Performance of the Month: Judi Dench in "Notes on a Scandal" (2006)



You really shouldn't piss off a Dame; especially if she's Dame Judi Dench and the film is "Notes on a Scandal"


I like my Judi Dench a little on the spooky side.  Sure, she's salty in her Oscar winning mini-role as Elizabeth I in "Shakespeare in Love", flinty in "Mrs. Brown" and "Chocolat", and downright sweet in "Ladies in Lavender", but for my money, give me evil, scheming Dame Dench, and there's no better showcase  for that than the 2006 release "Notes on a Scandal".

She's a vicious old dragon of a teacher in a London school, who fills her empty days and nights by writing endlessly in a series of diaries.  A great deal of Dench's performance in the film is done in voice-over, narrating her character Barbara's interior monologues, and Dench's vocal abilities give them a sense of urgency and intimacy that we don't often get when characters thoughts are provided.  It's obvious that Dench's decades of stage work have provided her with the actor's tools to play her voice on many levels, all of which she does remarkably well. 

Befriending new teacher Sheba Hart (Cate Blanchett), Dench finds herself drawn to the younger woman, and actively seeks out her friendship.  The suggestion of homoeroticism is there from the beginning, but then we think we are smarter than movies are and can figure them out ahead of time.  Usually, we are, but with "Notes on a Scandal", things are never quite what they seem to be.

As the friendship between Barbara and Sheba develops, we see Barbara becoming watchful and nurturing towards her new youg friend, excited by all the possibilities of their companionship, which she can share with no one save her diaries.  An invitation for luncheon at Sheba's home sends Barbara out to have her hair done, purchase a new outfit, and arrive at the door carrying flowers and a bottle of wine.  In her mind, this is her first date with Sheba.  Barbara's feelings about Sheba's husband and children leave little doubt that she considers herself and Sheba above the rest of them all, and that it is fate that their relationship continue to develop in the intense manner it already has.

So far, Barbara has seemed a bit creepy, but when she gets hold of a scandalous secret involving Sheba, the story really moves into gear.  Telling Sheba that she must provide all the details to Barbara in order to keep them both safe, the younger woman does so, not realizing she is providing dangerous ammunition to someone like Barbara (I am convinced that Barbara is a Scorpio).  Barbara uses this clandestine knowledge to pull Sheba closer to herself, but when she finds out that Sheba has not been completely truthful with her, Barbara lashes out with a lifetime of venom, blaming Sheba for making her do it.  The secret comes out, and Sheba moves in with Barbara, marking for the elder lady the manifestation of all her fantasies: she is sharing a life with Sheba at last.  However, there is a final trick in the deck to be played, and Sheba angrily confronts Barbara over everything that has occured between them; negating their close friendship to her efforts to be kind because no one else at the school even likes Barbara, and calls the older woman a vampire.  In a manner of moments, Sheba causes the crashdown of all of Barbara's diary fantasies, and tells her point blank that things she wrote were not true or had never happened as Barbara described them. 

Barbara is a vampire of sorts, in that she attempts to completely control the people she cares for, to keep them under her spell, and always keep them within arms reach.  And despite the trickery, lying, and downright bitchiness of Dench's character in the film, I cannot help but feel pity for her at times.  One sequence, showing Dench writing while in a bathtub, displays such a keen sense of the idea of lonliness bringing on a physical manifestation says so much about that chracter; this woman who has closed herself off emotionally from the rest of the world, only to let this one other woman get close to her, despite her fears.  The fear of lonliness outweighs the fear of rejection, at least for Barbara. 

Judi Dench is simply a marvel in this movie, and as she is not a likable character, one may be reluctant to tag her as the heroine of the piece.  She is simply a one woman master class in the art of acting. 

Real Life/Reel Life: Harlan County USA (1976)



Picket-line organizer Lois Scott confronts Sheriff Billy Williams in a tense moment during "Harlan County USA"

 Some people would call them hillbillies, or trash.  They live in trailers and ramshackle houses, sometimes with no running water.  They work in a trade that offers multiple ways to end their lives before their time, are underpaid, and struggle for everything they can get from their bosses.  They are the coal miners of Barbara Kopple's 1976 documentary "Harlan County USA".  They are also the wives, families, supporters, foes, scabs, gun thugs, and other members of the community that were affected by the bloody dispute that occured not in the 20s or 30s, but in the early 1970s.  They are also the film crew, who during the making of the  film found themselves being shot at, assaulted, and even pressed into service providing a warrant for the arrest of one particularly loathesome character.  As Kopple's camera becomes more and more a part of the strike, we are struck by how much the real and reel have merged into one.  By now, we have joined her camera down in the claustrophobic mines, the miners' homes, their community meetings, onto the pre-dawn picket lines, into jail cells and courtrooms, hospitals and clinics, and sadly, to memorial services and funerals. 

