Every month, A Place for Film brings you a selection of films from our group of regular bloggers. Even though these films aren’t currently being screened at the IU Cinema, this series reflects the varied programming that can be found at the Cinema and demonstrates the eclectic tastes of the bloggers. Each contributor has picked one film that they saw this month that they couldn’t wait to share with others. Keep reading to find out what discoveries these cinephiles have made, as well as some of the old friends they’ve revisited.
Jesse Pasternack, contributor | Niagara (1953)
You can’t go wrong with a movie recommendation from Guillermo del Toro. His taste in cinema is impeccable and has led me to watch some of my favorite films for the first time.
So, when he and screenwriter/critic Kim Morgan named Niagara (1953) as an influence on their new film Nightmare Alley (2021), I knew I had to see it. I’m glad I did, because it boasts incredible performances and dazzling Technicolor cinematography.
The aptly named Niagara, co-written and produced by Billy Wilder’s former writing partner Charles Brackett, takes place near Niagara Falls. Straitlaced Ray (Max Showalter) and his wife Polly Cutler (Jean Peters) travel there for their delayed honeymoon. At their motel, Polly gets to know troubled Korean War veteran George Loomis (Joseph Cotten) and his beautiful wife Rose (Marilyn Monroe). Dissatisfied, Rose convinces her lover Patrick (Richard Allan) to kill George. But George gets the upperhand over Patrick, and starts to seek revenge against Rose.
This movie is mostly remembered today for Monroe’s villainous turn as Rose. It’s thrilling to see her play a role which is so different from the comedic ones for which she would be most famous. Her performance is also a type of commentary on the act of performance itself. The first thing we see her do is pretend to be asleep so she won’t have to talk to George. Later, when the manager tries to kick her and George out of their room, she softens the hard edge in her voice as she tries to persuade him to let them stay. Her careful manipulations are even more entertaining when placed in contrast to the sheer, raw power of Monroe’s charisma. It’s the type of performance you wish she’d gotten to give more often.
The supporting cast is just as good. Peters and Showalter are a little conventional, though Showalter feels like he wandered in from a David Lynch film due to the fact that he is exuberant to the point of being creepy. Cotten gives a memorable performance, and his facial expressions are especially effective in the film’s surprisingly large number of silent scenes. It’s worth noting that he would go on to give a mostly silent performance two years later in the “Breakdown” episode of Alfred Hitchcock Presents.
Niagara is also remembered today for being a rare example of a classic film noir shot in Technicolor. Director Henry Hathaway and cinematographer Joseph MacDonald signal that they will take full advantage of the “three-strip” Technicolor format early in the film by shooting a beautiful rainbow near the Falls. Rainbows become a motif in the film, with three more making appearances. The motel where most of the action takes place is even called “Rainbow Cabins.” They excel at using color to depict emotion, such as when they fill the screen with a lurid yellow as George jealously spies on Rose from behind some white blinds. But Hathaway and MacDonald also know when to use darkness and shadows to create a sinister spirit, like they do in several striking scenes set in Loomis’s motel room.
Guillermo del Toro has yet to steer me wrong when it comes to movies. In addition to his own body of work, he has guided me to so many great films created by other directors. The experience I had watching Niagara, with its brilliant performances and indelibly beautiful imagery, is yet another thing he has given me for which I am grateful.
Michaela Owens, Editor | Sun Valley Serenade (1941)
I wrote about Sun Valley Serenade for the round-up a few years ago, but I just had to pick it again because *takes a giant breath*… IT’S NOW ON THE CRITERION CHANNEL! Included as part of the streamer’s Nicholas Brothers tribute, Sun Valley Serenade isn’t on DVD or Blu-ray and only rarely shows on Turner Classic Movies, so to see it available through Criterion where more people can discover it makes me incredibly happy.
Every time I watch this film, it is like a heavy dose of serotonin for my anxious, overwhelmed brain. It combines so many of the things that I love: adorable Sonja Henie’s figure-skating, John Payne’s singing, the Nicholas Brothers’ astounding dancing (with an appearance by Dorothy Dandridge, Harold Nicholas’s soon-to-be wife), a perfectly daffy plot, and a tremendous score provided by Glenn Miller and His Orchestra, including their iconic “Chattanooga Choo Choo.” “In the Mood,” and “At Last.” Henie’s skating finale is also nothing short of magical. The contrasting black and white mise-en-scene is exquisite, and the reflections of Henie and her chorus of skaters on the black ice create such a striking, elegant image. The camera doesn’t stay static either, but instead glides right alongside Henie as if it were her partner. It’s just bewitching.
It is easy to scoff at the fluffy confections of classic Hollywood, but there are few movies today that can replicate the effortless, easygoing charm that films like Sun Valley Serenade — and stars like Henie — exuded.
Laura Ivins, contributor | Hiroshima mon amour (1959)
Elle (Emmanuelle Riva) and Lui (Eiji Okada) are caught within a fraught intersection of impossible love and cultural trauma. Elle is a French actor visiting Hiroshima for a film shoot. Lui is a Japanese architect living in Hiroshima. They are both married to other people and are in love with each other.
The setting for their love story is the trauma of war. The opening sequences of the film depict the couple embracing in bed, close-ups of her hand on his naked back. Against this we hear voiceover of her reflecting on the horror of Hiroshima and him contradicting the validity of her perspective, and the film cuts between the couple and historical footage of the aftermath of the bomb.
From the beginning, director Alain Resnais and screenwriter Marguerite Duras draw parallels between experiences that differ substantially in scale: the cultural heartache from extreme nationalistic violence vs. the personal heartache of losing love. In the flashbacks to Elle’s youthful affair with a German soldier, these themes converge in a way that disrupts moralistic binaries. Elle was a traitor; she was a girl in love; she was unrepentant; she was sympathetic.
Whether the pain is cultural or personal, the film suggests the only path forward is to live despite the agony. One day, you will wake up a little more reasonable than yesterday, but the bitterness will never fully leave.