Favorite Scene Friday! A Clockwork Orange: Yarbles

Our final Oscars appreciation FSF is by none other than Nick Rehak from French Toast Sunday!

When people think of A Clockwork Orange, they tend to think of a woman being brutally raped by a gang of bizarrely dressed men while the leader sings "Singin’ in the Rain" and kicks the woman’s husband, who’s being held down and forced to watch, repeatedly in the stomach. I’m not talking about that scene… today. Instead I’m discussing something that happens earlier in the film. In today's Favorite Scene, a woman is nearly brutally raped by a gang of possible neo Nazis and is somehow rescued (I use that word lightly) by a gang of bizarrely dressed men. But when you really sit down and watch the scene, it becomes apparent that it doesn’t belong in the film. Yes the juxtaposition of classical music over moments of violence are there, the hedonistic and sometimes animalistic tendencies of man are there, but this moment is unlike any other that happen in the film.

By Wikipedia

The moment begins after a quick introduction of Alex and his three droogs, that is, Pete, Georgie, and Dim. We cut to a classic style painting still life of roses in an assumed marble vase. We hear screams over the french horns, oboe and violins of Rossini’s "The Thieving Magpie". The camera pans down and we find we are in an old derelict theater, even though Alex refers to it as a casino. A gang of men, dressed in World War Two garb, is clawing at a woman, ripping her clothes off in hopes of bedding her. Ugh that sounds gross. Doesn’t that sound gross? Bedding. Yuck. Anyway, they pull this woman over to a pile of old disgusting looking mattresses when out of the darkness steps Alex and his droogs. Distracted, the gang pays no attention to the woman and she makes her escape. Alex then tosses some very light, almost elementary school level insults. Very tame in comparison to the rest of the Oscar nominated X-rated film.

But here’s where it gets interesting. For most of the film, anytime Alex is on screen, he is in control. When the film begins, it’s on his face and as the camera pulls back, it looks like he lifts a glass of moloko drencrom to us, toasting us as guests of honor as he guides us through this hellacious dystopian future. But in this moment, as Alex hurls insults at Billy Boy, we don’t see Alex. We see Billy. The camera is holding on Billy and comes across looking like a moving portrait. Billy doesn’t blink or flinch. Steadily chewing gum, for nearly ten seconds, then lifting his switchblade to show Alex he’s ready for a bit of the old ultraviolence. Why does this happen? In any other film, the camera would be on Alex and it would cut between members of the gang as they snicker in agreement or grimace in denial. Is it to strike fear? If we look at Billy’s attire, he’s wearing a Nazi Officer’s cap along with an Iron Cross medal. Clearly he’s the bad guy. In strolls Alex in all white, a metaphorical savior, even though he’s just as bad as Billy, if not worse. Is this an overall metaphor for society? That every country has a violent history of raping and taking, it’s just the name they claim it in is different. It’s a lot to read into in just ten seconds, but it’s the only time in the film this happens.

In the rest of the film (SPOILERS) we see Alex go from criminal to reformed man to a broken man on the verge of returning to his primal nature. But every time he’s on the screen, he controls the scene. Your attention is on him. Yeah, I get it, he’s the main character, it’s his story, but if he has such disdain for Billy Boy, why hold on him for so long? Why not further degrade the guy and show everyone else but him? These questions are abruptly forgotten as we spill into violence. But it’s not the ultraviolence this film is known for. Instead we get something that looks and feels like a standard bar fight in a western. Somebody spills something on someone or steps on a toe and suddenly bodies are flying through tables and windows, and chairs are being broken off left and right. The EXACT same thing happens here. It’s almost a Looney Tunes level of violence that gets further downplayed by the juxtaposition of "The Thieving Magpie". A man literally dropkicks another through a table.