The intriguing thing about this particular strike, and of the film itself, was that the miners' wives became vital members of the protest: they organized, picketed, and to quote Lois Scott in the film, began to "fight fire with fire".  It is thrilling to watch these women become a force to be reckoned with by the opposition.  Several years ago, Showtime produced a fictionalized account of this material titled "Harlan County War" with Holly Hunter in the lead role, and, as good and earnest as Hunter was, she was simply no match for these real women who hauled cars into the roadway to block scabs entering the mines, stood with baseball bats and tree limbs, singing and shouting for justice. 

The growing friction between the miners and the coal company owners is constantly escalating, with violence becoming the order of the day (even Lois shows off the revolver she has tucked into her bra).  And there is a frightening sequence of an early morning picket line showered by gunfire that is more chilling than anything in your average horror movie.  The atmosphere is always heavy with the threat of death, which is echoed in the haunting sound of Hazel Dickens' voice, performing songs like "Cold Blooded Murder" and "Oh Death".  The miners know that to gain their rights, they may have to pay in blood, but they are prepared to do so, for themselves and their families.  They really have no choice, as there are little other jobs in their poor rural area, and the day to day dangers of working in the mines (explosions, or the lingering death brought about by black lung disease) have become second nature to the men and their families.  Kopple folds a parallel story, about corruption on the national level of the United Mine Workers of America, into the narrative of the Eastover miners, and we are not really shocked to learn that the corruption exists all the way from the top of the system right through to the bottom.  And the ones who pay the ultmate price are, as always, the miners. 

"Harlan County USA" is an intense, fascinating account of a piece of honest-to-God American history, from the not too distant past.  It is a stirring, vital example of filmmaking, a credit to the documentary format, and one of the best movies I have ever seen.

A Man Undone: Jason Miller in "The Exorcist" (1973)

Jason Miller was nominated as Best Supporting Actor in "The Exorcist" despite being the central character of the story arc.

Sitting out on my deck this morning, enjoying my coffee and cigarette, I pondered on  the nature of good and evil.  Some law of physics states that for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction, and so for there to be a sense of good in the world, there must also be a sense of evil.  Naturally, this thought process led to consideration of William Friedkin's 1973 film "The Exorcist", which I've always considered one of the greatest horror films of all time.

But my thoughts were not neccesarily on the horror aspects of the film, but rather the internal struggles that ordinary people often find themselves in.  The idea of demonic posession is horrifying, yes, but outside the realm of daily life (for most of us anyway), whereas the idea of a spiritual or internal crisis is something that anyone can face at any time or place.  In this sense, the focus of "The Exorcist" moves away from the gruesome experiences of Regan McNeil and her mother Chris, but to the battle that Father Damian Karras finds himself in.  Yes, he is battling Satan, in the person of a young girl, but he's also battling himself.  The struggle inside this man (he is both priest and psychiatrist, thus a man of faith and of science) is the more disturbing one. 

Any film fan is familiar with the story: actress Chris McNeil (Ellen Burstyn) is living in Georgetown while filming a movie, when her young daughter Regan begins acting strangely.  Chris consults physicians and psychiatrists, subjects Regan to a number of painful medical procedures, and dissolves into a mass of nerves and worry.  Burstyn was one of the most prominent actresses of the early 1970's, and her performance helps to ground the shocker in some form of reality.  Linda Blair's performance as Regan owes most of it's effect to the groundbreaking special effects and the vocal effects of veteran actress Mercedes McCambridge.  Max Von Sydow, Lee J. Cobb, and Kitty Winn provide above average support, but the stellar acting in the film was done by Jason Miller (who deserved the Oscar) as Father Karras. 

