Guess Who's Coming to Dinner? (Stanley Kramer, 1967)

At one point in Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner? Sidney Poitier, the African-American husband-to-be, tells Spencer Tracy, the father-of-the-bride, how their potential children may become Presidents of the United States. Poitier, lightening the mood, acknowledges that he’ll accept Secretary of State – of course, his wife-to-be is possibly too ambitious. Made in 1967, it seems the filmmakers weren’t too ambitious, and only six years prior to the cinema release date, in Kapiʻolani Maternity & Gynecological Hospital in Honolulu, Hawaii, Barack Hussein Obama II was born. It is difficult to imagine the era in fact. We know the horror stories and the necessity of the civil rights movement, depicted recently in Ava DuVernay’s Selma. But, born into a racially intolerant world, it is difficult to comprehend the abuse that afflicted the black populace of America. Bear in mind that, while the film was in cinemas, Martin Luther King was assassinated. This was a different time.

A taboo topic, Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner? introduces Joanna Drayton (Katherine Houghton) hopping off a plane with her lover Dr. John Wayde Prentice Jr (Poitier). They talk casually about the inevitable shock her parents (Hepburn and Tracy, ending a nine-film run together) will receive. Mrs Drayton is shocked but accepting, while Mr Drayton is more concerned. Crucially for their safety – and the inevitable abuse their child would receive. The final act introduces John’s parents also, who are equally concerned about the future. The maid, Tilly (Isabel Sanford), is vocal about her frustrations, explaining how she dislikes anyone who is acting ‘above himself’. Director Stanley Kramer jumps from couples sparring and awkward group moments comfortably. Though clearly structured to emphasise the various opinions and positions taken, he resolves the film comfortably with a finale that accepts change, albeit without all parties agreeing on the issue – but a sense that, in time, they will.

Inevitably perhaps, watching within the 21^st Century, Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner? seems awfully twee, and reeks of a sentimentality that is simply at odds with our current perspective. The reason the interracial marriage wins over the bride’s father is because they’re “in love” - something clear from the outset, but it takes him the duration to accept. Star performances from Spencer Tracy, Sidney Poitier and (the BFI season dedicated to) Katherine Hepburn are outstanding, and full of warmth. The film was Tracy’s last (dying only 17 days after production) and, in one scene, the final monologue took six days to shoot. It is clearly a small-scale film, and it could easily be a play off-Broadway rather than appearing on the silver screen. But its message is clear – change is coming and your masculinity, traditional expectations and fear won’t stop the glorious future that waits.

This is what makes cinema endlessly fascinating. For all its flaws, this is a moment in history. Spencer Tracy’s final film captures attitudes in an era that I, for one, wasn’t present for. Imagine if cinema was available as an art form during the French Revolution – what conversations and situations would be presented? The last 100 years of cinema has meant that every momentous, historical occasion has a library of films that run alongside the event. Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner? joins In the Heat of the Night and To Kill a Mockingbird as key films in an era that changed the future of the western world.

This post was originally written for Flickering Myth in March 2015

Cool Hand Luke (Stuart Rosenburg, 1967)

"What we've got here ... is failure to communicate..."

Introduction

I remember at University I watched One Night at McCool's and, mentioning to a friend that a certain car-washing scene was clearly referencing Cool Hand Luke, he replied that he was suprised I had seen such a film. Apparently, it wasn't the 'type' of film I would watch. At the time, it probably wasn't. Indeed, I had not seen the film at thatr point in my life. I just knew that any car-washing involving women pressing-themselves against a soaking-wet car, pouring suds onto their chest, is always from Cool Hand Luke. I think I knew this because a "50 Sexiest Scenes from Films" programme placed this sequence in the Top 10. As a teenager, I wasn't going to forget that. But there is so much more to this unforgettable classic...

Nothing to Lose

The set-up is simple. Luke (Paul Newman) has been placed in prison for vandalising parking meters in a small town. For his sentence, he is sent to a prison camp whereby the prisoners pave roads and cut down long-grass. Its a labour-camp like no other, but Luke inspires the prisoners within through refusing to "stay down" after a fight with inmate Dragline (George Kennedy) and after winning a flippant bet to eat fifty hard-boilded eggs within an hour. The name "Cool Hand" Luke is given after he wins a game of poker by bluffing what he has - telling the inmates that when you have nothing, you have nothing to lose.

