She drowned in her own swimming pool in the south of France, aged 66. Marie-France Pisier had an immense, composed beauty, with a marble air of absolute assurance. In her brow and her gaze, serenity seemed on the point of becoming a mask. But she was made for drama, and even melodrama. Though she had the look of a Parisian socialite, so much about her was unexpected: She was born in Dalat, in Indo-China, the daughter of a French colonial governor. In fact, she only came to live in France at the age of twelve.
The march of time is putting out a collection of old newsreels, stock shots and many bridging reenactments that runs the length of a feature picture and tells all in the title: The Ramparts We Watch. It is history and also rub-a-dub-dub. There are indications in the early sections that under the corporalship of Mr.
Cary Fukunaga’s Jane Eyre opened over a month ago, but it’s staying in theaters and word-of-mouth is building. As well it might. There have been too many film adaptations of the Charlotte Bronte novel (published in 1847), and some of us have wearied of keeping up with them all. So I neglected the picture when it opened, but was stirred into action by my wife, Lucy Gray, who told me it was wonderful. She was right—she usually is.
For about half the picture, the hero of The Bridge on the River Kwai is a British Colonel (Alec Guiness) whose depth of courage and sense of duty is at once touching, magnificent, and comic. Part of the success of The Bridge is that its courageous hero is shown from all angles, in all kinds of mirrors. He is strong, stubborn, fallible, maniacal, silly, and wise; and in the end he is pathetic, noble, and foolish. It is as the picture progresses that you become increasingly aware of the complexity—the pathos, the foolishness, the nobility—of the Colonel’s actions.
Once upon a time—in the era of Sidney Lumet’s 12 Angry Men (1957), say—Robert Redford’s The Conspirator could have been the kind of movie that liberal high-school teachers expected their students to see. It’s good for you.
I find my feeling for Spencer Tracy and Katharine Hepburn is a mixture of personal respect and professional regret.
Prolific American film director Sidney Lumet died late last week at the age of 86. He was nominated for five Oscars and won an honorary award from the Academy in 2005. His first film, directed in 1957, was 12 Angry Men; his last, from 2007, was Before the Devil Knows Your Dead. Over five decades, The New Republic's film critic Stanley Kauffmann reviewed dozens of Lumet's films. Here, we present four of those reviews. Q&A, 1990 The Verdict, 1982 Dog Day Afternoon, 1975 Long Day's Journey Into Night, 1962
The film version of The Seven Year Itch, George Axelrod’s Broadway hit, has carried over enough of the play’s sophisticated brightness to indicate the reasons for the play’s success: the perfect fulfillment of the well-known Broadway genre of gag, gag, punch-line, epigram, and paradox, crackling like machine-gun fire for three acts until everyone is exhausted, and everything but the next wisecrack is unreal. Certainly some very funny things get said, as when a vegetarian waitress in an offhand way presents the first serious argument for nudism: pacifism.
They are the two of the oddest men in an American movie of the early 1950s, and, somehow, their oddity is excused by the fact that they meet. Neither one on his own could have sustained a picture. I’m talking about Guy Haines and Bruno Anthony in Alfred Hitchcock’s Strangers on a Train (1951). The title suggests an accidental meeting, but, once the bump has happened, we don’t credit chance. Bruno is in charge from the start. You can’t look back on the movie and think he wasn’t tracking Guy.
Nobody had seen or heard anything like the first half of Sweet Smell of Success in 1957. It wasn’t just the way the picture went out onto the streets and into the bars of Manhattan, letting cameraman James Wong Howe get his best stuff at dawn and twilight. Film noir had made hay with darkness for ten years, but still, you didn’t get a lot of real night in American pictures.