Every month, Establishing Shot 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 | The Truman Show (1998)
Every film lover has their blind spots. They’re the type of popular titles which make people say “you’ve never seen blank” with an incredulous tone, or are so good that they make you want to drag that person to a nearby TV so they can watch them for the first time. Recently, I decided to fix one of my blind spots by watching a movie I had heard great things about but had never seen in full: The Truman Show (1998). I’m glad I did, because it lived up to its reputation as a well-shot comedy that was ahead of its time.
Directed by former IU Cinema guest Peter Weir, this movie tells the story of Truman Burbank (Jim Carrey). Unbeknownst to him, Burbank has been the star of the world’s most popular television series since he was a baby. Every single moment of his life has been filmed and broadcasted to an audience of millions. Burbank has never noticed this, but he starts to have suspicions that will lead to a grand finale.
One of the things I love about The Truman Show is its visual style. Weir frequently shoots scenes that take place in Burbank’s hometown of Seahaven to make them look like they were filmed through a viewfinder. This makes you feel like you are a viewer of the in-universe show, and expertly conveys Burbank’s feeling that he is being watched. It’s an effective visual choice and a good reminder that comedy, a genre which is often shot in a static and conventional manner, can be just as good a vehicle for great cinematography as any other.
People tend to think of this movie as one that predicted reality television. But its core concept feels even more relevant today as the Internet has evolved. The revelation that there are thousands of cameras in Burbank’s town feels quaint because, if you include cameras in smartphones, there are millions of them in any large city. In addition, live streaming now makes it possible for people to film themselves going about their day in real time, which makes this film’s premise feel even more palatable.
The Truman Show continues to be a visually innovative and prescient film. I’m glad that it is no longer a blind spot for me, and I’m looking forward to recommending it to other people. That’s because the only thing better than getting rid of a blind spot is helping others get rid of theirs.
Michaela Owens, Editor | Love Me Tonight (1932)
An absurdly charming musical fairy tale, Love Me Tonight is the kind of film you want to throw in people’s faces when they complain that “old” movies are staid and uninteresting. Risqué, witty, and visually rapturous, the film tells the story of a poor Parisian tailor (Maurice Chevalier) who poses as a nobleman to woo a lovely princess (Jeanette MacDonald) after he has come to her estate to collect money from her no-good cousin (Charlie Ruggles, always great). Bolstered by an iconic score from Rodgers and Hart and the brilliant direction of Rouben Mamoulian, Love Me Tonight presents its musical numbers with such joy and cleverness, I couldn’t stop myself from “ohh”-ing and “ahh”-ing throughout the film. Famous for its opening number where the street sounds of Paris coalesce into their own kind of music, you also have moments of dialogue spoken in rhyme until they drift into song, while verses are occasionally split up between characters, adding humor and deepening their characterizations. Shadows, mirrors, and direct-to-camera performances create a sense of spontaneity and intimacy as well.
Your mileage may vary with Chevalier, whose heavy French accent (which he supposedly did on purpose) and over-the-top mannerisms had to have informed the making of Pepé Le Pew, but his carefree demeanor, flirtatious crooning, and endearingly goofy personality are at their best here, and he is ably matched by the warmth and ferocity of the luminous MacDonald. The supporting cast is aces, too, with stalwarts like Ruggles, Charles Butterworth, and C. Aubrey Smith clearly having a blast, and an early-career Myrna Loy appearing as MacDonald’s delightfully sex-obsessed cousin.
The film is certainly reminiscent of the divine romances of Ernst Lubitsch — the Ruritanian setting, the use of stars Chevalier and MacDonald, the lush imagery, the winking humor — but I don’t want to shortchange Mamoulian’s work here. Love Me Tonight is a dazzling, innovative piece of cinema that goes beyond “imitating” another master filmmaker. It’s an essential watch that I’d put against any modern musical of the last few decades.
Chris Forrester, contributor | Brewster McCloud (1970)
It’s always a joy to discover a hidden gem among the less-beloved titles of an all-time-Great’s back catalog, and in Brewster McCloud, I found just that. A veritable legend of the New Hollywood era basically unparalleled in his knack for expanding the low-key liveliness of his sharply drawn, splendidly performed characters into the texture of the film that contains them, Robert Altman was better known for epic ensemble dramas (Short Cuts, Nashville), innovative stageplay adaptations (Come Back to the Five and Dime, Jimmy Dean, Jimmy Dean; Secret Honor), and genre forays (California Split, a gambler movie; The Long Goodbye, a neonoir; McCabe and Mrs. Miller, a western; Tanner ’88, political docufiction; Gosford Park, a whodunnit…) than for his purer comedies. But this one, about a stadium-dwelling young man determined to build himself bird wings, the maybe guardian angel who protects him from anyone who might get in his way, and a police investigation of the string of dead bodies left in her wake, sits right up there with the best of the filmmaker’s work, enlivened by the same fleet-footed tonal mastery and ensemble cast camaraderie as defined much of his fame.
Ever a genre chameleon prepared to bend the trappings of his genre backbones to fit the mold of his cinema, here Altman adopts a live-action cartoon sensibility that recalls Peter Bogdanovich’s euphorically good Barbra Streisand/Ryan O’Neal two-header What’s Up, Doc? For all the qualities of Altman’s cinema his proponents have championed over the years, the most striking is always the effortlessness with which it all falls into place; here, as car chases, bird-poop murders, police procedural, and rom-com find harmonious coexistence, that ease is clearer than ever. His character might need an entire hour and forty minutes to get off the ground, but for Altman, soaring came easy.