Films of the 60s, Part 25: What If I Were Romeo in Black Jeans?

“What if I were Romeo in black jeans,
What if I was Heathcliff, it’s no myth,
Maybe she's just looking for someone to dance with.”
--Michael Penn, “No Myth”



Shakespeare. No one is more ubiquitous in world of English letters than the Bard of Avon. I’ll admit, though the current trend in education is to scale back on Shakespeare and supplement the curriculum with more current material, I am quite pro Shakespeare. It’s not that I don’t agree with keeping it fresh, it’s just that Shakespeare has been relatable to the human condition for over four hundred years. I have read every play and every poem. I have seen many of the plays performed at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival. Bill is my boy. Modern filmmakers and critics can hurl all the slings and arrows they like at him, questioning his identity or his legitimacy, and I will still be a fan. In other words, the play’s the thing. His work is so universal that it can be adapted into nearly any situation and still have relevance and connection. Cases in point, the following three films from the 60s, which took the classic works to entirely new levels.



The Bad Sleep Well (1960, Akira Kurosawa)

There have been many great portrayals and adaptations of Hamlet over the years: Olivier, Branagh, Tennant, Sons of Anarchy, Strange Brew… Yeah, you read that right. But, one of my favorites of all time is Akira Kurosawa’s take on the classic tale of revenge, The Bad Sleep Well. Toshiro Mifune certainly deserves to be considered alongside the best that have portrayed the tragic Prince of Denmark, though he was playing a businessman of Japan. Mifune plays Nishi, a young man who, at the start of the film, is getting married to Yoshiko, the daughter of a wealthy executive. In this way, we can already see how the story differs slightly from the classic tragedy. Hamlet never got married, though Ophelia’s grief-inspired dementia is symbolized in the fact that Yoshiko is hobbled. Reporters and police, the latter of which arrest one of the company men, Wada, for bribery, interrupt the wedding. As it turns out, this scandal was previously hushed up conveniently through another businessman’s suicide, and this is just one aspect of an untouchable corporate culture in which lower level employees sacrifice themselves for the higher-ups. Sound familiar?

Nishi seems at first to be complicit in the goings on, guiding Wada to the top of a volcano. Incidentally, this scene is how I always imagined the setting of the transformation of Anakin Skywalker to Darth Vader as opposed to the ridiculous and overblown result. Anyway, Nishi ends up saving Wada and secreting him away as ammunition against the company that ‘killed’ his father. While he tries to find a use for Wada, he leaves a photo of the office building in the company safe, with a red ‘X’ over the window from which his own father jumped. That same building figures prominently throughout the film, taking the place of Elsinore Castle. Eventually, Nishi cleverly enacts scenarios in which Wada appears as a ‘ghost’ to scare the top executives, one by one. Nishi becomes an obsessed character, as any Hamlet model should, even becoming somewhat creepy as he whistles down the street, much like Omar in The Wire. There are great subplots with Yoshiko’s brother and Nishi’s best friend, all of which wrap up nicely in the end, but like Hamlet, there is indeed a tragic ending.

The Bad Sleep Well is one of those adaptations that is usually said to be “loosely” based on the original. In this case, there are several subtle changes. For one, the despicable union of uncle and mother is replaced by a corrupt corporation, but one is still a father-in-law. The brilliance of this change is to turn a revenge tragedy into one that also has social commentary on the state of corporate culture, an institution that did not exist in Shakespeare’s time. Kurosawa showcases something that we are seeing even today, a kind of Stockholm Syndrome, in which those being held down by their superiors still curry their favor. As Nishi says, “They starved you and my father with scraps from their table, killed you as scapegoats, and still you can’t hate them.” As we have learned from history, the only way change occurs is either through revolution or protest that alters minds, and eventually laws. As is said in the film, “It’s pointless trying to use the law against evil people.”