Miller conveys Karras' interior crisis in stages: we see him stressed, caring for and worrying over his elderly mother, dealing with his changing feelings about his faith, relieving his stress in either running or drinking.  The body language says a great deal about the character here.  Miller has an  intensity that shows through, even when his shoulders seem to be sagging from the weight of the world.  His eyes are always inquisitive; he speaks assertively, yet it is to convince others that he is in better shape than he knows he really is.  The introductory scene between Miller and Blair show him with a spark of life, as Karras is being challenged.  Unlike other actors, who may have tried to make Karras a more dynamic character, Miller plays it level, never losing his realism among all the hocus pocus.  He gets emotional, loses control of his feelings, and is genuinely disturbed by some of the things he sees and hears during the harrowing exorcism scenes, but Miller's reactions are only the tip of the iceberg that he doesn't show us: what all of this is doing to the already warring halves of Damian Karras' self. 

There is debate over whether Karras' final act is one of salvation or of surrender.  More spiritual people than myself may consider that Karras becomes a Christ-like figure, in giving himself to the demon to save Regan.  I'm not so sure it's that cut and dried though.  His final explosion is provoked by his anger over the death of Father Merrin, which doesn't seem very saintly.  And, as a man of both faith and science, he has to realize what the outcome of his action will be.  That said, I believe Karras' final act to be the only choice he had: the culmination of the battle between the brain and the soul.  Whether it was win, lose, or draw is up to the individual viewer.  And that may just be the most truly horrifying thing about "The Exorcist".

2 For 1: "Desk Set" (1957) and "Julie & Julia" (2009)

From the "What a Waste of Perfectly Wonderful Actors" Department:

Spencer Tracy and Katharine Hepburn were two of the most respected and beloved actors of all time, and individually, gave brilliant performances in a number of great films.  However, of the nine times they co-starred together, only 1949's "Adam's Rib" remains a classic.  Of the other films, the comedies hold up better than the dramas, but 1957's "Desk Set" is definitely one of their minor achievements: a so-so play adapatation, and odd fit  for both stars.  While their conflicting acting styles (Tracy was among the most natural of actors, and Hepburn's affectations followed her from character to character) often worked well in conjunction with antagonism between their roles in a film, here it just falls flat.  They are also both clearly too old for their parts.  Trivia fans will note that this was their first film together made in color.

20th Century Fox, for whatever reason, chose to film the picture in Cinemascope, their widescreen process, and it is wasted on a story that takes place almost completely in a single office space.  Hepburn plays Bunny Watson (was any actress more un-Bunny like than Hepburn?), the head of reference for a major television network, where her amazing intellect and powers of recollection are put to good use.  She is aided by Joan Blondell (wonderful in her typical role, the good-hearted buddy), and two other assistants.  Tracy is Richard Sumner, a computer expert whose arrival at the network sends everyone into a tizzy, assuming they are to be replaced by machines.  This gossip grapevine is very funny, and also very realistic in portraying the way that "unofficial" word gets around like wildfire in an office setting.  Complicating matters further is that Hepburn is the longtime girlfriend of an executive named Mike Cutler (Gig Young, yet again not getting the girl), who takes her for granted.

The plot lurches along with the arrival of a gigantic computer system into the office, and there is the usual misunderstanding, which is followed by the good-natured conclusion.  Sparks don't fly between Tracy and Hepburn, they crawl.  She does get a fine moment late in the film when she (intentionally) overdramatically recites a medieval poem, and Tracy gets to do his patented comic frustration shtick, but the film really isn't more than a pleasant little time waster, which is sad, considering the level of talent involved.




From the "Why Didn't They Just Cut That Whole Plotline Out of the Movie" Department:

"Julie & Julia" was based on two books: the title coming from Julie Powell's story of the year she spent cooking recipes from Julia Child's "Mastering the Art of French Cooking", and secondly, "My Life in France" by Child herself.  It's possible that without Powell's book there would've been no film at all, but the fact is that the picture is only interesting when it focuses on Julia, rather than Julie.  Julia Child was, in fact, still among the living when Powell started her project, but was not impressed with the idea, which she thought was a gimmick rather than a serious attempt at learning about cooking.

Meryl Streep's performance is interesting in that she looks very little like Julia Child, but mimics her vocal style, and, through the use of specially built sets and props, seems as tall as Child herself was.  It is one of Streep's more enjoyable performances, as it does not feel too overstudied or technical.  Amy Adams, on the other hand, (whom I have enjoyed immensely in films such as "Junebug") gives a performance that is either whining or smirking.  There is none of the effervescence of her charming work in "Enchanted" here, and a good bit of the annoying quality that crept into her work in "Doubt".  Whenever Adams is onscreen, having a kitchen meltdown over some recipe, I am anxious for the film to return to the wondrous Streep, inhabiting the beloved 'French Chef' right down to her signature 'Bon Appetit!'  Nora Ephron directed, competently and unobtrusively, but one wishes her direction had more of the spark and wit of her writing.  There is a beautifully recreated 1950's version of France, and a solid supporting performance by Stanley Tucci (one of our most reliable character actors working today)  as Julia's devoted husband Paul.

