Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (1937)

It's a bit tricky for me writing "dwarfs" with an "f."  I'm a Tolkien fan, and so more used to the smoother (and more dangerous) "dwarves."  One might define "dwarves" as a fictional race, while "dwarfs" are people with the genetic condition, but... well in this story they could be either one.  I can't tell.  I don't suppose anybody really thought about it much - they simply are what they are on the surface.  That's much of the modern appeal to fairy tales.  Timeless, placeless; they exist outside of any context but familiar human conflicts.  They are very close to drama and action in pure, theoretical form.

By the way, the story sometimes goes around that the use of dwarfs was a Disney euphemism, and Snow White actually met up with seven thieves in the original story (as in the '90s TV movie, Snow White: A Tale of Terror).  But that would depend greatly on which version you consider the "original."  Apparently they are thieves in some regional versions of the tale, but dwarfs appear much more commonly, including in the Brothers Grimm version.  So Snow White is actually among the most faithful adaptations Disney has ever produced (they still change plenty, but mostly for the sake of streamlining, not sanitizing).

Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (1937)

I'm sorry to be posting this so late!  Somehow the week got away from both of us, but with a new film to watch tomorrow it was obvious that last week's review needed to get posted, and stat.

So, Snow White.  I grew up loving Disney movies (and still love them, and pretty much all things Disney) to this day, and since this is the film that started the whole thing I have to have a bit of a soft spot for it.  But it was never my favorite Disney animated movie.  I think as a young child that honor went to Cinderella and as I got older my loyalties switched to Sleeping Beauty (but only because Maleficent is such a badass).  Anyway, I'm supposed to be talking about Snow White!

Captain Blood (1935)

Well, what is there to say about this one?  There is a thin but persistent political undercurrent - a recurring theme of bondage, of masters and slaves in various (and fluctuating) relationships, leading unequivocally to the conclusion that servants owe nothing to an unjust leader.  Sortof the lighthearted, blockbuster version of The Battleship Potemkin.  Potentially heady stuff in another time and place, but here it's pure, escapist entertainment, painted with broad, bold strokes and absolutely unapologetic about it.  That's what makes it great.  These days it's hard to make a film like this, largely because there are only so many variations possible without diluting the purity of the essential story.  Usually they either come out as a ripoff or a convoluted mess.  The key is all in the performance.  You have to set aside doubt and go straight at it with the strength and certainty of Errol Flynn's chin.

Captain Blood (1935)

This is easily my favorite movie that we've watched thus far.  HIGHLY entertaining, well acted (mostly - but more on that later), well paced, good action, etc.  I honestly have next to no complaints about this film.  I was very interested to see how influential Errol Flynn is though.  Amazingly enough, this is the first Errol Flynn movie I have ever seen (and yes, I do have a bit of a crush on him...or at least on his character of Peter Blood. What a FOX.)

King Kong (1933)

Like most of the films on this project, I had never seen King Kong before.  The reason is simple; I simply had no interest in a stop motion monster movie from the 30s.  Similarly, I've never seen Godzilla.  Now that I have seen Kong, I'm having strong emotions about it, which Robin assures me is the whole point of the movie.

King Kong (1933)

All of the great monster movies are tragedies.  Though there doesn't seem to be any obvious reason for it, it's something essential to the genre.  Perhaps because it forces a moral reckoning: we stand in awe of the mighty beast, yet what terrible power do we wield that destroys it?  And, beyond the moral implications, that equivalency plays on anxieties about our own mortality.  What should be a celebration of victory inevitably becomes a contemplation of the impermanence of all things.  The King is dead.  Long live the King.

Little Caesar (1931)

My parents enjoy telling me how, when I first emerged wrinkly and screaming into the world, I looked just like Edward G. Robinson.  I like this, and I think it says something about my parents.  I think if more parents were truly honest with themselves, they'd find this was true of their babies too.  Some of us were downright reptilian to start with.

So what I noticed while watching Robinson's performance in Little Caesar, is that the comparison folds neatly back on itself.  For his character, Rico, is a lot like a baby.  The sort of angry, tempestuous baby everyone fears the most.  He always wants more, wants better, wants wants wants.  Gimme gimme gimme.  He has no patience.  He needs to be the center of attention.  Anytime he isn't doing anything else, he's complaining.  Once he achieves power and success, he has an almost adorable uncertainty of what to do with it.  Possibly my favorite scene is when he comes over to the head honcho's pad, and isn't quite sure what to say about all the nice furniture, or what to do with his cigar.  But he watches the Big Boy's actions and tastes, and copies them later on.  Not because he really likes or even understands them - just because that's what he saw a big important person do, so he copies it.  Eventually he navigates their awkward conversation by admiring everything in terms of price.  See, he's not interested in the thing itself, but what it took to get it.  Being successful - actually having things - isn't what he's good at.  What he's good at is wanting things.  Taking.  Grabbing.  And snarling until he gets his way.  As a baby he was the kind of kid who couldn't just play with the toy he was holding.  He had to play with whatever toy somebody else was holding.  And God forbid you don't want to play whatever game he wants to play, or he'll gun you down on the cathedral steps.

Little Caesar (1931)

Have any of you ever wondered what English must sound like to non-English speakers?  Well, I have.  Growing up speaking nothing but English I have never had any problems understanding spoken English.  I'd listen to other languages and think how interesting and completely different they sound, because I don't understand any of their words.  I knew on a logical level that these same people must feel the same about English when they hear it, but I could never imagine what it might actually sound like to them.

Now I can.

"Little Caesar" is the first full talkie we've seen, and it was so difficult to understand that I had to turn the subtitles on about five minutes into it just to keep up.  This is not only due to the completely different slang of the 30's, but to the incredible speed these actors spoke at combined with their nasal gangster accents.  There were literally times in the movie where they spoke so fast and so unintelligibly that I felt like I was watching a movie in a foreign language.  What a trippy feeling that was.