NFR Project: 'Invaders from Mars' (1953)

NFR Project: “Invaders from Mars”

Dir: William Cameron Menzies

Scr: Richard Blake

Pho: John F. Seitz

Ed: Arthur Roberts

Premiere: April 9, 1953

80 min.

This film represents the work of one of the original geniuses of American cinema, William Cameron Menzies.

Menzies invented the role of production designer on films. No one person had been assigned to creating the look of a film before he began to do it, in a career that stretched from 1917 to 1956. In that time, he won two Oscars – one a special award for his work on Gone With the Wind. He primarily occupied himself with production design, although he did direct occasionally as well, most notably the 1935 sci-fi epic Things to Come.

Invaders from Mars was an opportunity for Menzies to create a unifying mise-en-scene. First, he used SuperCinecolor for this film, which resulted in deep, vibrant, saturated color that gave the film a distinctive look. Then he designed all his sets with a spare, clean minimalism that gives the movie a dreamlike, hallucinatory feel. In Menzies’ film world, only significant elements are included in the frame and everything extraneous is taken out.

The story begins with a boy, David, seeing a flying saucer land near his home in the middle of the night. He tries to alert his parents, who disbelieve him. His father goes to investigate – and comes back from the site a different person, cold, suspicious, and hostile. David notices he has a peculiar puncture on the back of his neck. Two police officers and a neighbor girl are also affected. The puncture is the only sign of a mind-control device implanted in the heads of the aliens’ victims.

David goes to the police, but they only lock him up (the police chief has been taken over as well). A health department doctor interviews him, and he convinces her that his story is true. The two of them consult local astronomer Dr. Kelston, who theorizes that everything that has happened presages an invasion of the Earth from Mars. He contacts the Army, who surround the landing site.

What follows is a standard back-and-forth battle between the Army and the Martians, which culminates in the explosive destruction of the saucer. David then wakes up – it was all a dream! He reports it to his parents, who send him back to bed. He looks out of his window . . . and sees the saucer landing again . . .The End.

The movie plays well as an allegory of people’s fear of being conquered by an enemy force (remember, the Soviet Russians were our enemies at the time), and the film makes the viewer suitably paranoid. Additionally, there is the idea of one’s parents turning into cold, hostile creatures that do not have one’s best interests at heart. David loses his parents to the Martians, but he gains an idealized pair of parents in the form of the doctor and the astronomer, who are the only ones to believe him at first. This kind of wish fulfillment works well in the context of this fantasy.

Invaders from Mars would prove to be a template for the alien-invasion films to come.

The NFR is one writer’s attempt to review all the films listed in the National Film Registry in chronological order. Next time: Pickup on South Street.

NFR Project: 'This Is Cinerama' (1952)

 

NFR Project: “This is Cinerama”

Dir: Mike Todd, Michael Todd, Jr., Walter A. Thompson, Fred Rickey

Pho: Harry Squire

Ed: William Henry, Milton Shifman

Premiere: Sept. 30, 1952

115 min.

It’s a gimmick. It’s a gag.

I thoroughly agree with and endorse Kyle Westphal’s essay on this film at the National Film Registry. Read it! He captures the sheer daffiness of it.

After World War II, television made major inroads on America’s movie-going public. The big studios were worried. Hollywood was looking to provide something television could not. It started casting about for various new ways to attract viewers. First was an increase in “road show” screenings. These were prestigious showings of big-budget, epic, full-color films that featured reserved seats, an overture, and an intermission. Then there were first-generation 3-D films, for which viewers donned special red/green glasses – offerings such as Bwana Devil, House of Wax, and The Creature from the Black Lagoon.

Then there was Cinerama. This was a special wide-screen mode of movie projection invented by Fred Waller, consisting of three projectors strapped together side by side, providing an exceptionally wide field of vision as it is projected on a wide, special curved screen. The result was supposed to engage the viewer’s peripheral vision and provide an overwhelming visual experience.

This Is Cinerama purported to sell this dynamic concept. The journalist and broadcaster Lowell Thomas was an investor in this new process, and he served as producer on this film as well as its on-screen narrator. This Is Cinerama is a sales pitch, really – a demonstration of the possibilities of the medium.

The film opens with a brief sequence summarizing the history of film, from prehistoric times to the present. This is shown in the 4:3 ratio, in black and white. Suddenly the screen expands, bursts into color, and we are in the front car of a roller coaster in New York. This leads to a series of sequences filmed at various places. We see the Temple Dance from Verdi’s Aida, shots of Niagara Falls from the air, a church choir, and the Vienna Boys’ Choir (Cinerama also pushed the advent of the new “stereophonic sound”).

The rest of the film is pretty much a glorified travelogue. We go to Venice, Edinburgh,  a bullfight in Spain, the performers at the now-defunct Cypress Gardens in Florida. We end with an aerial flyover of many national monuments, all while the Mormon Tabernacle Choir sang hymns and patriotic songs.

The travelogue aspect of the full-length feature film is remindful of the travel films created during the early Silent Era. Back then, it was remarkable to see something you’d only read about; with Cinerama, you see familiar landmarks in a brand new way.

But was it worth it? What do you gain when you have wide-screen? What do you lose?

On the positive side, it is impressive. I was lucky enough to see the Cinerama project How the West Was Won (1962) on a Cinerama screen in Denver – at the late, lamented Cooper Theater. You feel like you are inside the movie – it’s uncanny and affecting, an overwhelming sensual experience.

But there were problems. First, to make three screens’ worth of images, you needed to yoke three cameras together when filming. Thus, the cameras couldn’t really move. They were usually bolted down to something, so that their three screens’ worth of images would later align accurately. Scenes were static.

