As an aside: Some of the following clips may not embed properly due to studio restrictions on the film. Hopefully they’ll work, but you may have to click through to YouTube to watch successfully.

Let the fun begin.

1

Dance sequences are a necessary element in a successful musical, and Gene Kelly is the best dance artist who ever lived.  You’re welcome to toss around Fred Astaire’s name as a fellow great tap dancer, or the name of a film choreographer such as Michael Kidd, but I will only laugh at your impertinence.  Kelly is da man, and the rest can vie over second place to their hearts’ content.  Look at him go in the above scene, especially when he’s partnered with the immensely talented Donald O’Connor.

The Enneagram One section of Singin has many storytelling aspects to establish:  Don Lockwood’s (Kelly) history as a dancer and his friendship with Cosmo (O’Connor) is the first; how Lockwood became a stuntman in the silent film era is the second.

I never tire of watching that.  Underestimating Kelly’s comedic timing, in light of his marvelous dancing, could be an easy mistake.  The breezy tone for Singin is established in these early sequences, which are a flashback.  We have exposition combined with humor and eye candy.  Well done and an engaging beginning; however, we are just getting to the heart of the One moment.

Finally the flashback is over and Lockwood’s current situation is revealed: Lina.  Jean Hagen is pure genius.  You try playing a cunning dimwit and see how easy it is.  Our One has Lockwood in a sustainable career as a successful silent film actor whose only sour note is that he must endure an idiotic co-star.  Cosmo is a great friend, producer R.F. is on his side, and Lockwood can count on them to protect him from the worst of Lina’s inanities.  Life is good . . .

2

. . . and then comes Debbie.

Casting Debbie Reynolds as the troublemaker was a no-brainer, I’m sure.  Isn’t she wonderful?  This scene with the two of them is a master class in actor chemistry.  When Kelly shuts his tuxedo jacket in the car door and says, “I must TEAR myself away,” I laugh aloud every time.  You can see the joke coming from a mile away and yet it’s still so funny.  How does he do that?  These two great actors in this perfectly-timed little scene create a cream puff of a Two moment.  Lockwood, who only minutes ago had it all, is now topsy-turvy on two fronts.  First of all, he’s in love, although he doesn’t completely realize it yet.  Lina’s simpering will be a lot more annoying for him now that he has a woman whose company he prefers.  As we’ll see further in, Lina is unable to understand that Lockwood is not really her “fianc-ee,” which leads to some lovely plot complications.  Secondly, Kathy Selden, with her teasing of Lockwood’s acting ability, causes an ego crisis for him.  She unwittingly strikes a nerve, and Lockwood has to go to Cosmo for reassurance.  The thought that he might not be a “real” actor makes Lockwood willing to take risks with his career.  This aspect of the Two is a perfect lead-in for the events of the Three.

3

Just when Lockwood is ready to challenge his acting skills, the filmmaking industry is ready to advance as well.

What an interesting time period this film depicts!  If great singing and dancing isn’t enough for you, take a look at this plot.  Gene Kelly literally walked around the studio lot interviewing actors who lived during the historical transition from silent to talkies, wanting to get the details correct, and it shows.  Introducing talkies is a wonderful Three.  We the audience are not surprised at this technological advance, but the characters are up-ended by the force of this Three.  Not only is this Three life-altering, but it leads to some charming and hysterical scenes to explore during the Four.

4

The heart and soul of this movie is a love of the craft of filmmaking, which is displayed throughout the Four. The lead-in to the following scene has Lockwood and Cosmo strolling past different movies in production. Handled beautifully, the scene lets us observe, or not, the background information while we follow the main characters. Whether or not we pay attention is our choice: we can notice the setting and enrich our viewing experience, or we can ignore the setting and focus solely on the story.

Since every scene is so meticulously assembled in this movie, I have to ponder the decision to dress Kelly in that outfit. Yikes. Not sure what message that’s supposed to convey. Maybe just that you can put Kelly in the ghey-est possible costume and he still manages to look manly. Someday, for fun, we’ll have to look at a montage of the hideously ugly contraptions Kelly is forced to wear in his different pictures. I’ll call this future post “The Conspiracy Theory of Gene Kelly’s Costume Designers.”

This scene isn’t about Kelly, anyway. O’Connor, dressed in an over-sized hat and workman’s clothes, is the shining focus. Looking through Singin again has convinced me that the musical lives or dies by the extreme talent of its stars. Can this man perform, or what? The shtick is tired, the song is mediocre, but O’Connor is mesmerizing and nobody cares about the material. This movie is great because the talent is timeless. The challenge in writing about this movie is not deciding which clips to include, but limiting myself to only a few. Let’s watch the whole thing!

Or not.  Here’s a brief look at the movie’s only dog moment.

Remember our discussion about “Willow’s Village?” We want to stay away from pointless tours of the art department.  In this case, an homage to Busby Berkeley is a good idea on paper only.  And what’s with the lipstick on that guy? Fast forward!

The following glorious Four moment is much more worthy. The unrest introduced at the Three (the advent of talkies) and the confusion of the characters during this learning period are classic Four problems.

Lina’s notion of “round tones” is perfect comedy on Hagen’s part, as well as a perfect Four conundrum. How do you make a talkie when your leading actress sounds like this? Eventually you’ll work through the sound recording problems (with many laughs along the way), but Lina’s speaking voice is unsolvable. At least until the Four-Five Switch comes along . . .

4/5 Switch

This Switch resolves two problems at once, with a musical number sandwiched in between.  We’ll skip the famous “Good Mornin’” and watch what happens before and after. Here’s before:

Lockwood’s whiny angst over his acting ability is resolved. Now, what about the technical problem of Lina’s grating voice?

Issues managed; team of Lockwood, Cosmo and Kathy ready to work together. With a renewed sense of purpose, we’re off to the Five.

