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The Pooch (1932)
A personal favorite
While it is usually pointless to choose favorite episodes of any continuing series, it is also irresistible. "The Pooch" happens to be my favorite movie from the OUR GANG/LITTLE RASCALS short subject series. Its blend of tear-jerking melodrama, comedy and social commentary epitomizes the strength of Hal Roach's RASCALS series.
While there is undeniable racial stereotyping in many of the OUR GANG shorts which makes for uncomfortable viewing today, the usual intent of the films (besides belly laughter and the occasional tear) was to break down barriers: both racial and socio-economic. Never was this more obvious than in "The Pooch" in which a black kid (Stymie) appears to be the older brother of a white kid (Spanky). And where both, quite poor and hungry (but never grim or humorless), explain to a counterman when he asks how they expect to get food with no money, "Well, we don't 'specks it, we just want it."
On a side note, this was also the last appearance of a descendent of the original Petie (the bull terrier with a circle around his eye). For whatever reason Petie's trainer and Hal Roach parted company after this short, and all future Peties were in fact impostors.
Nattvardsgästerna (1963)
Austere and gripping.
"Winter Light" (also known, more accurately, as "The Communicants") is the the central film in Bergman's "faith" trilogy (following "Through a Glass Darkly" and preceding "The Silence"). It is austere and minimalist to a point that should lose an audience's interest; but it doesn't -- in fact, quite the contrary -- it is one of the most gripping films I've ever seen (and probably my favorite Bergman movie).
Bergman, aided by cinematographer Sven Nykvist and performances by Gunnar Bjornstrand and Ingrid Thulin, has created a small masterpiece about a village priest who finds "God's silence" intolerable. It contains one of the most daringly anti-cinematic alienation effects I've ever witnessed: Marta (Ingrid Thulin) has written Tomas (Gunnar Bjornstrand) a letter -- as he begins to read it, Bergman cuts to a medium close-up of Thulin who then proceeds to read the letter out loud directly to the camera for a full five minutes (with one brief flash back cut). I wish I understood why this sequence pays off so well, I only know that it does. But as brilliant as Bergman is (and as daring a risk as this choice was), certainly Thulin's performance has a great deal to do with the power of the scene.
While watching "Winter Light" in conjunction with the first and third parts of the trilogy is a fascinating experience, the film stands alone beautifully. At any rate, the films are only thematically connected: the "plots" function independently.
"Winter Light" may not be for those uninitiated in Bergman films (it lacks the grandeur of "The Seventh Seal" and the sweet optimism of "Wild Strawberries"), but for those in the mood, it is the most rewarding of his movies.
The Iceman Cometh (1960)
A gut-wrenching performance by Robards defines this drama.
This is a kinescope of a live TV production that originally aired on New York television in 1960. It contains one of the most important dramatic performances of the 20th century: Jason Robards' portrayal of Hickey, the traveling salesman who comes to visit his old friends (the down-and-outers who populate Harry Hope's saloon, ca. 1912 in NYC) and tries to sell them "peace" by way of stripping them of their illusions (or "pipe dreams").
Compared to the 1973 feature film version, this TV production lacks polish (remember this was local, live television: small budget and the occasional fluffed line). The supporting performances are, on the whole, not quite as strong as they are in the film (the roles, *other* than Hickey, are definitive in the 1973 movie). However, as Larry Slade and Don Parrit, both Myron McKormick (the original Luther Billis in Broadway's SOUTH PACIFIC) and Robert Redford gain momentum throughout the production, so that their final confrontation at the end of the play is both powerful and poignant.
The principal reason for purchasing this video -- or at least arranging to see it at the Museum of Television and Radio in New York or Los Angeles -- is to see Jason Robards' gut-wrenching performance as Hickey. It's easy to see why this role made Robards a star in 1956 when he first took it on for the Circle-in-the-Square's off-Broadway revival (the play was written in 1939, published in 1940 and first performed in 1946). He brings to Hickey a restless, glad-handing, self-hatred that can change rhythms on a dime. Compared to Lee Marvin's flat, two-dimensional performance in the 1973 film and Kevin Spacey's hysteria-prone interpretation in the recent stage revival, Robards' Hickey seems entirely fleshed out. It's that rare performance that is both entirely theatrical and yet manages to be completely natural at the same time. By the time Robards gets to his justly famous 20 minute monologue near the end of the play, you realize that this has been all about him and, his protestations to the contrary, he doesn't give a damn about his old friends -- or anything else. It's a devastating moment, and one that is unfortunately missing from the otherwise very fine 1973 movie.
There are other pleasures to be had from this production aside from Robards' Hickey. There's a chance to see Tom Pedi as Rocky, the "bartender" in the role he created (and would play still again in the 1973 movie) as well as Sorrell Booke's Hugo, the immigrant Anarchist, in the role that he too would go on to play again in the feature film version. Also of special note is Farrell Pelly's performance as Harry Hope, the proprietor of the saloon. His performance is quite different from Fredric March's in the 1973 movie, but in its blustery way, just as effective. The late, great Julie Bovasso (John Travolta's mother in SATURDAY NIGHT FEVER, among other superb character roles) gives the finest performance yet as one of O'Neill's "tarts." O'Neill wasn't at his best when he created these roles (the only women to appear in the play), but Bovasso manages to create an indelible impression as Pearl, despite the cartoonish nature of her lines.
The video transfer done by Broadway Archives is impeccable. Unfortunately the elements they had to work with were not. Still a kinescope with a couple of glitches shouldn't be enough to turn anyone away from one of the finest performances ever given in one of the finest dramas ever written by an American.
The Iceman Cometh (1973)
Is the longer version available?
This is more of a question than a comment. I recently taped the 1973 film version of THE ICEMAN COMETH from the Encore cable film channel. The movie, which is excellent and highly recommended (though seeing a production of the play is even more effective), was vastly shorter (by an entire hour!) than I had remembered it being when I saw it twice back in the 70's and 80's. I am almost certain that this three hour version aired by Encore is something doctored up by the studio to offer a more palatable running time to cable channels and art houses.
My question is: does anyone know if the four hour version still exists; and if there is anyway of getting my hands on it? The many, MANY, internal cuts in the three hour version (probably unnoticeable if you're not familiar with the play or the longer version of the movie) seriously undercuts the power of O'Neill's great play.