But as soon as it begins, it’s over as Alex takes control of the narrative. He whistles to his droogs like a trainer to his dogs. We see now they’re not Alex’s friends or companions; just his droogs. Just people he has around to do his viddy well bidding. The best line though comes from Alex as he challenges Billy, “come and get on in the yarbles! If ya got any yarbles.” It’s wonderful and I wish it was cool to use that slang. It’s a shame the film didn’t take home the Academy Award for Best Picture in 1972. I believe the film is absolutely more deserving than The French Connection. Thing is, people see this film as nothing but shock violence with a boring second half. This film is so much more than that. It’s a satiric meditation on human nature and the inherent violence we grow up with. It takes a fun house mirror and points it at society, showing us where our priorities lay, rather than where they should. Now there’s something you can wrap your rassoodocks around for a few hours.

Note - this week's scene contains graphic nudity and violence. NSFW.

What's your favorite scene from A Clockwork Orange?

Favorite Scene Friday! Moonlight: Chiron's Revenge

More February, more Oscars appreciation! Jacob from Panned Review takes a look at a nominee for this year's Best Picture Oscar - Moonlight.

“I ain’t no boy,” Chiron says at the police station, as he ices his bruised face, which has just been smashed by Kevin, a guy whom Chiron thought was his closest friend. Chiron’s physical pain is nothing compared to the feeling of betrayal, and this is a particularly cruel treachery. But betrayal seems to be the only consistent factor in Chiron’s relationships. Chiron feels betrayed by his drug-addicted mother, by Juan, a kindly, gentle father figure who happens to be a drug dealer, and now by Kevin: they kissed on the beach once, and the kiss went further, a moment of intense passion, an unexpected urge between them, one bound to generate confused feelings, guilt, and shame, in a world that is militantly homophobic. Betrayal has tainted every relationship in Chiron’s life (with the exception of Teresa, Juan’s wife, played by the fabulous Janelle Monáe, whom readers may recognize as one of the three stars of Hidden Figures), rendering them as ineffectual as saltwater to a parched mouth.

By Source, Fair use, Link

Moonlight was, for me, the most moving film I saw last year. Although I loved La La Land, which has become trendy to hate on, Moonlight deserves to win the Best Picture Oscar (I’m not sure it has a chance, especially against a popular favorite that’s an adorable, Hollywood-obsessed confection.) Where La La Land feels clever and charming and happily content with its own nostalgic view of a particularly sun-dappled world, Moonlight feels deeply urgent and lyrical and honest about a world where the sun doesn’t bring warmth so much as blood-boiling heat.

In its story of a young black boy becoming a man, Moonlight casts three different actors to play Chiron, in three different stages of his life: as a young boy, called “Little” (Alex Hibbert), as a teenager struggling to come to terms with his sexuality, the only time when he’s referred to by his given name (and played by Ashton Sanders), and as a grown man, now called “Black” (played by Trevante Rhodes). Somehow, these three actors have created a seamless vision of Chiron, guided by the knowing instincts of writer-director Barry Jenkins.

The scene I want to bring into focus involves Kevin’s betrayal of Chiron. It’s really the only scene in which Chiron acts out because of his anger. Being both black and gay is a particularly difficult battle to fight for Chiron, who’s already endured enough torment when a high school bully pits Kevin against him, urging Kevin to “knock his faggot-ass down.” These are boys playing at manhood, questioning their own vulnerabilities, their own insecurities, which they see as signs that they are not men. Insecurities like these must be purged, by violence. And so, out of fear and hatred of himself, Kevin strikes Chiron, in a modern-day Judas kiss.

Chiron’s anger wells up inside him. He’s used to keeping quiet, he’s learned the value of not stirring things up. But while keeping control of his anger worked for him as a child, it is no longer enough, or he is no longer able to control it. But it’s not Kevin who receives Chiron’s fury, but the instigating bully. Is Chiron sparing Kevin? Cutting him some slack? Or maybe, does Chiron realize that Kevin has in a sense already punished himself in the act of betrayal? Regardless, when Chiron returns to school, he coolly walks into a classroom and smashes a chair over the head of the boy that goaded Kevin into hitting him. In that moment, the consequences of attacking the unsuspecting punk matter little; the feeling of vindication acts like a mantra that cannot be ignored; there’s something intoxicating about this revenge, both for Chiron and the viewer.