5

Because the team is a solid unit, the story briefly shows us how smoothly the production process now works. The new version of the “Dancing Cavalier” is planned with Kathy dubbing the voice for Lina. All goes along without a hitch.

Interestingly, this scene is all Hagen’s voice. Debbie is the one faking the lip synch. Hagen sings the off-key Lina voice, of course, but she also sings the pretty Kathy voice. She had the chops and wanted to show them off, I guess. I enjoy the scene more knowing how talented Hagen was.

Singin takes a detour at this point to show us the new and improved movie. We’re in pure musical land now; Kelly is in his element and gets a wonderful showcase. To match Kelly the filmmakers bring in the utterly magnificent Cyd Charisse. Separately, no one can dance like these two, and together they are my favorite dance couple on film. This is what the old studios could do better than anyone.

I want to know what the fan fueling that scarf looked like!

Quite a bit of Five time is taken up with this musical interlude, and then we’re back to storytelling business.  We always knew Lina was going to muck up the works, and here’s where she starts to muscle in.  With the threat from Lina we can feel the story moving quickly toward the Six.

As much as I love to watch Kelly dance with Charisse, I must say that the structure of the Five is very awkward. The story completely stops, and then later restarts. We have harmony and beauty, and then the jarring discord of Lina as the story kicks back in. Boom, the Five is over.

6

“The Dancing Cavalier” goes to its premiere. The introduction of talkies, which happened in the Three with a black and white movie-within-the-movie, is mirrored here with the successful completion of Lockwood and Lamont’s talkie. We see the movie-within-a-movie again as Lina’s dubbing is shown off to perfection. The seemingly impossible has been accomplished.

As Sixes go, I find this one only adequate. Sixes tend to be the most difficult point in Enneagram storytelling to get right. We all want to run on to the finish, tending to shortcut past an important stopping point. I suggest that this Six, kept just as it is, would succeed better if the Five had not just devoted itself to showcasing a movie-within-the-movie. We’re a little overwhelmed by now.  However, we move through this Six and arrive at a very interesting Seven.

7

Sometimes the decisions necessary to the Seven are only implied; here we see every character in the scene making decisions right in front of our eyes.  This domino-fall of decisions is quite fun.  Lina’s final decision to give her own speech, with everyone but Lina understanding how devastating this will be, is a peach of a twist.  Whatever minor fault may have been evident in the Six (or Five lead-up to the Six) has been properly redeemed by this cascade of a Seven.

8

I will say that everyone’s familiar with Singin’s climax.  Lina tries to cheat the audience by mouthing the words in front of the curtain as Kathy sings into the microphone behind the curtain.  No need to show this moment, right?  There, all done.

Well, actually, I am a victim of technical difficulty.  As you may have noticed, the Six and Seven clips had no subtitles.  I eked out those clips from a reluctant DVD, and when I came to the finale of the movie the DVD refused to work at all.  I have no Eight clip (or Nine clip) for you.  I could take the high ground, as I did with The Postman, and say that I refuse to cheapen the film by showing its climax in this format, but the truth is I was stymied.  It’s a lovely climax, too, and you’re missing quite a gem.  Cosmo and Lockwood haul open the curtain to show Kathy singing fervently behind the buffoonish Lina.  Ah, if only you could see it.

9

And we’re at the end.  Kathy and Lockwood, in the final minute of film, make up their misunderstanding (thrown in briefly at the Eight) and live happily ever after.  Debbie Reynolds, beloved by the Costume Designer, is still dressed in complementary pastels and Gene Kelly, who somehow got on the Costume Designer’s bad side, is still dressed in ugly woolen golf clothes.  The film has been a joy, a classic for the ages, and we’re happy to sit down and watch it again any chance we get.  I hope you enjoyed the review; I will probably stay away from the film classics in the future.  The technical aspects of reviewing them are out of my league, unfortunately.

That’s Clint Howard, brother to abominable leftist Ron Howard, stumping for the conservatives. Yay!  And if you really want a laugh, click through to Ace, where I found this, to see Clint’s guest appearance on the original Star Trek series.

Well, here we are.  The final part.  I’ll admit that I’m glad to be done with these reviews.  It feels like it’s been ages since I reviewed a non-Alice film, and I’d like to pursue other things.  However, I’m not free yet: we have two more movies to inspect, so let’s begin.

First up, the two-part TV movie produced by the guy behind Lost in Space.

Directed by: Harry Harris

Featuring: Natalie Gregory, Red Buttons, Sammy Davis Jr., Carol Channing, Harvey Korman, Shelley Winters, Roddy McDowell, Jonathan Winters, Jack Warden, Lloyd Bridges, Ernest Borgnine, Pat Morita, with Ringo Starr as the Mock Turtle, and Telly Savalas as the Cheshire Cat

Written by: Paul Zindel

Year of Release: 1985

Running Time: 187 minutes

Budget: No clue.  Those are some expensive actors, though.

As you may have guessed, the best thing about this adaptation is the cast.  There are some classic actors here.  The problem is that most of them only show up for a few minutes, and some of them don’t even have any dialogue (*cough* Shelley Winters *cough*).

With that said, this adaptation is easily one of the better Alices.  Remember the sappy 1999 version?  That had a great cast too, didn’t it, and it sucked.  I’m not 100% sure why exactly this adaptation is superior, but I think it has something to do with the honesty of the script.  To elaborate:

In my opinion, the 1999 teleplay was a pandering mess that was clearly targeted at retarded mice, while this adaptation is quite clearly targeted at children.  Not mice.  Kids.  It’s still a pretty sappy movie, but it also has a dark streak to it that intrigues me.  To explain, I’ll look at the plot.

Like most adaptations this film follows the original narrative of Carrol’s books (which is a shame), but also features something nearly every adaptation lacks: an antagonist.  In this film, Alice is having some reservations about growing up, and at the end of the first act, her fears take physical form as the malicious Jabberwocky.  Check it out:

Very 1980’s, huh?