The idea of hope in such dire circumstances is what truly separates this film from the pack. It is not a story of redemption or simply a bad-guy-turns-good. It is much more. Through paving a road Luke manages to earn 2-hours of peace for the inmates as the job is completed faster than expected. The challenge of fifty-eggs manages to, for a few moments, give the prisoners something different to think about. The comparison to The Shawshank Redemption is clear and overwhelming, but there is a crucial difference. After eating fifty eggs, Luke lays on the table almost naked. Arms outstretched, legs together in a clear Christ-like crucifix. But Luke doesn't believe in God - and the prisoners idolise Luke. The Shawshank Redemption is known to be an uplifting, Christian-story of hope. Cool Hand Luke is almost the opposite - as, I believe, it directly challenges faith in the world and argues atheism at its heart.

Faith and its Falseness

Following the visit from Luke's mother, he manages to become inspirational. It is this section whereby Luke provides hope to the convicts. But then his Mother passes away and, rather than speak about seeing her in the afterlife, he sings the following song:

"Well, I don't care if it rains or freezes, long as I got my plastic Jesus, sittin' on the dashboard of my car/ Comes in colors, pink and pleasant, glows in the dark cause it's irridescent ... Take it with you when you travel far.

Get yourself a sweet Madonna, dressed in rhinestones sittin' on a pedestal of abalone shell
Goin' ninety, I ain't scary, 'cause I've got the Virgin Mary, assurin' me that I won't go to Hell."

His Mother has passed and, rather than pray, he reminds himself that faith is crutch people use to hold them up in times of need. Faith is the hope that people cling to, to convince them that the world around them is safe. In the same way the prisoners cling onto him, to take their mind off the reality about how confined they truly are. The scene is followed almost immediately by the guards telling Luke that he will be staying in 'The Box' for days, as many prisoners often try to run after a family members die. As if to highlight how the brutality and cruelty between humans is more 'real' than a plastic Jesus telling you everything will be okay. For Luke, it is not okay - and his justification for his atheism is due to human nature. How can there be a God when people treat each other so badly? How can a prisoner commit a sin in the first place, if they truly believe that God will judge them in the afterlife?

The iconic line that hits the first time after Luke fails to escape - "What we've got here... is failure to communicate" works both ways. In the same way that Luke understands how he is expected to act - he disagree's with the harsh-labour expected of him in correlation to his crime. Like faith, and indeed, prayer - the lack of verbal communication highlights the falseness of faith. There is no understanding or clarification to the true realities of the world. Especially in the few texts available - the vast interpretations of the Bible, unto itself, show a "lack of communication" from God's part. Within the context of the prison, this lack of communicationis is personified in the 'Walking Boss' (Morgan Woodward). A prison guard who doesn't speak and always wears sunglasses - therefore we never see his eyes. This man has no soul and only exists to create fear amongst the prisoners. He is a perfect marksman. He can, and will, shoot you if he needs to. The camera often cuts to Woodward when the Captain (Strother Martin) speaks - as if to highlight how he may be the true Captain.

Does the 'Walking Boss' protect the men? Does he support them or give them strength? Does he help the men when they are in times of trouble? No. It seems that he simply watches and he takes away any hope they have. Luke becomes the prisoner's Saviour - and the hope that they cling onto:

"Hope becomes a coping mechanism, a way of convincing yourself that it’s better to contemplate Luke’s gloriously failed escape than to stage one’s own, and the net effect of actual “subversion” is to make the situation worse." - Adam K (An und fur sich)

The site, An und fur sich, even goes so far to say how Luke himself is akin to the character Lucille (The girl who washes the car in one scene). She teases the hope of escape and a future - and Luke does this too. Luke acts as if he is free - and this is what the prisoners want too. We might be able to be subjective about what Luke either is, or symbolises, but we are also shown Luke's inner struggle too. And Luke is no Andy DuFrane

The Opposite to Shawshank

The Shawshank Redemption ends by (spoilers...) Andy Dufrane (Tim Robbins), the innocent man in Shawshank Prison, escaping through the back of his prison cell. Something he personally worked at, chipping away at it for many years, before achieving his escape to a heavenly beach. Rosenburg directs Cool Hand Luke to show how when Luke escapes, it provides hope for the convicts. Until he is returned. He tells the prisoners about how a policeman, purely by chance, found him. We are not shown this - and we question the truth to this story, but the fact remains: He is caught.

