinner table (you have to see the film to know how THAT happens).
Rewardingly, the film ends on a note which, though bittersweet, is more sweet than bitter, and closes with a smile.
One of the most incisive studies of first love (though Jesse and Celine both confess to having been in earlier 'relationships') possibly filmed, 'Before Sunrise' is a film made clearly with the heart, rather than the head. Richard Linklater handles each scene in the film with the delicacy of a Ming vase, allowing, even while his lead characters prattle on, so much to remain unspoken between them. These unspoken feelings are, I suppose, what we know as 'love'.
Or so 'Before Sunrise' would have us believe. And I, for one, am persuaded to.
Ethan Hawke and Julie Delpy, she as beautiful as he is handsome, essay these characters (Jesse and Celine) with warmth and empathy. The film is bound to remind you of Audrey Hepburn-Gregory Peck's unforgettable day in Rome, and is, in a way, a modern take on that classic. There is, however, a lot more conversation here - meaningful and poignant in equal measure, dealing with everything from reincarnation to relationships, to love and childbirth, to politics and poverty. We immediately relate to it and, over the course of said conversation, the relationship between Jesse and Celine acquires contour and colour. There are ever so many scenes which you take home with you and which cannot be forgotten, of which my two personal favourites take place in a music hearing room in a record shop, somewhere during the first twenty minutes or so, when they listen to a record (and during which, as admitted by Delpy in an interview, she almost fell in love with Hawke), and later, when they declare their love for each other, in a telephonic conversation ACROSS a dinner table (you have to see the film to know how THAT happens).
Rewardingly, the film ends on a note which, though bittersweet, is more sweet than bitter, and closes with a smile.
One of the most incisive studies of first love (though Jesse and Celine both confess to having been in earlier 'relationships') possibly filmed, 'Before Sunrise' is a film made clearly with the heart, rather than the head. Richard Linklater handles each scene in the film with the delicacy of a Ming vase, allowing, even while his lead characters prattle on, so much to remain unspoken between them. These unspoken feelings are, I suppose, what we know as 'love'.
Or so 'Before Sunrise' would have us believe. And I, for one, am persuaded to.