Anyway, I love that the Jabberwocky is the villain, but the concept that he’s some sort of representation of Alice’s gerascophobia irks me.  Not because it’s impossible (this is a fantasy film!), but because it goes against the original character of Alice.  Ironically, this is the same complaint I made with the 1999 version: in the books, Alice is an incredibly mature girl who doesn’t have any fears about growing up.  If this film had come up with a different phobia for Alice, something unrelated to becoming a responsible adult, I don’t think I would have a problem.

The only other failure for this film, of course, is that it’s simply not interesting enough (the flaw of nearly every adaptation).  There are some funny lines, but it’s not a comedy; there are some exciting chase scenes, but it’s not an adventure flick.  There are some songs, too, but they’re not very memorable.

I’m not nitpicking here; there are a lot of problems with this version. Yet, there’s quite a bit that’s done right.  The cast, again, is sensational, including Natalie Gregory as Alice: she won’t be winning any awards, but she’s personable and as adorable as a button, and I don’t mind her American accent.  Among my favorites of the adult cast are: Sammy Davis Jr., who gets to show off his tap dancing skills as the Caterpillar; Ringo Starr, who makes the most of his short musical number as the Mock Turtle; and Telly Savalas as the Cheshire Cat, who is once again horribly underutilized in the story.

Despite its flaws, I like this adaptation.  Its narrative is lacking and the character of Alice seems misinterpreted to me, but the cast is great fun to watch and film’s mood is happy, not sappy.

Cine Beast’s Rating: 6/10

Directed by: Jan Svankmajer

Featuring: Kristyna Kohoutova . . . that’s it.  Whoa.

Written by: Jan Svankmajer

Year of Release: 1988

Running Time: 86 minutes

MPAA: PG

Budget: Unknown

Holy crap.

So . . . yeah, uh . . . there’s not much to say about this one, I think.  It’s the “scary” adaptation of Alice in Wonderland.

It is also the best.

A few paragraphs ago, I criticized Irwin Allen’s TV Alice for failing to identify what genre it belonged to.  It wasn’t a comedy, an adventure flick, or even a musical.  I think that’s a fair criticism for every adaptation of Alice, actually. Disney’s Alice, Tim Burton’s Alice, etc., none of them could decide on a genre.  They were all just in the “Alice” genre.  Well, surprise, that’s not good enough!

The reason this movie is the best Alice adaptation yet made is because it chose a genre: Horror. 

Oh, and it has an antagonist.  That helps, too.  A lot.

At the beginning of the film, the eerie tone is set with an uncomfortable close-up of Alice’s mouth as she calmly explains, “Now you will see a film made for children . . . perhaps.”  After this we see Alice  alone in her hovel of a bedroom, throwing rocks in her teacup, when her taxidermy White Rabbit comes alive and . . . hell with it, I’ll just show you.

This is how you make an Alice in Wonderland movie.

Well, in my opinion, anyway.  I must remind myself that most audiences aren’t nearly as morbid or gothic as I am.  Perhaps you guys have a personal favorite Alice adaptation?  If you do, by all means, sound off in the comment section below.  As for me, I’m wrapping this review up, fast.

Cine Beast’s Rating: 8/10

Here’s the problem, though: I haven’t seen every adaptation out there.  I’d like to think I’ve seen the most popular ones, but there were a lot of Alice movies made.  I’m sure I’m missing a good one.  In fact, I know I am!

Specifically, I’m talking about the 1933 Alice, or as I refer to it as, “the Cary Grant Alice.”  No, seriously, it’s got Cary Grant in it.  As the Mock Turtle.  The Mock Turtle.  And I still haven’t seen it yet.  Don’t ask why: I don’t know.  When I do, though, you can count on me to review it and deduce whether or not it’s worth my interest, or yours.

In the meantime, I’m ready to finish this four-part review and move on with my life.  Cine Beast, signing off!

A competent director will often want to establish a story’s milieu, to set the stage, to get us into the mood. Early in the George Lucas produced, Ron Howard directed, 1988 movie, Willow, we are introduced to main character Willow and his village.  (Whew!  Many famous people attached to a project should definitely send up a warning flag.)

I’m sure the village is quite charming, and Warwick Davis as Willow is always engaging, but how exactly does anything in this scene serve or advance the story?  We see a bit of Willow’s attempts at amateur magic (which the filmmakers mistakenly think is crucial to the plot), some cute kids, and a lot of Little People behaving in an embarrassing manner.  This is a superfluous scene created as eye candy, which instead sticks out like a sore thumb.  It’s a “Willow’s Village.”

Now, filmmakers love to dress up Little People as fairy creatures and give them silly things to do.  Inherently, this does not equal disaster.  I’m sure you’ve already anticipated what clip comes next.

UPDATE: Apparently Warner Bros. has decided to control and delete any upload of this movie.  Hmm.  You all know the clip by heart anyway, right?  Let’s pretend fair usage had a little more wiggle room and move on.

The costumes, the colors and the fantastical scenery of The Wizard of Oz are so over the top that we admire everybody’s chutzpah for daring to put such a spectacle on film.  No one can doubt that the filmmakers wanted eye candy (and they got it) but they also made sure to deliver plot information about the Wicked Witch and the Yellow Brick Road.  Yes, it’s delivered in song, but Judy Garland can sing anything she wants and we’re mesmerized.  Wizard is a musical, after all, and the Munchkin Village is beautifully rendered.  This scene is so famous, and we all know the song so well, that I cut the clip short for the sake of brevity.  This is as far from “Willow’s Village” as you can get.

Just to be clear, the opposite of a “Willow’s Village” is a scene that advances the story and/or communicates pertinent information. Here’s George Lucas (and the persecuted Warwick Davis now encased in a teddy bear costume) succeeding at a Little People Village:

Characters are in peril, the lost Princess Leia is found, and Luke gets to show off what he’s learned to do with The Force. Paying hundreds of Little People to sweat, asphyxiate and grunt in anonymity has been worth it. Again, no “Willow’s Village.”