West Side Story (1961, Robert Wise)

There was a long period in which any high school class reading Romeo & Juliet was made to watch West Side Story as a way to bring the classic romantic tragedy more up to date. While the language of Ernest Lehman and Stephen Sondheim might have been more accessible to teens than Shakespeare’s, the language of musicals, at least before Glee, was seemingly foreign to those same youngsters. Now, Glee has performed a majority of the songs from the production and has made it somewhat more hip than it was in my time. In my previous survey of 60s musicals, I made a point about the logic of musicals, the difference between diegetic and non-diegetic sound, and how these affect my enjoyment of the films. West Side Story is one of those films in which people, and in this case incredibly unlikely people, spontaneously break out into song and dance.

We are introduced first to the Jets in the basketball courts of the projects of New York City. (Interestingly, this is now the location of Lincoln Center, which I recently saw as a location in The Changeling). Anyhoo, it’s fairly difficult for toughs to look…well…tough when snapping fingers in unison and then performing highly choreographed dance moves. This is exacerbated by the declaration of “Cokes all around” during the gang tête-à-tête. Nothing says a gang means business like an order of a round of sodas. While at first skeptical and put off, I was soon trying to suspend my disbelief and enjoying the mixture of dancing and fighting, seeing the dance as an artistic expression of anxiety, anger, fear, racial tension, and even love. In case you were wondering, no, I had not seen this film until recently, despite the fact that my parents had the original cast album on vinyl. While I don’t remember them every playing it in my presence, I found that I actually knew most of the songs, most likely due to their huge presence in the canon as musical classics. “America,” “Maria,” “Jet Song,” “Tonight,” and “I Feel Pretty” were all completely familiar to me.

West Side Story holds the distinction of being probably the most faithful adaptation of Shakespeare, up to a point. The Montague and Capulet families are smartly transformed into rival New York gangs, one white and one Puerto Rican. Like The Bad Sleep Well, it successfully adds a new social element, in this case being race relations and the inanity of gang/race/class warfare. “America” also nicely sums up the reason for immigration and the arguments between preserving culture and the concept of the melting pot. The lyrics and themes throughout the film are nothing short of brilliant. Add in the gorgeous cinematography, color, and wardrobe, and you have the reasons this film won 10 Academy Awards, is now a classic, and why I had to wait for about six months for a copy from Netflix. Luckily, in the midst of that wait, the Blu-Ray version was released and I was able to see the film in the way it was meant to be seen, sharp, vivid, and with glorious sound. The ending may be drastically different from its source material, but it is still more than a worthy adaptation, and indeed, all are punished.



All Night Long (1962, Basil Dearden)

To round out the trio of Shakespeare adaptations, we have another one of Bill’s most well-known works, Othello. I suppose the only other tragedy that would have been more infamous is the Scottish play. Basil Dearden’s All Night Long, like the previous two films surveyed above, places the familiar characters in a modern setting, in this case the London of the swinging 60s jazz set. Dearden even goes as far as to include actual jazz musicians in the film, including Dave Brubeck and Charles Mingus. Paul Harris plays Aurelius Rex, our Othello, married to Delia, our Desdemona. The great Patrick McGoohan plays Johnnie Cousin, our conniving Iago. We also have a Roderigo and a Cassio, Rod and Cass respectively, but most of their character traits are bundled up into Cass exclusively.

Like West Side Story, All Night Long is fairly faithful in its translation, up to a point. It, too, changes the ending. Whether this is done to make it “less” tragic, or to put a director or writer’s stamp on the story, I do not know. Regardless, the performances in this film are magnetic. It is perhaps not a classic film in the way that the previous two are, but it is entertaining, especially for those who are fans of jazz. The jazz slang seems a little cartoony now, but the drug and alcohol use is at least accurately portrayed. There are no “Cokes all around” in this film. And, while the choreography dulls the sting of the violence in West Side Story, the violence in All Night Long is fairly brutal. When Aurelius shows his anger, it is palpable.