So, thanks may go to Julie Powell and her project for being the impetus that got this film made, but she is merely a somewhat unpleasant appetizer we must sit through until we get to savor the film's main course: Julia Child, as prepared by Meryl Streep.

Picnic at Hanging Rock (1975)

If you are not fond of mysteries that are never truly solved, or films that leave questions unanswered when the credits roll, then do not even attempt a viewing of Peter Weir's "Picnic at Hanging Rock". This Australian film concerns the disappearance of a group of young girls who were enjoying a St. Valentine's Day outing at a geological oddity known as Hanging Rock in 1900. Although the film was made and released in its home country in 1975, it did not premiere in American theaters until 1979, and was, in fact one of the first films from 'Down Under' to make a significant impact in the states, at least among the art house crowd.

Weir, who has since been Oscar nominated for his direction of "Witness" (well-deserved), and "Dead Poets Society" (not so much deserved), has a strong visual style in this film, aided by cinematographer Russell Boyd, who was honored with awards from the British Film Academy and the Academy of Science Fiction, Fantasy, and Horror for his camerawork here.  The film has often been described as lyrical, or dreamlike, and this is true; several shots are composed almost like paintings. The production design and costumes are lovely to look at, and help to establish both the time and place of the story quite well. In addition, the score features panflute music, which, when added to the young girls in their white dresses, and the visuals of the rock, create a sense of not just another time and place, but another world as well.  This is evidenced when watches stop once the party reaches the area, perhaps due to some magnetic force, suggests one of the teacher chaperones.   

The search for the missing girls, and investigation of the disappearance makes up the bulk of the film, and though that portion of the film is fairly generic, it is memorable thanks to the impressive visual quality of the film.  There is an official police investigation, as well as amateur sleuthing by a pair of young men who had seen the girls climbing the rock.  Locals speculate about what has happened, and the mystery becomes more intense when one of the girls is discovered shortly after the disappearance.  But despite attempts by the investigators, the truth about the occurence at Hanging Rock remains a mystery.   

Rachel Roberts is the most-well known performer in the film; she had been a Best Actress nominee in 1964 for her role in "This Sporting Life", but more recently had been reduced to smaller (yet still interesting) work such as among the ensemble of "Murder on the Orient Express". As the stiff-backed headmistress of the missing girls' school, she brings a feeling of menace to the film, as her concern is more for the scandal the disappearances may bring to her school rather than the well-being of the missing.  Her villainy is concealed beneath a placid manner, much like Nurse Ratched in "One Flew over the Cuckoo's Nest" or Sister Bridget in "The Magdalene Sisters" which makes it much more chilling.

The story in itself is interesting enough, but to me the mystery becomes secondary to the visual qualities the film has to offer.  "Picnic at Hanging Rock"'s main draws are the award-winning cinematography, the period design of the sets and costumes,  and the earlier mentioned "dreamlike" quality that surrounds the film like a spookily calm mist. 

Series 7: The Contenders (2001)

Currently playing on the STARZ/ENCORE cable channels is an overlooked gem from 2001; a violent, twisted little tale of what people will do for their "fifteen minutes of fame".  As "Network" from 1976 was eerily prophetic about what television and news were to become today, so is "Series 7: The Contenders" very much on target as a wickedly funny, violent satire on reality television, where supposedly ordinary people do any variety of things, in order to win money or become famous (the two are NOT one and the same).  It is scary to wonder just how long it will take some crazed television producer, or struggling network to propose a show like the one featured in this film.   

Co-produced by Killer Films (the folks who brought you such different yet worthy films as "Boys Don't Cry", "Happiness", and "I'm Not There" ), and directed by Daniel Minahan (who has since directed for "Six Feet Under", "Deadwood", "True Blood", and "Game of Thrones"), the setup is that a television show selects people to try and kill each other, as chosen by some sort of goverment sanctioned lottery (foreshadowing of those pesky 'Death Panels'?)  Anyone who's ever sat through an episode of "The Amazing Race" will respond to the cinematography and editing of the film, which is exactly like a reality-style program.  Even the schmaltzy moments with the contenders and their friends or family members are perfect imitations of diary room entries from "Big Brother", and there are some songs in the movie that would be perfectly at home sending contestants out on "American Idol".  Though the material is played completely straight, there are many instances of morbid humor in the film (i.e. Lindsay modeling the bulletproof vest her boyfriend bought her), and there is violence, presented in an unapologetic, straightforward manner; often brutally so.