Our last clip is not, technically, Little People. It’s Big People surrounded by large sets in an effort to look little.

Little People are cast as Hobbits in certain scenes of Fellowship of the Ring but only as a kind of stunt double.  Still, the intention is to use pointy ears, hairy feet and rude manners in order to create embarrassing (and lovable) Little People.  This scene steps very close to the line that defines a “Willow’s Village,” but I will argue that it doesn’t cross over.  Specific information about Hobbits is delivered, although the story can (and does — this scene is from the extended version) survive without it.  However, Fellowship, unlike Willow, is based on a book beloved by millions of readers.  Each of us has imagined what The Shire looks like, and each of us wants to see how Peter Jackson’s Hobbiton compares to our imagination’s version.  Also, this scene is at the very beginning of a movie that is the very beginning of a long trilogy.  Hobbits are key to the plot; spending a few minutes learning about them is time well invested.  Sometimes The Shire can look a little precious, true, but I think J.R.R. Tolkien’s work deserves the extra effort.

And that, dear friends, is the explanation of a “Willow’s Village.”  In the future when I use the term you will know that I mean it in a derogatory and scornful manner.  The Beasts have little tolerance for such an insipid and lazy filmmaking technique.

Again, I appreciate your patience at watching less-than-stellar recordings of clips from the movie.  I have turned on the hearing-impaired captions in case the sound is inaudible.  (My DVD copy had no English subtitle option.)  Also, another rated R movie means that some clips may be inappropriate.

1

Establish the world.  Tombstone is kind enough to not only recap Wyatt Earp’s character but to set the entire Western scene.  The “documentary” footage of Earp, along with Robert Mitchum’s smoky narration, puts us firmly in the time period.  Quickly we are shown the Earp brothers, their wives, the “cosmopolitan” town of Tombstone, and the brothers’ idea that they’re out of the law enforcement business.  Also, Wyatt’s heroic, no guff-taking attitude, is immediately established.

Just prior to this scene we’ve also been presented with our bad guys, the Cowboys. We are shown a little bit about their individual characters: We know that Johnny Ringo, played by Michael Biehn, is the kind of man who would shoot a priest, and that the Cowboys are men who would rape a bride after killing her groom.  Very clear, very concisely handled.

2

Now begins the fun.  The very next scene in the movie introduces Doc Holliday (Val Kilmer).  Our first instinct would be to assume that Doc is part of the One moment, above.  We haven’t seen him before and he is a major character; he deserves a detailed introduction.  However, I will argue that Doc is the Two.  As the following scene shows, Doc is most definitely trouble.

Although we love Doc, we don’t completely trust his motives. (Odds are he was cheating at that card game.) Although Doc rides with Wyatt, he is no shining hero. When we look closely at the movie we will see how many times Doc instigates mayhem. Another reason I believe Doc is the Two is because of the Eight moment; I will explain that in more detail when we get there. For now let’s proceed under the assumption that our Two has been injected into the story.

3

In a gritty Western such as Tombstone what can be an outside influence, a touch of God, that will propel this story onward?  No mystical moment would work. We’re looking for a moment without a lot of gloss, and we have a few to choose from.

The Earp brothers are seeking a way to make some money, and the Oriental Saloon just happens to have an opening. Nice coincidence. Could this be the Three?

Well, no. I just wanted to show Billy Bob Thornton getting slapped around in one of the best tough-hero moments ever put on film.  In order for this scene to be the Three, a mirror-like version of it would need to exist out at the Six.  By the Six-ish point in the movie Wyatt has moved beyond the relative civility of saloon life; no such mirror scene is possible.  More importantly, Doc (our Two) is yet to get a scene with Wyatt.  We the viewer have seen the Two but our hero hasn’t.  Doc and his irreverence must come to town and intrude on Wyatt’s life before we can find a Three.

This, unfortunately, is the Three:

I’m not a fan of the Dana Delaney bobble-head school of acting.

Nothing is wrong with this Three, although it feels unorthodox. To drop a love interest into town, when Wyatt has a wife and a life mapped out, is a legitimate surprise that will remake Wyatt’s future. However, this Three has nothing whatsoever to do with law enforcement and the upcoming gunfight we’re all anticipating. This is a very weak Three that battles expectations for this story. Audiences who are engaged in Wyatt’s journey will blink at this Three and move on; critics waiting for the O.K. Corral will cringe and hold this as a black mark. Also, Josephine arriving on a stagecoach to change Wyatt’s course may be an iffy Three, but just wait until we get to the Six. This is a tough Three to bring home when the movie runs toward the finish.  A very interesting choice.  I look forward to seeing how it plays out.

4

Ahh, finally.  Let the action truly begin.

Here, as promised, is Doc getting Wyatt into trouble. Wyatt, although he has the shotgun mounted under the faro table, is willing to live and let live when it comes to the Cowboys. No confrontation would occur if Doc didn’t poke at Ringo.  Doc’s love of mischief is pitted against Ringo’s need for destruction.  The relationship of these two fallen angels, one light and one dark, is a key subplot in the movie, which this scene beautifully exemplifies. Doc and Ringo will dance again.

This Four has, as all good Fours do, our hero acted upon rather than being the actor. Doc riles the Cowboys; Virgil takes the sheriff job and riles the Cowboys. Wyatt would prefer to avoid the whole thing, but his loyalty to his brothers and his friend drags him into the story. Throughout the Four Wyatt is a reluctant participant. Arguably the greatest scene in the movie involves Wyatt, instead of leading the charge, “backing his brother’s play.”  When the gunfight begins, Wyatt can only react.

