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 9: Is There a Ghost in My House?

“When I lived alone, is there a ghost in my house?” – Band of Horses



G-g-g-g-ghosts! I used to be terrified of ghosts. Stories from friends about attic hatches opening up on their own, apparitions, and urban myths would always give me the chills. There was just something particularly menacing about an unseen presence, even more an unseen malevolent presence that acts for unknown reasons, or even worse, is angry about you being in its space, which is usually a huge motivating factor in ghost fiction. Whereas before, I was about 90% sure I believed in ghosts, I am now at about 1%, just leaving open a small opportunity for mere possibility. What changed my mind? Oddly enough, ghost shows. Whether Hunters, Adventures, Lab, or other, I immersed myself in these programs, partly to rid myself of the fear, and partly because I just found them ridiculously entertaining. I don’t know if I can even explain how they came to make me an unbeliever, aside from years of specious science, arguable evidence, and iffy reasoning. In other words, the explanation for EVERY sound, temperature change, movement, etc. is ghosts, especially with Ghost Adventures. Ugh. I’m over it. That doesn’t mean I’m not interested in ghosts or ghost stories anymore. In fact, I’d say I’m probably more interested, but I take it as captivating fiction, not as scientific explanation for life after death. It seems lately, however, that American studios can’t write and film a good ghost story. Some of the best seem to be coming from different Asian countries. But, in the 60s, there were some really good ones, and perhaps a few cheesy, but fun ones as well.



13 Ghosts (1960, William Castle)

I’ve written previously about House on Haunted Hill, one of William Castle’s gimmicky films. Through such films as The Tingler (probably his most ingenious idea), he was able to make the movie going experience more of a communal and interactive one, something from which modern cinema can learn a little something. I won’t go into it here, but look up William Castle on Wikipedia and check out what The Tingler was all about. Anyway, 13 Ghosts was another one of those gimmick horror films, about a family who inherits a haunted house. No, it’s not an entirely original idea, but that wasn’t the point. There were a few curveballs here that made it interesting. For one, the house came with a spooky maid who provided exposition, played by Margaret Hamilton, aka “The Wicked Witch of the West!” For another, the ghosts were all sorts of weird, including some that made sense, such as Emilio the chef (who looks a whole lot like the Swedish Chef due to his cartoonishly large moustache), his unfaithful wife, and her lover (all of whom can be seen in the pic above), but also ghosts that made no sense whatsoever, such as a flaming skeleton, the headless lion tamer, and a ghost lion.

Really? A ghost of a lion? I won’t even get into the idea that there are animal ghosts, but does the idea of a ghost of a scary animal make it doubly scary? No. Scary plus scary does not equal scary, somehow. Anyway, onto the gimmick. The idea with 13 Ghosts is that ticket buyers were given “Illusion-O!” glasses, based somewhat on the 3-D premise of the red and blue plastic lenses that would reveal different layers of effect. With “Illusion-O!,” there was one full bar of red lens and one of blue lens. Viewers were then allowed to pick whether they believed in ghosts or didn’t and choose accordingly whether they wanted to see the red-colored ghost images or choose to hide them. Fairly ingenious, no? I can say that just by using a pair of 3-D glasses I got with the Batman Arkham Asylum game, the effect worked quite well. I was shockingly surprised!

This film was later remade with Tony Shalhoub and critics panned it fairly harshly, saying that it lacked scares. I found that critique quite odd as the original was hugely lacking in scares. In fact, the original is family friendly, and none of the characters seem to be all that concerned with the presence of ghosts. There is even a somewhat family sitcom-like happy ending, and the young boy of the family hoping that the ghosts come back. Sure, the ghosts punished the greedy lawyer and saved him from a bed that was going to crush him (you’ll have to see it to understand that statement), but still, he likes having ghosts around?

Other than the neat trick of the “Illusion-O!,” the effects in this film are terrible, and the suspension of disbelief needed is crazy. Flies on strings and floating Ouija boards are just two examples, and with the latter, the family still decides to stay the night and say they are just having a group hallucination! Ummm….yeah. As soon as I see a floating Ouija board planchette, I’m not trying to reason it out. Frankly, when I saw the family’s reaction, I felt they all deserved to die at that point. One of the worst effects is the sound of the ghosts. Some of them have the requisite low moan, but others have pitched and sped up voices so that they sound like the Chipmunks. Though I often get a chill when I hear the Chipmunks’ Christmas song, I don’t find it terrifying. But, even with its many flaws, the movie is entertaining and fun, even downright silly at times, making it a campy favorite, especially if you can get a hold of some 3-D glasses, or even the “Illusion-O!” lenses, which were briefly made available for the DVD release in 2002.



The Innocents (1961, Jack Clayton)

Henry James’ “The Turn of the Screw” is considered one of the western world’s most classic ghost tales. Published in 1898, the story has been told, retold, and made into plays and films many times over since then. “The Turn of the Screw” has everything I love about ghost stories. It is not one of those slasher or jump-scare kind of stories, but is instead based in a real-world setting and is entirely ambiguous. Throughout the story, we are left to wonder whether the ghosts in this story are real, are perhaps figments of the governess’ imagination or psychosis, or are metaphors for some other kind of malevolent evil. In other words, it mirrors the conflicting views on the actual existence of ghosts. If they are real, they are incredibly frightening just by their mere existence and suggested presence, and if not, they speak to the psychological state of the witness.