He tries again and manages to succeed. He sends a picture of his exploits as he sits with two attractive women. The prisoners are amazed - fascinated by his escape and they talk about it as if Luke was a myth. Until he is brought back, again. He is covered in blood and has been beaten by the guards. No chains can bind him perhaps and "the man" always catches up with him. He tells the prisoners the picture is phoney. He is physically and mentally tortured by the guards before "cracking" and getting his "mind right". This man is not the quiet, sensitive hero. When Luke "cracks", it is tragic.

In The Shawshank Redemption, an important - I'd say crucial element - to the story is his innocence. Andy Dufrane is in prison for a crime he didn't commit. Luke, in this film, has comitted a crime. There is no doubt about this as we see him commit the crime in the opening sequence. Whilst Dufrane mocks the authority, Luke directly challenges it. He confronts it by almost ignoring the shckles that bind him. He charms the guards so that they even see the injustice as they apologise when told to place him 'the box'. The finale of the two films are also tragically different. Whilst Dufrane successfully escapes (on the first attempt), Luke escapes three times - and the last time shows how institutionalised Dragline is. Indeed, Dragline still believes the chance the police will give them. But again, the "failure to communicate" is what kills Luke. God doesn't offer a hand when Luke turns to him - and, as if to show the cruelty of man, as soon as Luke shows his face, he is shot down. 

There is a little ambiguity over Luke's true character - did he really make a "phoney" picture? did he "crack" under pressure? I believe this is the same with regard to a certai ambiguity over the scathing attack it has on faith. Luke turns to God as a cynic. He doesn't want to believe - at no point has he wanted to believe. The notes I have raised are primarily from his perspective - and maybe we are not expected to see the story in the same light. Should we see it as a moral tale about someones refusal to accept God - and the consequences?

We know that Hollywood has a difficult time in clearly showing us a story that actively attempts to dismiss faith. The horrendous execution of The Golden Compass is a tribute to what happens when someone bastardizes an atheists argument in fictional form. In the sixties, this must've been much more difficult. Ambiguity is neccessary - but I think we see the point.

People turn to faith because they need hope. Because they need something to tell them there is more to this world than the cruelty and inhumane treatment between others. Ironically, it is the inhumanity which is real - and faith which is unreal.

Bonnie and Clyde (Arthur Penn, 1967)

"This here's Miss Bonnie Parker. I'm Clyde Barrow. We rob banks"

Introduction

In terms of the New Hollywood, Bonnie and Clyde and Easy Rider remain the two seminal films that slowly led to the rise of filmmakers such as Martin Scorsese, Francis Ford Coppola and William Friedkin. Both Bonnie and Clyde and Easy Rider were directed by filmmakers who wanted to make cinema more controversial and gratuitous in its use of violence, sex and drugs. Whilst Dennis Hopper directed a film about two lone bike-riders travelling across America to take part in a drug-fuelled binge at Mardi Gras, Arthur Penn directed a violent, gangster film with lead protagonist's that were cold-hearted murderers with their only intention to rob banks and keep on running from the cops. Killing as many cops in the process. These films were hugely successful and they ensured that producers gave more freedom to filmmakers. This led to The Deer Hunter and The Godfather, films that through their financial success, led to producers wholly trusting the directors. Catastrophes such as Heaven's Gate destroyed United Artists studio whilst Apocalypse Now became an infamous production that wasted millions of pounds and seemed to be 'in production' for an unnecessary and unplanned amount of time. Bonnie and Clyde, pre-dating Easy Rider, began this movement and today still stands as one of the most important films in American cinema.

Based on a True Story

Though we see two characters who existed, this is not an accurate account of the Barrow Gang. In the first instance, CW Moss (Michael J. Pollard) is a composite of two people - WD Jones and Henry Methin. Both Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow, in reality, had been arrested and placed in jail many times during the course of their criminal run. The two people did not send photo's and their writing to the press to gain notoriety - these were items which were found and published by the police. In fact, the poem read in the final act of the film was only published in the press after Bonnie's Mum agreed to the publication after Bonnie and Clydes death. As a final example, the shoot-out at the end of the film depicting Bonnie and Clyde, shot-down, just as they were about to go 'straight' could not be farther from the truth. In reality, Bonnie and Clyde had in the back the car "over a dozen guns and several thousand rounds of ammo". There are so many deviations from the reality of Bonnie and Clyde, that it is a much better idea to simply see this as another interpretation of bank-robbers on the run.