Moonlight is an intoxicating film, after all. And this scene encapsulates the complexities at work here. Moonlight explores the world from a very particular angle, and in so doing, offers us something very true: We cannot expect to survive in our own heads forever. Sooner or later, we crave human connection. Chiron, having bottled up so much, walks around with very thick armor (as I’ve already mentioned, he has good reason to be so guarded). Yet the feelings and the thoughts and the workings of his mind are palpable, as powerful as thunderclouds. There’s a tempest inside him, but there is also tenderness and love and compassion, too.

Moonlight is a gracious movie, one that deeply feels for its protagonist without offering him up as some object of pity. Instead, the film offers Chiron a moment of grace: In the third act, when “Black” appears, just as quiet and guarded as ever, but now physically tougher, harder, more in control, Kevin re-enters his life; the bad blood between them has dissipated, and what’s left is a lingering memory of that night on the beach. Moonlight wonders what might have been, had Chiron’s life been less fraught with hopelessness; but it also finds hope anyway; it isn’t too late for him to carve out some kind of happiness, some kind of life for himself.

What's your favorite scene from Moonlight?

Who do you think will take home the Best Actor prize at this year's ceremony?

Favorite Scene Friday! Up: Taking Off

All this month we'll be looking at the last decade of films nominated for the Academy Award for Best Picture. However it's also February, which is the month of Valentine's Day, so I'm picking a film that was nominated for Best Picture, but also means a great deal to my relationship, as it was the first film I saw with my fiancée, and remains one of our favourites to this day, Pixar's Up.

Artwork by Posterinspired, available on Etsy

The most discussed - and most romantic - scene from Up is easily the opening montage, depicting the life-long relationship between Carl and Ellie, from mis-matched children through their wedding, failed attempts to have children, plans to seek adventures elsewhere and eventually Ellie's heartbreaking demise, but that's not my favourite part. It's not the scene where they meet Dug (although the lovable talking dog is easily one of my top Pixar characters, probably in the top 10), nor is it anything to do with the film's villain, Charles Muntz, or occasionally annoying sidekick Russell. No, the greatest scene in Up lasts just 6 seconds, and is when Carl's newly-flying house passes by the window of a little girl, casting her room in a kaleidoscopic disco of colours and shapes.

The moment is a classic Pixar notion, a creative extrapolation of how their main plot could tangentially - and beautifully - impact the most minor of characters around them. In this instance it's how Carl's house being carried away by hundreds of helium-filled balloons would look to the people nearby. Onlookers understandably stare in disbelief, mouths agape. A window cleaner on a skyscraper gives a confused wave. And a little girl delights in her room being temporarily decorated like a giant bag of Skittles. It warms my heart every time I watch it.

Granted that snippet is part of a bigger whole, so let's also take a quick glance at the rest of the scene. I really like the two orderlies who come to collect Carl to take him to the nursing home. I don't know why I love that one of them has the label sticking out of this shirt, but I do. And the other one, George, is voiced by Donald Fullilove, who also played Mayor Goldie Wilson in Back To The Future. I enjoy the storytelling of the scene. Beforehand we don't know what Carl's plan is, we just know he's due to be shipped off to the retirement home after attacking a construction worker for accidentally damaging his sentimentally invaluable mailbox, but clues are given immediately as the nurses walk away from his front door, remarking on the poor upkeep of the yard which was formerly pristine, but is now littered with empty gas canisters from all the balloons.

OK so some scene elements are a little far fetched - just where did Carl get that impossibly large bag holding the balloons from, and where exactly were they before he unleashed them, and what were they tied to, and how the heck does the tiny little weather vane act as a rudder for something literally the size of a house - but frankly who cares? Just forget all that rubbish and listen to Michael Giacchino's fabulous score and bask in the glorious visuals.

What's your favorite moment from Pixar?

Favorite Scene Friday! The French Connection: Catch the train

Last week, Will took some time to discuss a scene from Black Narcissus, a beautiful, slow-moving, dramatic moment that focussed on the relatively small action of someone applying lipstick. This week, continuing February's Oscar-Month, I'm looking at the polar opposite to that scene; 1972 Best Picture winner The French Connection's car chase.