The Innocents, a British film that quite faithfully adapts “The Turn of the Screw,” is a masterpiece of psychological horror, even adding more elements that ratchet up the scares, including more of a gothic feel thanks to screenwriter Truman Capote, a Freudian sexual element, and the absolutely frightening trope of the devilish, high-voiced, proper, accented child. (Shudder). Is there anything scarier than a little English boy who seems possessed? Of course, with film, as compared to literature, there is not as much room left for interpretation, as the filmmaker has to decide what we, as the viewers, can actually see along with the governess. Should we see the ghosts or should we, along with the kids and the maid, see nothing? Either way, we are forced into one perspective. However, director Jack Clayton handles this deftly. Though we can see and hear the apparitions along with the governess, we are still left wondering how much of what we saw was real.

Though Miles and Flora, the children the governess is charged to take care of, exhibit actions that make us question their complicity in the existence of the spirits, or even in a possible evil plot to send the governess spiraling into madness, we can just as easily see it from the point of view of seeing the governess being affected by her own knowledge (the objects in the attic, the exposition from the maid, the scary nature of the manse itself, etc.), which she then projects onto the children. I love this film. It is certainly not your typical ghost story, going far beyond the usual jump scares and delving into psychological territory that adds further dimension to what could have easily been a two-dimensional adaptation. The acting is superb, the writing is captivating, and the overall direction and handling of the film as a whole is phenomenal. I hate movies that end up with one “in your face” easy answer, and this one leaves you talking about it long after the last frame slips through the projector (metaphorically).



The Haunting (1963, Robert Wise)

This is probably the most frightening ghost film of the three I’m presenting in this post. Directed by the great Robert Wise, who also brought us the first Star Trek film, The Sound of Music, and West Side Story, The Haunting is another one that was remade, but again, not nearly as well. Based on the novel by Shirley Jackson, the story follows a group of paranormal experts, which was well before its time, and their exploration of a spooky house. Again, not particularly original, but the way in which these scares are given is truly psychological and innovative. (Weird aside: my iPod, on shuffle, just brought up Les Savy Fav’s “Poltergeist.” Maybe I should rethink this whole “existence of ghosts” thing.) Anyway, Martin Scorsese puts The Haunting at the top of his scariest movies list, and while I might reserve that spot for The Shining, or perhaps The Exorcist, I certainly can’t fault Marty in his reasoning.

First of all, I’m shocked that this movie received a “G” rating. There are three deaths, including a hanging, within the first ten minutes. Kid-friendly, this movie is not. The weird experiences in the house seem to center around Nell, played by Julie Harris, who seems to be more and more attracted to the strange goings-on, almost compelled to become involved in the spirit world. As compared to most ghost films, very few of the scares are actual visual representations of ghosts, but rather terrifying sounds and slowly moving doorknobs and such. Frankly, I find this more terrifying than the former. Show me a ghost, such as the terribly superimposed ones within 13 Ghosts and I tend to laugh, but show me a doorknob slowly turning and my mind tends to go to places that I’d rather it not. I suppose that’s why in watching the numerous ghost hunting shows that exist, I am never all that scared, but if I were actually there, in the dark and hearing footsteps, I’d be mortified.

The Haunting takes its scares seriously and not as gimmicks or cheap thrills. Further, the ghosts have a seeming mission or goal and are not just random. We begin to get more and more clues to what these ghosts are all about as the investigators continue their experiments, but the full reveal at the end of the film is more satisfying than I could have imagined. The Haunting provides real scares and a compelling story. It even broke some taboos by having a character display some lesbian tendencies at a time when that certainly wasn’t as accepted as it is today. Do yourself a favor, watch this one with a good surround sound system, preferably late at night, and possibly alone.

Films of the 50's Part 8: Sci! Fi!

I used to like science fiction a lot more than I do now. I used to be the six-year old who saw the original Star Wars film multiple times in the theater. But, my tastes have changed. That doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy a good sci-fi book or film (and superfans, please don’t correct me about the use of the term, sci-fi, as you just sound crazy). In my mind, the best science fiction isn’t made merely to display the clichés of the genre, including flying saucers, alien races, and the like. In my mind, the best sci-fi is really about us, now, or our recent past, merely set in a sci-fi diorama. Case in point, the philosophical genre writings of Philip K. Dick, a true master. It’s also why I prefer Star Trek over Star Wars at this point in my life. The 50’s were an important time for sci-fi films, in which movies and books went from being relegated to the pulp pile and b-movie tag, to an air of respectability. Well, three of these films achieved it…


The Day the Earth Stood Still (1951, Robert Wise)

Let’s try to forget about the recent remake, shall we? The original film displays wonderfully what I love about sci-fi, namely a tale of humanity merely set in a fantastical landscape. The action starts right away, with a flying saucer landing in Washington, D.C. We are immediately introduced to Klaatu, a visitor from another world who is mistakenly shot by a nervous soldier. Gort, Klaatu’s menacing robot companion, emerges to protect his master, vaporizing the military’s weapons.