What do you think: Would the gunfight at the O.K. Corral have occurred if Doc didn’t wink? The troublemaker strikes again. I like this consistency in the movie; it speaks of directorial intention. Also, I don’t think Wyatt’s heroism is diminished by his relative passivity in the first half of the story. We know the action-oriented Wyatt will come, and we enjoy the anticipation. All we need is something to change Wyatt from unengaged to engaged.

4/5 Switch

The something that happens to Wyatt is a doozy. Virgil is wounded and Morgan is shot in the back.

Tombstone has an incredibly strong Switch.  Look at the directorial control in this scene.  We are being told by the director to pay close attention.  Every person Wyatt loves turns away from him, including his (dying) most-beloved brother.  Thunder cracks as the music swells.  Wyatt is isolated on a dusty road at what seems to be the end of the earth.  And then, just in case you were in doubt, a drunken and mournful Doc quotes Coleridge at you.  Kubla Khan is a drug-induced poem about lost paradise and the eventual fall of a great man’s dream.  Deep stuff going on here, if you care to delve.  I like a movie that operates on two levels, both of which are enjoyable.  If you want to watch a shoot-’em-up Western without attending to metaphysical themes, this movie is perfectly satisfying.  If you want to contemplate man’s place in the universe after each blood-bath scene, then we’ve got that, too.

5

The payoff has arrived and action-hero Wyatt is in da house.  Right away we see what his brand of justice will entail, and we like it.  It’s about time.

Again, if you care to attend to deeper themes, you’ll notice that Wyatt’s line refers back to the beginning of the movie when Ringo translated the priest quoting Revelations.  The Pale Rider the priest foreshadowed has now arrived.  Indeed, Wyatt’s justice seems to have a touch of the supernatural.  See this scene from the meat of the Five:

Fun stuff.  Doc’s commentary fits within the movie and also as a commentary on the movie.  I like the tone.

Our team works together to take down the Cowboys; cooperation is the hallmark of the Five.  The members of the team are a bit disconcerting: our old buddy Doc is still around, but who are these other characters?  We barely know or care about them.  With Morgan dead and Virgil incapacitated Wyatt has no brothers left to organize.  As we’ll see later, this is an unfortunate flaw for the movie.

6

As promised, we’ve arrived at our awkward Six.  The mirror aspect (necessary for a successful Three/Six) is well done: she comes into his life by stagecoach, she goes out of his life by stagecoach.  Also, the promise of love that arrives with her in Tombstone is now fulfilled, if Wyatt can ever get out of the killing business and move on with his life.  You’ll see in the following clip that this Six leads Wyatt to exactly that conclusion.

Wyatt has something to live for, a life beyond what he’s known so far.  He’s ready to move on to decision-making in the Seven; in that regard this Six is very successful.  However, the insipidity of this scene harms the enjoyment we get from watching a gunslinger movie, and whatever satisfaction we get from contemplating the movie’s philosophical themes is ruined by such an ersatz encounter.  This weak attempt at love-everlasting is disappointing, and, I would suggest, one of the reasons critics found fault with the movie.  I wish the filmmakers could have generated a more energetic Three/Six.  The lack of chemistry between these two actors is painful.

7

Wyatt recovers beautifully from his weak Six moment and lands squarely in this Seven.  As you’ll see, Wyatt must decide that he will face Ringo, even though he knows he can’t defeat him.  Kurt Russell handles the scene with a light touch that shines.  To our surprise, Doc also has a decision to make.  We don’t completely realize what Doc is doing until we get to the Eight, but in retrospect we can see that Doc works very hard in this scene.

The Platonic love (yeah, gotta qualify in this day and age) between Doc and Wyatt is the true heart of this movie.  Kilmer and Russell hit their scenes out of the park, and their friendship is the story that overcomes any flaws the movie has.  Watching these two actors at work is a privilege.

8

This is our Eight, a very unorthodox piece of business.  Wyatt, our protagonist, is mostly absent.

Does this climax work for you?  Every Western should have an exciting gunslinger scene.  Wyatt is no quick draw, so the task falls to Doc.  Ringo deserves to be shot, and he dies with style.  Doc, who goes into every gunfight hoping to be killed, is wonderfully sardonic as he taunts the dying Ringo.  I think this is a good scene.  Many expectations are fulfilled, and Doc’s selflessness is a pleasant surprise.  However, the absence of our protagonist at the climax is a strange choice.  Some viewers may have wanted Wyatt to be more of a superman.

Thinking back to our Two, the entrance of troublemaker Doc, this Eight makes more sense.  Often the Two and Eight share a relationship, similar to the Three/Six connection.  The promise of Doc in the Two is fulfilled in the Eight.  That symmetry helps to make this Eight more successful.

After this scene we enter a weird zone where Wyatt and his posse ride around killing off the last of the Cowboys.  We see them riding side by side in a money shot that disappoints.  No brothers, no interest in the team.  This is part of the climax yet it feels ho hum.  The triumph of the moment is diminished because the people aren’t that engaging.  As a Monday morning quarterback, I wish Virgil could have snuck back in for this last ride.

9

Resolution.  Wyatt’s life as a lawman is over and he only needs to bid farewell to Doc.  Because Wyatt is a true friend he will not abandon Doc until the end arrives.

Conveniently, Doc knows where Wyatt should go next and points him toward the culminating love interest.  Meh.  Because Wyatt Earp was a real person with a known biography, the summation of his life is interesting and charming.  However, the above moment with Doc is the real end as far as I’m concerned.  The closing of their relationship is the payoff I’ve been waiting for, and the two actors are, again, excellent.

All in all, an enjoyable and entertaining movie with a couple of profound moments added.  Despite its Enneagram flaws (or, more accurately, weak choices) I consider Tombstone to be one of the great Westerns.

Sorry about the audio and visual irregularities in my clip grabs. Also, this film is rated R and some of the clips may reflect that.

