The Red Shoes (1948)

What a revelation this film was. I generally try not to know much about a movie before I see it, and films like this really reward that diligence. I had no expectation going in that I'd see the kind of magic that The Archers put together here. It's a great balance, really, because so much of the film is just straightforward, natural narrative. But in a few moments, and of course in the eponymous extended dance sequence, it slips very naturally into something else. I was searching for what to call it—words like 'surreal' and 'magic' don't seem to fit at all—when I ran across the perfect phrase in a British review: "quietly radical." It's not designed to shock you. It's not even designed to amaze you. It's just that the filmmakers make full use of their medium, while keeping everything perfectly in line with the story they're trying to tell. They manage it beautifully—I was more impressed with their ability to do that than I was with the technical wizardry itself, which is exactly as it should be.

The story itself is not overly original, but it's well told. The more traditional scenes of the film were typically well crafted, of course. The narrative is absorbed in the world of the ballet. As usual with The Archers, the techniques are subtle, but effective. Much of the action takes place in long shots, for example—we often see three or four main characters on screen. Everything seems to happen in a larger context, and the story isn't dominated by the very strong personalities within it. They certainly are strong, though, and propel the story forward nicely.

I did find myself comparing it to (or maybe rather, considering it alongside) Black Swan, and it really has me wondering about this common trope of a woman's self-destructive obsession with her art. Not that there aren't similar male tropes, and not that there aren't other obsessed-female character types. But from Sunset Boulevard through this film and on to today, it seems that a woman is never allowed to be too devoted to her art. It's difficult to imagine such films with the gender roles flipped.

It isn't really a problem (internally) with this film, mind you. Vicky is a full character, not just a trope, and her development as a character is enthralling to watch. Shearer gracefully toes the line between naturalistic and romanticized acting, and it serves the story well. The same is true, by the way, of the two male leads. Anton Walbrook's Lermontov is especially charismatic. He's difficult to love, but hard not to pay attention to. (I don't mean to tie this film too much to Black Swan, but that film would have been greatly improved if Thomas Leroy had been written & performed with more of this subtle charm.)

The Red Shoes was a thrill to watch, and I'm grateful to Filmspotting for turning me on to it. And to The Archers overall—I can't wait to see more from them.

Bicycle Thieves (1948)

Another film filled with iconic imagery, though certainly not in as stylish a way as M. Really, as I think about it, it's more full of iconic scenes, as opposed to just images. I think that's telling, because the primary quality of this film is the way it pulls you down into the story. It's shot and edited very plainly, so that the content itself does the heavy lifting. Not to say that it's a documentary style—it very much feels like a narrative, with scenes leading one into the other, tension crescendoing and falling. But it stays close to the ground, deeply connected to the immediate reality of what's happening.

The integrity of such a portrayal really draws you in. It's probably most evident when we see the picture of Rita Hayworth. It was a bit heavy-handed, of course, but still not wrong—there's a drastic contrast between the life of a Hollywood star (on- or off-screen) and the lives of these people. In a word, Hayworth seems unreal. By contrast, Antonio seems all the more real.

The most spectacular thing about the film, though, might well be Bruno. Really the entire film turns on this one character, and Enzo Staiola does a fabulous job with the role. He provides a moral and emotional anchor for the film, from the moment he appears. And of course, that gradual development is crucial to the film's final passages.

Notorious (1946)

I was a bit underwhelmed by this movie. I didn't have a lot of expectations going in, other than knowing it was Hitchcock and so would have some real suspense. I also expected some great passion between Grant & Bergman, of course. On the first point, I wasn't disappointed. On the second, I was. I like both Cary Grant and Ingrid Bergman, but there didn't seem to be much chemistry between them here. Part of it might have been inordinate amount of time & energy that Hitchcock spent flirting with the Code. It may have been shocking or amusing or otherwise interesting in 1946 to see the two leads in a 3-minute embrace with one 3-second kiss after another. But with the Code long gone, and not knowing about that aspect of the scene beforehand, it looks pretty ridiculous. They seem like a couple of high-schoolers too awkward to really lock lips. And in this context, that clumsiness really detracts from the story. Awkward, after all, is the last word that should apply to these two characters.

So for me, the movie really picked up steam once the two protagonists were torn apart. Watching Bergman go toe-to-toe with Claude Rains was a lot of fun. He's another actor I've always enjoyed, and never more so than here. Hitchcock is a master of tension, and he keeps it drawn very taut between them for long periods of time. His visual style is also very potent in the last half. I loved the shot introducing Sebastian's mother—she's terrifying before she ever says a word. I'm also a big fan of the way Hitchcock can make a single image say so much—the Unica key on Sebastian's keyring, for example, or the 1940 wine label.

All in all, I enjoyed the movie. Not the sizzling love affair everyone talks about, which left me quite cold. But the suspense, and the tension among the triangle of Alicia, Sebastian, and his mother, were very good. It hasn't made me a huge Hitchcock fan, but it hasn't hurt either.