Aside from McGoohan and Harris’ great performances, there is also a young Richard Attenborough playing Rod, a music promoter. He toes the line nicely, bridging the gap between the English and the Americans, and also between warring “friends.” This film also adds a new element, that being one of not just stealing a lover away and ruining a great man with violent tendencies for power and wealth, but also of stealing away a musician from one band to another, or out of retirement. Jealousy is still one of the central theme here, as well as Johnny’s (Iago’s) desire for the limelight. The added element may not be as heavy as corporate malfeasance or race relations, but the original story of Othello is powerful enough to survive in any setting without another substantially important point. However, this might be what leaves it out of “classic” status.

Films of the 60s, Part 5: What if the enemy isn't in a distant land?

The above quotation, from Ani DiFranco’s “Roll With It,” is just one part of a larger idea. The rest of the song continues, “What if the enemy lies behind the voice of command?” This is what social justice means to me. Sure, social justice has a lot to do with prevailing attitudes, but when those attitudes are supported, encouraged, and endorsed by a governing body, they become not only dangerous, but justifiable reasons for revolution. The following three films of the 60s speak to that concept in different ways, all effectively. Not only that, they are simply great movies.



Victim (1961, Basil Dearden)

British director Basil Dearden deserves kudos for this brave film, as does every actor who chose to appear in it. While today a film featuring homosexuality is near commonplace (after all, The Kids Are All Right received an Academy Award Best Picture nomination), but in 1961, it was not only unheard of, but homosexuality was illegal. The film centers on a successful barrister who is targeted for blackmail, along with several of other homosexual men in England. Some of the targeted men pay the blackmail money, while some die, either by their own hand or through shock-related heart attack, but Melville Farr, the barrister, decides to stand up and fight. Unfortunately, as some of us liberals usually do, people have blasted the film for using a single instance of the word, “invert,” not being able to look past it at the larger picture of civil rights and social justice. I had a friend at one time who used to call films like this part of a pattern of “smear the queer,” citing films such as American Beauty as examples.

The argument comes with systematic and incremental change versus larger, loftier, hopeful, and commendable goals. I am not often pegged as a realist. Rather, I am usually seen as a dreamer, as one who votes for social change, who teaches multiple perspectives, and embraces diversity. However, I see Victim as being a dramatic example in the quest for progress. Though a policeman, who helps Melville Farr with his fight against the blackmailers, says he has no feelings, he also claims that the anti-gay laws are a problem and only fodder for blackmailers. With every social cause, we may never reach 100% satisfaction across the board, but eventually, progress always prevails. Even with racial hatred rampant in this country, we have an African-American President. Gay marriage now has over 50% support among the population. Change happens, but sometimes it happens slower than some of us would like.

Dirk Bogarde is brilliant in his portrayal of Melville Farr, and his supporting cast is equally terrific. One aspect of Victim that I applaud is his avoidance of stereotype. In fact, Dearden reserves the stereotypical qualities of homosexuality for the blackmailer, in an ironic twist. The blackmailer, usually seen with motorcycle goggles on, is catty, coy, and feminine, while Farr and the rest of the blackmailed are everything but. The blackmailer further is seen throwing a wild punch at a speed bag to overtly show his “machismo,” which could be seen as a cover-up, and has a framed representation of Michelangelo’s “David” on his wall. Within six years, British Parliament decriminalized homosexuality, and I would guess that Victim played no small part.



I Am Cuba (1964, Mikhail Kalatozov)

Just a few short years after the Cuban Revolution, Russian filmmakers partnered with the Cubans to produce a film promoting Socialism. I Am Cuba is the result, a spectacular film with amazing visuals, striking messages, and a strong social conscience. Interestingly, both the Russians and the Cubans were dissatisfied with the result, and it’s difficult to see why, considering the remarkable finished product. The film deserves far more credit than it gets, only having recently been given more cachet by Martin Scorsese and his support for it. The first noticeable thing about the film is its astounding photography. The opening shots, with the camera sitting low in a boat, is only the first of a series of unbelievably artful shots. As we travel downriver, we see the peasants of Cuba, working and struggling. This is then immediately juxtaposed with an affluent, rooftop party, complete with rock and roll music, swimsuit models, high-class hotels, swimming pools, and a masterful elevator shot to go along with it. The effect is not only stunning visually, but emotionally, as we see the stark gap in wealth. Sound familiar?

