Books

Conversations with The Great Moviemakers of Hollywood's Golden Age at the American Film Institute

Bearing the unwiel­diest of titles, Conversations with The Great Moviemakers of Hollywood’s Golden Age at the American Film Institute nev­er­the­less deserves a spot on your summer reading list. AFI founder George Stevens Jr. col­lects inter­views with many of Hollywood’s great dir­ectors, plus a handful of cine­ma­to­graphers and writers, and a few for­eign dir­ectors as well. Drawn from the AFI’s renowned sem­inars, each is a delight. And I’m only thirty pages in so far.

I’d buy the book just for a par­tic­ular gem from Raoul Walsh. While making In Old Arizona (1928), a freak acci­dent res­ulted in the loss of his eye. When doc­tors asked if he’d like to have it replaced with a glass one, he snapped, “Hell no. Everytime I’d get in a fight, I’d have to put it in my pocket.” He wore a black eye­patch for the rest of his life. (Note to self: track down his auto­bi­o­graphy, Each Man In His Time. He’s got a lot of great stories. Sadly, the book is cur­rently out of print.)

Check out this great list of interviewees:

  • Harold Lloyd
  • Raoul Walsh
  • King Vidor
  • Fritz Lang
  • Frank Capra
  • Howard Hawks
  • James Wong Howe
  • Mervyn LeRoy
  • Rouben Mamoulian
  • George Folsey
  • William Wyler
  • George Stevens
  • William Clothier
  • Alfred Hitchcock
  • George Cukor
  • Billy Wilder
  • John Huston
  • Ray Bradbury
  • Elia Kazan
  • Fred Zinnemann
  • David Lean
  • Stanley Cortez
  • Robert Wise
  • Ernest Lehman
  • Gene Kelly
  • Richard Brooks
  • Stanley Kramer
  • Hal Wallis
  • Jean Renoir
  • Federico Fellini
  • Ingmar Bergman
  • Satyajit Ray

If you buy from Amazon using this or the above links, you’ll help sup­port Toronto Screen Shots.

Senses of Cinema art­icle on Raoul Walsh by Tag Gallagher

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Last night we watched Picnic at Hanging Rock (1975), one of dir­ector Peter Weir’s first films. It’s a strangle little film, about a group of Australian school­girls who dis­ap­pear while on a picnic at a rock form­a­tion on Valentine’s Day, 1900. The first part of the film, before the dis­ap­pear­ance, is charged with expect­a­tion. There’s an eerie feeling, but also a sort of sexual ten­sion (it is the Victorian era, after all) that’s really powerful. It’s not a sus­pense or mys­tery film in the usual sense, and you never really know what happened, but if you enjoy creepy films, you might want to check it out. Peter Weir went on to direct lots of suc­cessful Hollywood films, including The Year of Living Dangerously (1982), Dead Poets Society (1987), and The Truman Show (1998).

On Sunset Boulevard: The Life and Times of Billy Wilder

In other film news, today would have been Billy Wilder’s 96th birthday. I’m cur­rently reading On Sunset Boulevard: The Life and Times of Billy Wilder, by Ed Sikov, and Billy was cer­tainly a fas­cin­ating and bril­liant man.

And tonight, our little film group will be screening The Sweet Smell of Success (1957), star­ring Burt Lancaster and Tony Curtis. Being a fan of great writing, I’m looking for­ward to hearing all of the great lines in this one. In Barry Levinson’s great movie Diner (1982), set around the same time, there’s a char­acter who walks around only speaking in quotes from this film.

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Zoinks!

by James McNally on June 17, 2002

in Books,DVD

I find it hard to believe that a giant dog turd of a movie called Scooby-Doo could sell more than $50 mil­lion in tickets on its opening weekend. The funny thing is that it cost $80 mil­lion to make it. Imagine!

Easy Riders, Raging Bulls

I’ve just fin­ished reading an inter­esting book by Peter Biskind called Easy Riders Raging Bulls, about how the cul­ture of director-driven films of the 70s col­lapsed into the blockbuster-driven Hollywood of today. It’s really dis­heart­ening. Imagine taking the $80 mil­lion spent on Scooby-Doo and split­ting it among ten hungry young inde­pendent dir­ectors. Even if half of the films weren’t that good, at least none of them would be Scooby-Doo!

Brooke and I watched the ori­ginal Mr. Deeds Goes To Town (1936) last night. The reason this movie works and the new one with Adam Sandler prob­ably won’t is that Gary Cooper is not winking at you the whole time. You really believe he is a decent human being. Adam Sandler will instead come across (as always) as a moron.

I also finally watched Harold and Maude (1971) and loved it. I’d heard that it’s been a big influ­ence on Wes Anderson’s films and that was easy to see. There’s a sort of gentle affec­tion for the strange, dam­aged char­ac­ters on the screen, along with a large dose of black humour. A really touching film, and a great Cat Stevens soundtrack.

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