1

In storytelling the One sets the mood at the opening. The characters live in the world as defined at this moment. Postman is a post-apocalypse style movie and Costner sets up the One cleanly and quickly.

The character’s isolation, yet ability to remember the world as it was, is established. He’s a loner and a little bit strange. Even in a world where all society’s rules are rewritten, the Postman character is still an odd bird. Humanity has built small communities yet the Postman doesn’t join; he only visits.

2

The Two in storytelling introduces the first sign of trouble, the ripple in the pond of the movie’s world. During the Postman’s visit (the first we see) to a community, General Bethlehem and his army, a totalitarian feudal system ruling the post-apocalyptic America, ride into town to conscript men. The Postman is taken.

This section of the movie can be hard to watch. The introduction of the army and Bethlehem, our bad guy, is important to the world and critical to the later storytelling, but the tone is brutal and depressing.

No one wants to watch a movie about our hero trapped in this camp. However, this is just the Two moment. Introduce the trouble and move on. And here we come to our first indication of a flaw with this movie. This Two goes on for a very long time. Waaaay too long. Many interesting character traits are presented, much lovely cinematography is shown, acting lessons by Will Patton as Bethlehem are given, etc., but the Two cannot carry this weight. The true arc of the story has not yet been revealed (our hero is called Shakespeare at this point, for his ability to quote The Bard, but he is known throughout most of the later movie as the Postman), and the viewer is misdirected by the complexity of these scenes. Heavy editing was needed during post-production.

3

Eventually, though, the Postman escapes from Bethlehem’s army. While wandering, cold and hungry, he finds a mail carrier truck with a skeleton in the driver’s seat. Settling inside, helping himself to the postal carrier’s flask, snacks and cigarette lighter, the Postman experiences our Three moment. The Three will always come from outside the character, sometimes like the hand of God. To find this truck full of mail and with an intact postal uniform is a miraculous stroke for our hero. A new life becomes possible for him.

“Possible” being the key word. The Three only suggests the course of the story; the arc is fulfilled during the rest of the movie. The Postman takes the uniform and leftover old mail and decides to pawn himself off as a government official in order to get free food and lodging at the communities he visits. Becoming a postman is a scam for him at first. He claims the “Continental Congress” has restored the American government back east, invents a president and even says “they got Broadway up and running again.”

4

These lies are the bulk of the Four. The Postman doesn’t believe he’s a postman, and some of the villagers don’t think he is either.

While the Three is only a moment, the Four will include a bulk of storytelling. The arc will be our character avoiding his destiny. He has a love interest with Abby that develops during this time. He has a run-in with Bethlehem, who doesn’t believe for a second that government has re-formed, but doesn’t recognize him as Shakespeare. The Postman runs away from responsibility until he can’t run anymore. In terms of filmmaking, the Four can hold a lot of material; however, the editor could have been at work here, too. Cutting some of the time with Abby in the cabin, during which the Postman recovers from a gunshot wound, would emphasize the concise and moving previous scene when the Postman rescues her from Bethlehem. Pearls are getting lost in the mud of the swine pit.

4-5 Switch

When applying the Enneagram to storytelling, we talk about an additional step.  The leap from Four to Five becomes an actual storytelling moment.  Something has to happen, usually a realization by the protagonist, that firms up the character’s resolve.  For the most part, the Switch happens at the film’s mid-point and is one of the easiest moments to get right.  A writer of even modest talent recognizes the need for a character to grow and will find this key changing point.  This moment for our Postman is very well done.

While the Postman was recuperating in the mountain cabin, Ford Lincoln Mercury, a wonderful character we met back in the Four, has been advancing a real postal service in the tradition of the Pony Express. Before this point, the Postman was playing at being a government official; after this point the Postman can no longer pretend.

5

A Five plays much like the Four except that characters work together now, where before they worked at cross purposes.  The postal service exists and the Postman is a part of it, whether he likes it or not.  He is no longer distant from human community but thoroughly engaged in trying to protect everyone around him.  He rides the most dangerous routes; when Bethlehem begins assassinating carriers the Postman takes action to defend them.  He has a connection with the people he’s met and feels pain and responsibility when they die.  As in the Four, much storytelling can reside in the Five and this movie has some beautiful scenes during this section.

6

A successful Six is a direct mirror of the Three.  Oftentimes both moments involve the same device, the same touch from the outside.  A good Six will compel you forward into the film’s climax. In this movie the Three is the “knighting” of the postal carrier.  The Postman becomes a postman.  Therefore, the Six should mirror this moment.  We’re looking for a “re-knighting,” a renewed purpose.  Indeed, the movie has this moment clearly stated, but the dramatic tension at the Six as played is horribly flat.  I would argue that the bungling of the Six here is the biggest flaw in the movie.  Especially because the scene prior has dramatic tension in spades.  The Postman has disbanded the carrier service in an attempt to appease Bethlehem.  To all appearances, the post office is no more.  Ford Lincoln Mercury has turned himself over to Bethlehem to make amends, which will most likely result in Ford’s death.  If only Costner could have combined these moments and had our Postman experience the emotions of the following scene, the False Six, as I’ll call it.  See what this does for you:

By the way, that’s Larenz Tate as Ford, and he’s superb.

We, the moviegoers, see that Bethlehem cannot be appeased and that the postal service must go on.  The post office is such a symbol of American freedom that other independent places, such as the Republic of California, have begun the same system.  This scene is a wonderful testament to human determination and sovereignty, yet our protagonist is off-screen and misses the whole thing.  Eek.  Bad storytelling.  No, no, no.

The movie proceeds on to its true Six, the return of the postman, without any of the emotional thrill evident just moments before.