Then there’s the problem of composition. Instead of a screen aspect ratio of 4:3, as most classic-period American films had, Cinerama had a ratio of 2.65:1! This elongated kind of view demanded an entirely different aesthetic, in the attempt to fill the screen, as well as to balance compositions.

Thirdly, you needed a special screen on which to view it. Thus the creation of the Cinerama theater, which needed the special Cinerama film to display. This required more projectionists and  special equipment. It was not cost-effective.

Despite initial enthusiasm for the new technology, Cinerama never took off. A number of epic films were made in Cinerama – It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World (1963), The Greatest Story Ever Told (1965), The Battle of the Bulge (1965), Ice Station Zebra (1968). But it wasn’t enough. Additionally, other film studios developed rival widescreen processes that did not require special theaters or retooling. These included VistaVision, CinemaScope, and Ultra Panavision. By the early 1970s, Cinerama was dead.

Today only three Cinerama theaters remain in the United States – in Seattle, Providence RI, and San Diego. Widescreen projection has now become the norm, and is even being supplanted for epic films by the immersive IMAX projection system.

Cinerama was a noble, failed experiment.

The NFR Project is one writer’s attempt to review all the films listed in the National Film Registry in chronological order. Next time: Invaders from Mars.

NFR Project: 'Singin' in the Rain' (1952)

 

NFR Project: “Singin’ in the Rain”

Dir: Gene Kelly and Stanley Donen

Scr: Betty Comden, Adolph Green

Pho: Harold Rosson

Ed: Adrienne Fazan

Premiere: March 27, 1952

103 min.

It’s a perfect picture.

The stars aligned for this project, but a key element in the success of the film was the presence of Stanley Donen as co-director.

Donen started his career as a dancer, and moved on to the role of a choreographer. He paired up with Gene Kelly, and helped to choreograph many of Kelly’s dance numbers in pictures from 1943 on. He worked on Cover Girl, Anchors Aweigh, Living in a Big Way, and Take Me Out to the Ballgame. Finally, in 1949 he and Kelly co-directed On the Town.

Now that his reputation was established, Donen was able to helm other movies. He directed Fred Astaire in Royal Wedding (1951) – and then came Singin’ in the Rain.

The brilliant team of Betty Comden and Adolf Green, lyricists and screenwriters, conjured up a hilarious scenario. The movie is set in Hollywood, during the period of transition from silent film to sound. Its hero is Don Lockwood (Kelly), a silent matinee idol, who has been paired with the squeaky-voiced, egomaniacal actress Lina Lamont (Jean Hagen).

As Don and Lina attend the opening of their new film, The Royal Rascal, Don describes his rise in show business to a radio audience. As he goes on and on about the dignity of the profession, we see in flashback him starting out as a baggy-pants comic, then as a vaudeville hoofer with his pal Cosmo (Donald O’Connor). Eventually, Don breaks in to on-screen work as a humble stuntman and graduates to leading roles. The contrast between Hollywood hype and the real facts of the case are emphasized here.

While all of this happens, Don meets the lovely young singer and dancer, Kathy Selden (Debbie Reynolds) who at first spurns him but then falls for him as he pursues her passionately.

Sound comes in, and the entire industry is turned upside down. Suddenly, actors must be able to speak well. Voice coaches are called in, but nobody can do anything with Lina’s shrill Brooklynese. Lockwood and Lamont’s new costume drama, The Dueling Cavalier, is revamped as a sound film. But the preview of the film is disastrous. Stumped, Don, Cosmo, and Kathy try to think of some way to save the picture. Finally, they decide – let’s change the movie into a musical!

But what to do about Lina’s voice? Cosmo comes up with the answer – have Kathy dub Lina’s lines and songs. However, Lina is displeased. She hates Kathy, and demands that her role in covering Lina’s voice be covered up.

The movie is a huge hit. Lina declares that she will never let Kathy get credit, and even dismisses Don as unnecessary to her success. She goes out to take a bow after the premiere. She tries to speak, but is laughed at by the crowd. They urge her to sing instead. Don, Cosmo, and producer R.F. Simpson (Millard Mitchell) force Kathy to set up behind the curtain and sing so that Lina can lip-sync along. Then they haul up the curtain, exposing the fraud. Lina flees and Don identifies Kathy as the beautiful voice behind Lina. At film’s end, Don and Kathy kiss in afront of a billboard advertising their new film together – Singin’ in the Rain.

The dialogue sparkles, and the comedy is perfectly pitched. The art direction is flawless – the settings are bright, candy-colored, and extravagantly beautiful. Donen uses the crane extensively, swooping effortlessly in and out of the action.

However, it’s the musical numbers that are truly extraordinary. The songs are all taken from the period, most of them written by the film’s producer Arthur Freed, and Nacio Herb Brown. “All I Do Is Dream of You,” “Make ‘em Laugh,” “I’ve Got a Feeling You’re Fooling,” “Beautiful Girl,” “You Were Meant for Me,” “Good Morning,” and the title song are all sure-fire hit material. The one song not by them, “Moses Supposes,” features lyrics by Comden and Green.

All of the resources of MGM were put into play to create this vibrant film. Costumes, sets, and lighting are impeccable. They serve as a backdrop for the superior clowning of Donald O’Connor, the dash and dynamic verve of Gene Kelly – and the winsomeness of Debbie Reynolds, only 19 at the time of filming.

O'Connor's comic dance, "Make 'em Laugh," is a whirlwind of fun. Another top sequence is the unfailingly funny scene of Don and Lina trying to deal with the vagaries of early sound filming. The spectacular heart of the film is Kelly singing and dancing in the rain outside Kathy’s apartment. This has become the representative number that symbolizes the film musical. It deserves it!

The NFR is one writer’s attempt to review all the films listed in the National Film Registry in chronological order. Next time: This Is Cinerama.