So far, several of the shots in I Am Cuba have been extraordinarily long takes, rivaling Hitchcock’s work in Rope and Scorsese’s later opening to Goodfellas. Seconds later, we are introduced to the stereotypical “Ugly American.” A trio of visiting businessmen reveal their hubris, amorality, and lack of sensitivity as they hold court in a Cuban bar. They indulge in prostitutes, one of whom is a poor innocent, forced into the trade due to poverty. The resulting actions of the Americans are representative of American policy toward Cuba as a whole. They come in, violate its people, and dismiss its values and religion in the name of greed. The second vignette only reinforces that idea, showing Pedro, a peasant farmer, who loses everything when the plantation owner sells the land to United Fruit. A third story gets more at the heart of the revolutionary ideal in following a student who wants to contribute to the cause. As an added bonus, this story has the most striking visuals of all, even featuring camera movements that seem absolutely impossible, going seamlessly up into the air, onto roofs of buildings, in through a window of a cigar factory, then out another window and hovering over a crowd, all without cutting. Even after hearing how they did it, it still seems impossible.

There is an intensity to I Am Cuba, an intensity that some would call propaganda, but I would call artistic representation of ideas. Is there a difference? Debatable. Regardless of your politics, I Am Cuba is an effective and striking film that deserves to be seen. It is not easy to speak truth to power, and I Am Cuba does it with flair and impeccable style.



Closely Watched Trains (1966, Jiří Menzel)

This beautiful film, based on a book by Bohumil Hrabal, is a revelation. At its heart a coming-of-age story, it is also a story of revolution and of resistance. From the very beginning, this movie is captivating. Every shot is efficiently chosen and immaculate. One can’t help but notice how clean and beautiful every shot truly is. We are introduced to Milos, the naïf we will be following through his journey. He comes from a long line of people who were able to get by doing very little and retiring early, who all shared the ignominious trait of dying early as well. Milos purposefully chooses a profession that will allow him to avoid real work, that of a train signalman. Milos is in love with the female conductor and longs for an adult, romantic life. All this is set amongst the Nazi occupation of Czechoslovakia, but finds economy and humor amidst such terrible times. One example is the scene of the stationmaster’s wife suggestively forcing food down a goose’s gullet as she is asked about sex.

Milos is given advice by his coworker, the more experienced Lothario-like Hubička. Hubička, in particular, provides several humorous scenes provide lightness to balance the fear, angst, and uncertainty. But, the seriousness breaks through. Despondent over a premature incident with his love, Máša, Milos attempts suicide. The balance of economic language and imagery, pathos, humor, and stark reality remind me of Wes Anderson. Closely Watched Trains is almost a prototype of Anderson’s eventual oeuvre. There is even one more filmic hallmark that seemed to be taken from this movie, which is the “walking / gliding dolly shot” that is now a trademark of Spike Lee’s films. This can be seen in Milos’ trip to the doctor.

Hubička inspires Milos to become part of the underground uprising against the Nazis. Máša is understanding of Milos’s problem and wants to give their relationship another try. In other words, things begin to look as if they will work out for our young hero. I won’t give away the ending, but it is at once heroic, tragic, devastating, glorious, heartbreaking, and miraculous. Throughout the film, an aging signalman echoes the sentiment that church bells are the most beautiful sound in the world. The last scene, that seems to bookend nearly every stray literary idea, makes the older signalman’s statement a reality, and in truly emotional fashion. Closely Watched Trains is now easily one of my favorite films of all time.