Perhaps you recognize Tom Petty, famous rock musician, playing a pre-apocalypse famous rock musician. The joke is handled deftly and I enjoyed it. You will also have noticed that Costner again gives the postal hat, the “knighting” symbol, a prominent placement as he did during the Three. The exactly right shot comes at the wrong time. I find this movie to be wonderful and frustrating because of moments like this. A mishandled Six will leave the viewer apprehensive about the climax. A sense of completion, of coming full circle, is needed. The character must be determined to face the end of the story, and we must believe he is worthy and ready. This Six leaves us wondering.

7

In Enneagram personality typing the Seven is one who likes options; in storytelling the Seven is about narrowing the options to a choice, a decision on how to move into the final battle. As I’ve mentioned before, sometimes the Seven is implied, which is fine. This moment can take a blink of an eye. Giving the Seven too much weight after a scintillating Six heading into a bang-up climatic Eight is a mistake. Let the Seven touch the story lightly and move on. Unfortunately, this movie needed more footage on the post-production floor. The following is an example of a painfully clunky Seven attempting to sum up what should have been concisely handled in a better-designed Six moment.

And it continues on (and on) from there. Let me Monday morning quarterback, as I do every year as I watch this scene. When Abby says, “You give out hope like it’s candy in your pocket,” the Postman should say, “You think I have hope in my pocket?” and pull out the ribbon, left behind by Abby after a romantic interlude way back at the beginning of the movie. He looks at the ribbon; she recognizes the ribbon; we see they love each other; end of scene. Now, come on. Was that so hard?

8

The climax, the big event, the end of the movie with all the bells and whistles. No filmmaker misses this moment. However, some are more successful than others. This movie’s Eight is whizz bang wonderful. I will not show you the full Eight, though, out of respect for the integrity of the film. An Eight should be seen in context, with all the dramatic build the filmmaker has created. This is only a sample.

The culmination of every emotion you were subjected to with the General Bethlehem scenes is rewarded beautifully and I encourage you to watch it.

9

Same rule applies for showing a clip of the Nine. The story is resolved, peace has been restored, and our little film world is wrapping up. I don’t read the last page of a book before I get to it, and I won’t show an extended clip of the last scene of a movie. Just a sample.

And thus, after the month of July has practically come and gone, I give you my Fourth of July pick for a (mostly) excellent holiday movie, the Enneagram of the story of The Postman. Hope you enjoyed, and God bless America.

Directed by: William Sterling

Featuring: Fiona Fullerton, Michael Crawford, Dudley Moore, with Peter Sellers as The March Hare, and Ralph Richardson as The Caterpillar

Written by: William Sterling

Year of Release: 1972

Running Time: 101 minutes

MPAA: G

Budget: $2,500,000

I briefly mentioned in Part Two that this adaptation was one of the few that achieved the quality of a dream.  I do not retract that statement: this is a very dreamy movie.  I think there are several factors that contributed to this quality:

1. The slow pacing/use of long takes.  The movie isn’t all that long, but when you watch it you feel as if you’re watching someones whole life play out.  It’s really, really slow.

2. The fantastic score by John Barry.  This adaptation, like many others, is a musical, but none of the songs suck, obviously, since the genius behind the soundtrack of James Bond is in charge here.  The whole movie sounds great.

3. The gorgeous cinematography.  The set design, costumes, and special effects in this version are probably the most beautiful I’ve ever seen in an Alice adaptation.  There are a lot of colors, but they’re all slightly muted and faded, which adds substantially to the dreamlike state of the film.

All of the actors are excellent, particularly Michael Crawford as the White Rabbit.  Years before he played the makeup-heavy role of the Phantom of the Opera, Michael still has a handle on singing through layers of prosthetics here.  He plays WR very expertly, keeping a happy medium between extremely lovable and excruciatingly annoying.

Fiona Fullerton is another example of the great cast: she’s easily one of my favorite actresses to play Alice, although her characterization reminded me an awful lot of Judy Garland in the MGM Wizard of Oz adaptation.

Actually, this whole movie reminds me of that adaptation!  The colorful costumes, extensive makeup, fun effects, and beautiful music are all reminiscent of Judy’s trip through Oz.  However, when compared to that masterpiece of cinema this film’s flaws seriously begin to stand out.

You see, I believe that the MGM classic is a huge improvement over Frank L. Baum’s original novel.  The original has a story, but it’s very unrefined and unfocused.  The 1939 adaptation completely rewrote the story and gave it a compelling narrative.

So, my problem with this adaptation of Alice in Wonderland is the same problem with most of the others: it’s based exactly off of the original book, and therefore has no plot.  Words cannot describe how disappointing this is, since I believe this adaptation (more than any other) has the potential to be a classic.  I mean, come on, guys, write a story!  Screw Lewis Carrol!  You have everything else: a good cast, cool costumes and sets, beautiful presentation, and an amazing soundtrack.

Where’s the #&%@* PLOT?!

. . . Ahem . . . Sorry, I just really want to like this version.  I mean, I like it anyway, but I want to love it.  This should be the best Alice adaptation of them all, but it ain’t.  It’s watchable, but not actually good.  You can’t respect it like you respect the MGM Wizard of Oz, and that’s what makes me feel so horribly disappointed.

Also, it barely had the Cheshire Cat in it.  What’s up with that?  Why do people keep cutting his screen time?  Are secret lobotomies being performed on filmmakers or something?

Anyway, this is still an okay adaptation.  It is beautiful, although all of the beauty seems needlessly wasted on a dull, uninspired screenplay.  It’s a shame, to put simply.  A pretty, feature-length shame.

Cine Beast’s Rating: 5/10

Directed by: Tim Burton

Featuring: Mia Wasikowska, Johnny Depp, Helena Bonham Carter, Anne Hathaway, with Stephen Fry as The Cheshire Cat, and Alan Rickman as The Caterpillar

Written by: Linda Woolverton

Year of Release: 2010

Running Time: 108 minutes

MPAA: PG (I mildly disagree with this.  The film deserves at least a PG-13, I think)

Budget: $200,000,000 (Whew!)