Police detective Popeye Doyle (Gene Hackman) has just had an attempt made on his life by a sniper (Marcel Bozzuffi), who is making his escape on an elevated train across New York City. Doyle commandeers a car and sets out to chase the gunman down, but unfortunately he hasn't banked on the sheer volume of New York traffic in his way, leading to my favorite car chase committed to film.

What makes this scene spectacular isn't necessarily what's involved in the scene, but more the much-documented way it was made, in that most, if not all, of the segments spent careering through the oncoming traffic were filmed without permit or permission. All those cars coming in the opposite direction, narrowly avoiding potentially fatal collisions, are not manned by stunt drivers or set on rails, those are real people going about their day, unwittingly embarking on the most dangerous journey of their lives. I don't condone this kind of thing, but it harkens back to a grittier, more visceral time when studios were less terrified and took more chances. Think of Robert Redford running along the top of a moving train in Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, or all the antics Buster Keaton almost killed himself doing. Sure, nowadays we get Tom Cruise climbing the side of the Burj Khalifa in Mission Impossible: Ghost Protocol, but it's not like he wasn't wearing a harness, and that scene took a great deal of meticulous planning. To hear The French Connection's director, William Friedkin, describe it, the scene shown above was made almost on-the-fly after he criticised stunt driver Bill Hickman's unsatisfactory attempts to produce a chase to Friedkin's liking. Friedkin himself operated the camera from the back seat as Hickman drove through the streets and across the intersections, as the director claimed that, should anything untoward have happened, his two regular cameramen both had families, whereas he was single with no dependants.

All the dangerous shots were made in one 6 block stretch, reportedly travelling at around 90 mph without stopping (although the actual footage in the clip doesn't seem quite as extreme as that). The only thing present to warn the other drivers to get the heck out of the way was a police-style siren on top of the car, and the only way a city official allowed them to crash the elevated train was by giving him a $40,000 bribe and a one-way ticket to Jamaica, because he knew he'd get fired once his superiors found out (which, according to Friedkin, is exactly what happened).

This guerilla film-making approach left the film makers with a limited amount of footage to work with, so the chase sequence is a real feat of editing, inter-cutting between the camera in the car, over Bill's shoulder (standing in for Hackman as the driver), the camera mounted to the front of the increasingly demolished car and various shots of Hackman, presumably driving at a much safer speed without endangering quite so many people not insured to work on the film, mashing at the pedals and pounding on the horn, but it all cuts seamlessly together in a highly kinetic, pulse-pounding way. And that's not even mentioning the fragments going on aboard the speeding train, as the assassin hijacks it, holding the driver at gunpoint whilst dealing with the guards attempting to apprehend him, resulting in a shoot-out and train crash. 

I don't blame today's directors for not utilising the more dangerous methods of making movies, and I can say for certain that if I were a film-maker, I'd be doing it in the most conservative, safest, most boring way possible, but that doesn't mean I can't reminisce about the old days, when schedules were pre-padded to allow the time the actors might spend in hospital. There's something more intense about watching a scene that feels spontaneous, that is missing from the perfect sheen we see on today's blockbusters, and I miss that.

What's your favorite scene from The French Connection? 

 AND what's your favorite dangerous movie moment?

Favorite Scene Friday - Oscars Edition! Black Narcissus: Lipstick Duel

Our Oscars month continues this week with a scene from Will from Exploding Helicopter!

What’s the greatest movie duel you’ve seen? Is it Obi Wan Kenobi and Darth Vader, apprentice versus master, in Star Wars? Perhaps it’s Keanu Reeves' reality-bending martial arts fight with Agent Smith in The Matrix. Or maybe it’s the elaborate, operatic showdown between Charles Bronson and Henry Fonda in Once Upon A Time In The West.

While all those movies have their merit, none comes close to the dramatic intensity of the duel in Black Narcissus (1947). It features no guns or kung-fu. No-one even throws a punch. It's just two nuns sitting in a room looking at each other.

Wikipedia

The film tells the story of a small group of god botherers sent to the Himalayas to establish a missionary in a remote village. They set-up their convent in an old, abandoned palace that locals say was once home to a harem.

But the straitlaced nuns slowly find their prim spiritual resolve dissolving. Seduced by a mysterious, never defined, exotic Eastern force – characters variously blame the wind and the old palace – their minds become occupied by more temporal and carnal concerns.