The Symbolic Phallus

From the very first meeting between Bonnie (Faye Dunaway) and Clyde (Warren Beatty), we see a strange anti-climactic nature to their relationship. The first sequence shows Bonnie, naked, in her house. Her feminity and sexuality is clear - and yet, following the first robbery, the two fail to consumate their relationship. Indeed, Bonnie tries very hard to seduce Clyde but he pushes her away claiming he "ain't no lover boy". In reality, Clyde Barrow's first killing was in prison, whereby the victim sexually assualted him repeatedly before Barrow killed him with a length of pipe. In the film, it is clear that the gun - which Bonnie caresses gently in a sexual manner - clearly represents Clydes masculinity. He is depicted as impotent; it is this weapon that defines who he is.

Bonnie, on the other hand, seeks more solace and regularly attempts to whisk Clyde away so the two can be alone. When Buck (Gene Hackman) and his wife join the gang, you can see that Bonnie finds the company claustrophobic. She insults and despises Blanche (Estelle Parsons) and is angered by the prospect of paying her. It is only in the final act do we see Bonnie and Clyde make love and this seems to be what changes their relationship - they even discuss the future as Bonnie asks Clyde what he would do if they woke up the following morning free with "nobody chasing us".

Influence and Inspiration

Released in 1969, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid appears to have a very similar theme and story to Bonnie and Clyde. In fact, the opening credits of Bonnie and Clyde, whereby black-and-white pictures flash on screen between each credit, seems to be clearly the inspiration for the use of photographs in Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. In fact, the use of photographs to depict the New York segment of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, seems like a natural progression from using the pictures in Bonnie and Clyde at the start to quickly show the upbringing of the lead characters. Not to mention how both films portray bank-robbers in rural America and their 'spree', the police chasing them and both finish with a historic death of the two characters. Both of which were shoot-outs.

Dean Tavoularis was hired by producer Arther Penn to be cinematographer on Bonnie and Clyde and this was his first major position that led to his work on The Godfather trilogy and Apocalypse Now. This film depicts wide-open landscapes and dusty roads but it does hint at Tavoularis' Caravaggio-esque shooting during the night scenes. Specifically, when the Barrow gang are found by police at a Motel, the use of sparse lighting from the front-headlights create this classical, baroque atmosphere. The sequence itself must have been a frame of reference for a similar sequence in Michael Mann's Public Enemies.

The Past Will Catch Up With You

The mocking and humiliating picture of the Texas Ranger (Frank Hamer) is our connection between two points in the film. The 5-person gang seem to be on a roll and are gaining notoriety across the land. Buck reads a newspaper highlighting comedic stories of mistaken identity. The Texas Ranger, slowly sneaks up on the gang and in a matter of seconds the tables are turned and he is photographed, mocked and laughed at by the gang. It is simply poetic how this is the man that shoots the two down in final scene. In another sequence, the gang pick up a couple - Velma (Evans Evans) and Eugene (Gene Wilder) - and the seven of them seem to be having a great time until Eugene reveals his profession: "I'm an undertaker" he casually mentions.

You cannot outrun your past and you cannot outrun the inevitable death of a carefree and destructive life. Bonnie knows this - as she immediately throws Eugene and Velma out the car upon realising who he really is - Death himself. Even Blanche is aware as she constantly shrieks and fears for her life. It seems our rogue Clyde Barrow is the only one who does not realise that the time is ticking and he cannot turn back time. He has no concept of the short-lived nature of the armed bank-robber.

Clyde answered Bonnie when she asked about his actions if they woke up with "nobody chasin'" them. His answer?

"First off, I wouldn't live in the same state where we pull our jobs. We'd live in another state. We'd stay clean there and then when we'd take a bank, we'd go into the other state..."

The horrific massacre at the end was inevitable - and Bonnie knew it, whilst Clyde did not...