Okay . . . Tim Burton.  Some people like him, some don’t.  I do, but that doesn’t keep me from making fun of him every now and then.  Now, this movie.  Some people love it, some hate it.  Me?

I . . . don’t really care either way.  My personal opinion is very ambivalent, unfortunately, which will make reviewing the film itself difficult.  Also, I don’t really think Tim’s movie even counts as an adaptation of Alice in Wonderland, which makes reviewing this even more difficult.

You see . . . this is a sequel.  Not a remake or adaptation (strictly speaking) but an unofficial sequel.  Wait, I’ve got it: this is fan fiction.  An Alice fan fiction supervised by Tim Burton.  Does that mean it’s bad?  Not really.  Let’s investigate the movie the proper way.

What’s the story?  And how is it different from the many Alice adaptations out there?

First of all, the movie takes place a decade after Alice’s adventures in both Wonderland and the Looking Glass World, which are combined as one country in this film (not a bad idea).  Alice, now 17, is about to be married off to a nerdy doofus, something she’s absolutely opposed to (with good reason, I guess).  Right after the Nerd proposes to her Alice runs away to chase the White Rabbit (voiced by Michael Sheen) into Wonderland (referred to as Underland by its denizens).

Once there, Alice (who believes herself to be dreaming) learns that the Red Queen (Helena Bonham Carter) has Underland in an iron grip because she controls the vicious Jabberwocky (briefly voiced by Christopher Lee).  Alice than meets the Caterpillar (an oracle in this film) who says that she must make the virtuous White Queen master of Underland by besting the Jabberwocky in single combat.  By the end of the film, Alice accepts that she is not dreaming, takes up the mighty Vorpal Sword (the only weapon capable of killing the Jabberwocky), slays the Red Queen’s monstrous pet, and saves the world.

Well . . . that’s all very epic and stuff, but it doesn’t really feel like Alice in Wonderland.  I know, I know, I must sound pretty idiotic: I spend the past two and a half parts of this review complaining that adaptations of Alice don’t have a plot, and once faced with a version that does have a real story, I criticise it.  I don’t know what’s wrong with me.  All I do know is that this “epic” adventure story did not sit well with me.

. . . Actually, it might just be because it feels so feminist.  Anyone remember Disney’s Enchanted?  Remember how the main character (a sappy princess) spends the whole movie being this pleasant, giddy young woman who abruptly changes during the climax into a sword-wielding action hero?  Remember how stupid that was?

Yeah, well, this whole movie kind of feels like that.  After Alice decapitates the Jabberwocky and returns home she refuses to marry the Nerd, ruins the life of her unmarried aunt, and then becomes an oriental trader or something.  It’s kind of cheap, actually, and made me feel like I’d been ripped off.

I guess I don’t need to jump to the conclusion that the film is feminist, though.  Tim’s intention could simply have been to give young girls a strong, independent role model, which is a good idea.  However, it still doesn’t feel right to me.  Like I said earlier, it still feels kind of cheap.

Did you notice how I specifically mentioned that Alice decapitates the Jabberwocky?  Yeah, this movie should have been rated PG-13, easily.  Alice crosses a bloody moat filled with the heads of people the Red Queen had executed; Alice gets her arm slit open by a tiger-thing; the Dormouse stabs said tiger-thing in the freakin’ eyeball and rips it out.  Actually, there seems to be a sort of eyeball-obsession going on in this movie: The Knave of Hearts (Crispin Glover) has a nasty scar across one eye that he obscures with a patch; the tiger-thing becomes Alice’s devoted servant after she returns it’s eyeball to it (err, what?); and during the climax the Mad Hatter viciously pricks the Knave in his remaining eye with a needle.  Ow?

Speaking of the Mad Hatter, no, I did not have a problem with him, not really.  Who I did take issue with was his actor, the pirate of the Caribbean himself, Johnny Depp.  Remember Johnny as Willy Wonka?  Wasn’t that awful?  Well, he’s possibly even worse in this.  It might just be his strange makeup, of course: he looks like the illegitimate son of the Joker and Poison Ivy.

What’s wrong with him?

Actually, I read that the Hatter’s design was inspired by what a real hatter would look like after catching “hatter’s disease” (mercury poisoning).  That’s very fascinating, Mr. Burton, but, um, this is Alice in Wonderland.  I really don’t want mercury poisoning involved with a classic children’s story.  It’s icky.

Anyway, besides Johnny, most of the actors do a fine job, especially Helena Bonham Carter, who puts the Red Queen on a pedestal as a hilarious, mischievous, sympathetic, and cruel character.  She’s really a joy to watch.  Alan Rickman, Michael Sheen, Crispin Glover, and Anne Hathaway all put in passable performances as well.

Enough about them, though!  Their characters don’t matter!  The real question is whether or not Stephen Fry does a good job as the Cheshire Cat.

Well, he does.  “Yay!”

The movie doesn’t have nearly enough of the Cheshire Cat, though.  “Alas!”

A positive point for the film, however: it looks gorgeous.  A little too dreary, sometimes, but generally beautiful and enchanting.  The CGI animals and effects are fine, neither obnoxious or groundbreaking, but satisfactory.

So, final verdict.  Best Alice adaptation?  Well, it’s a sequel, technically, but no, it’s not great.  It’s better than most, though, that’s for sure.  The semi-feminist story is very cheap and the script needs a rewrite, but at least there’s a plot.  Johnny Depp is a burden on the film, but Helena Bonham Carter picks up his slack (or most of it).  The cinematography and effects are great eye candy, although they’re sometimes too depressing.

Oh, and the film’s PG rating is misleading: prepare yourself for a lot of eyeball abuse.

Cine Beast’s Rating: 6/10

Hey, only one part/two adaptations left!  Hopefully the delay until then won’t be as serious as the last.  Cine Beast, signing off.