This takes human form in the shape of Mr. Dean (David Farrar), a British ex-pat working in the area as a trader. He becomes the forbidden object of desire for Sister Clodagh (Deborah Kerr) and Sister Ruth (Kathleen Byron).

Slowly, a mentally destructive jealousy begins to consume Ruth (which eventually sends her mad). She believes that Clodagh is using her position as the head of the mission to inveigle herself into Mr. Dean’s affections. And it’s the scene where these tensions finally burst forth that I’ve chosen as my favourite.

In this supercharged sequence Clodagh confronts Ruth about her decision to leave the order (in a doomed attempt to pursue Mr. Dean). For the first time – a shocking moment in the context of the film - we see Ruth dressed in something other than her plain nun’s habit. Ruth’s change in costume symbolising the surfacing of her long suppressed sexuality. For Clodagh it is a threat, representing the part of her character that she’s struggling to control.

The air crackles with an almost delirious combination of sex and madness during their tense and bizarre showdown. Ruth is almost like a wild animal. Prowling the room, her crumbling psyche flickers across her face.

Clodagh tries to persuade Ruth not to leave the order. A plea she answers by provocatively applying lipstick with a languid trance-like precision, her vacant intensity creating an unsettling atmosphere. Seemingly in fear, Clodagh picks up her bible almost as if it’s a shield against Ruth’s unhinged sexuality.

The giddy, emotional intensity is heightened by the superb score by Brian Easdale (who a year later would win an Oscar for his soundtrack to another Powell & Pressburger film, The Red Shoes). But what really lends the scene its power is the masterful lighting and photography by Jack Cardiff.

Rarely has colour photography either before or since looked so beautiful. Pause the scene at any moment and you could hang stills of Kerr and Byron’s exquisitely framed and lit faces on the walls of a portrait gallery.

The use of close-up in this sequence is sensational. The image as Byron applies her lipstick and the camera slowly pans up to her eyes sears itself into your memory. I’ve never seen such a simple gesture convey such a malevolent threat.

For his work in this film, Cardiff won the Oscar for best cinematography in 1948. As did Alfred Junge for his art direction.

Nearly 70 years on, it remains a startling scene and has lost none of its dramatic power.

What's your favorite scene from Black Narcissus?

Favorite Scene Friday - Oscars Edition! Lost In Translation: Charlotte & Bob

We're looking at Oscar nominated and/or winning films for Favorite Scene Friday all month long! This should make for a nice contrast to last month's fantasy & sci-fi scenes. Enjoy!

Getting older. We all do it. I turned 30 recently, in fact. The big 3-0. The Dirty Thirty. Maybe that's why I decided to post today's scene.

Matt Taylor

To be honest, I was watching Sofia Coppola's Lost In Translation a few months ago, and I decided to feature this week's scene back then. But it's definitely speaking to me now. Charlotte, (Scarlett Johanson) a young American visiting Tokyo with her entertainment industry husband, has met Bob Harris (Bill Murray), an aging celebrity in town to film a whiskey commercial. Charlotte and Bob, both lonely in a strange land, formed an immediate bond. Our scene is simply the two of them talking about life.


Charlotte talks about not knowing what she should do with her life, about trying her hand at writing and photography but not being happy with her work, a sentiment any creative ne'er-do-well can sympathize with. She's a perfect contrast to Bob, who's been through that "easy" future that Charlotte wonders about. Some aspects of it get easier and some don't, Bob tells her. "Keep writing," he says.

I love this scene because it's a genuine conversation between two great characters played by two great actors. Bill Murray was nominated for Best Actor for his performance (he just knocks it out of the park in this role), and, while that's more than enough to qualify for this week's scene, the film was also nominated for Best Picture and Best Director and won for Best Original Screenplay. I also can't help but think that Bill Murray's Bob is talking directly to me. I WILL keep writing, Bill!

Also, I finally watched The Bling Ring and that flick's so boring and empty compared to this.

What's your favorite scene from Lost In Translation?

AND do you think Bill Murray should have won the Best Actor award for his performance?