What ensues is a parable of the Cold War, the atomic arms race that would eventually threaten to destroy the Earth. It’s actually one of the more potent allegories I’ve seen on film. It can also be seen as a religious allegory, with Klaatu as Jesus, donning the name Carpenter when hiding out, trying to find a way to deliver his warnings of peace. Of course, Jesus never warned, nor had an enforcer robot, though that would be a pretty amazing alternate take.

The images of the film are iconic. The sliding rampway to the alien spacecraft, the look of Gort’s cyclopic eye and tubular head, and Klaatu’s handheld device have all inspired many sci-fi tropes to come. But, the film will probably be remembered most for the phrase, “Klaatu Barada Nikto,” a shibboleth that brings our ‘resurrected’ hero back to deliver his important message.


Gojira (1954, Ishiro Honda)

Gojira, or as we all have come to know it, Godzilla, is another parable of the atomic age. Still recovering from the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, Japan turned its fears and shock into a dramatic monster movie. Godzilla was the first ‘kaiju’ or giant monster film in what would become a major genre in Japan.

The story is simple enough. Ships and vessels begin disappearing, with washed up crew unable to relay what it was that caused the devastation. Local villagers tell of the myth of Godzilla, and he turns out to exist. Created by a nuclear explosion, the radioactive monster seeks land and begins destroying everything in sight. The effects are terrible, to be sure, but entertaining. But, if the effects got one thing right about Godzilla, it’s his scream. Apparently made by the sound a leather glove along the strings of a double bass, then slowed down, Godzilla’s roar is terrifying.

This film holds a special place in my heart. No, unlike with my last film post, I do not have a crush on Godzilla. Instead, I made a short film with a home video camera in my high school years based on the original Godzilla. It was a mix of live and stop-action, dubbed badly for effect, and featured the destruction of an entire Lego city. The best part was the calm before the storm, a prologue featuring an idyllic slice of life, all set to Dave Brubeck’s “Take Five.”


Forbidden Planet (1956, Fred M. Wilcox)

Forbidden Planet is considered one of the more important sci-fi films of the 1950’s. It is one of the first features that got the effects right. Though now dated, it’s easy to see, in comparison to other genre films of the time, they stand out above the rest. The ship, the matte paintings, the set dressings, and the animated “id monster” are all examples of the increased effort that lifted this film above b-movie status.

In essence a retelling of Shakespeare’s The Tempest, Forbidden Planet tells the tale of a group of space travelers landing on a planet with a pair of lone survivors, Morbius and his daughter, Altaira, along with their now famous construction, Robby the Robot. Morbius reveals the demise of his crew, the technology he found on the planet, and the Krell, the former inhabitants who were all wiped out 200,000 years prior. The entire crew of the newly arrived Bellerophon, including the captain, played by Leslie Nielsen, fall for the fetching Altaira, played by Anne Francis (who I will most likely also write about in an upcoming review of Bad Day at Black Rock). Altaira is a 50’s era bombshell, blonde, bedroom eyes and a mole near her lip. She’s the space version of Marilyn Monroe, and she wears the shortest skirts I think I’ve ever seen.

Like The Day the Earth Stood Still, Forbidden Planet is tale of humanity and man’s infallibility. It is most likely this factor that led Gene Roddenberry to find it inspiring enough to spur his creation of Star Trek. It’s all there: the military like crew visiting unknown planets, the mysteries that have to be unraveled about an alien race, a smart and charismatic yet misguided civilian, and a manly captain who ends up making out with the one girl available, who happens to be a stone cold fox.


Plan 9 from Outer Space (1959, Ed Wood)

Unlike the rest of the films above, Plan 9 from Outer Space is a train wreck. I’m not shattering anyone’s misconceptions about it as the Ed Wood film is now widely known as the worst film ever made. My brother revels in bad films. The inanities of Starship Troopers, Mission to Mars and Van Helsing all appeal to his sense of the high art of absurdity. But, Plan 9 transcends bad film to high art, transcends that again into even worse territory, then jumps again into an altogether different stratum all by itself, becoming one of the funniest, craziest, and unintentionally brilliant films ever made.

Nothing makes sense. It’s as if the film were pieced together from eight different films, none having anything to do with the other, and no effort made to find the logic of transition. Bad acting, bad editing, horrible effects, and the cheesiest narration in existence all lend to the disastrous hilarity. “Unspeakable horrors from outer space paralyze the living and resurrect the dead!” says the movie poster. Does it get any better than that? Tor Johnson, Vampira, and Criswell all became iconic figures of sci-fi, though probably not in a way that any of them envisioned. There’s not much else to say about it. If you haven’t seen it, you should, preferably with friends, to share the joys and pains of this memorable film. There have been many parodies and homages to Plan 9, which seems at times overkill, but the best I’ve seen was in an episode of Mission Hill, called “Plan 9 from Mission Hill: or, I Married a Gay Man from Outer Space.”