The central character is Dawn, the reigning champion of the series, who is heavily pregnant and not even trying to be a sympathetic character.  She is a woman who stalks into a convenience store, shoots a man in the back, and the asks the clerk for bean dip.  The other newly chosen contenders consist of a middle-aged unemployed family man (Tony), an elderly retiree (Franklin), an older female nurse (Connie), a teenage student (Lindsay), and a young man in his thirties, who knew Dawn in school, and is a stage three cancer patient (Jeffrey). 

Brooke Smith gives a strong, fearless performance as Dawn.  The actress is best remembered for her role as a senator's kidnapped daughter in "The Silence of the Lambs", and here she is equally real.  She never plays for audience sympathy, and is very matter-of-fact about her participation on the show, her pregnancy, and how she relates to her family and the other contenders; it was one of the strongest performances by an actress in 2001, certainly more compelling to me than other, more prominent work done in better-known films.

Connie, played by Mary Louise Burke, has no trouble reconciling her career as a healer with her participation in the series, and her character's rather easy acceptance of the rules of the killing game are actually more chilling to consider than that of Dawn.  She is the only character to have a spiritual nature, but going to confession, she issues forth with a laundry list of minor sins, completely leaving out the murders she's committed.  To Connie, these aren't sins, or at least sins she must atone for; rather, they are just the things that she has to do. 

The other primary contender, Jeffrey, is played by Glenn Fitzgerald (who gave a very strong performance in another indie movie from the early 2000's, "Tully").  Fitzgerald is very good, in what feels like a difficult role, which lets him down because it isn't as strongly developed as that of Dawn or Connie.  The details of his relationships with Dawn and his wife are revealed, but there seems to be much more to the character than we are given access to.  Perhaps the role was written as slightly vague, or perhaps the look in Jeffrey's eyes does not mean to reveal hidden things, but is rather a creation on the part of Fitzgerald. The twist in the narrative near the end is completely in line with where the story has taken us so far, but the 're-enactment' angle is a cop-out, and very disappointing after you've invested so much in the performances of Smith and Fitzgerald. 

Primrose Path (1940)

"Primrose Path" is a 1940 melodrama from RKO that stars Ginger Rogers as a girl who must choose between true love with good, upright Joel McCrea, or living the high life as a party gal like her mother.  Ginger makes her entrance as Ellie Mae in pigtails and a sweatshirt, and she's obviously too old for the girlish part.  She lives with her dysfunctional family on the wrong side of town, and the household includes a mean-mouthed Granny (Queenie Vassar), an alcoholic father (Miles Mander), and sassy baby sister Honeybell (Joan Carroll).  

Bold and brassy, yet warm and loving, Marjorie Rambeau was nominated as Best Supporting Actress as Ginger's "shady lady" mother, Mamie.  Mamie might run around with and take money from men for her time, but she is also genuinely caring and loving towards her family, especially her alcoholic husband, who is a failed scholar.  There are two very nice scenes between Rambeau and Rogers, one before Ellie May's big date with Ed that shows how good a mother Mamie is, in her unique way, and another later on in the picture when Mamie reveals some hard truths about life to Ellie. 

As believeable as Rambeau is in her performance, Rogers is entirely too worldly-wise to be believable as a naive girl.  The characer Ellie May is supposed to be wise beyond her years, but in Rogers' case, her years are quickly approaching middle-age.  The credibility of the story is also stretched when Ellie's so undone by a single kiss from Ed Wallace that she's ready to run off and marry him.  She lies, telling him that her family won't let her come home because she's in love with him.  Rogers is much better and more believable later on in the film, as a gum-snapping, wisecracking waitress (in other words, Rogers' usual film character), and as a would-be hooker. 

Married life is fine until the day Mamie shows up at the gas station/restaurant where the couple work, and causes a lark in the parking lot, and another customer points out who or rather what Mamie is.  Ellie May finally confesses the truth about her family to Ed, and they makes plans to meet her family for the first time.  Despite Mamie's valiant efforts, the evening is a disaster when Homer shows up drunk and Granny spills the beans about Ellie's departure from the house, which she lied to him about earlier.  Ed sends her away, and Ellie returns to her family's home after there's been an unfortunate incident between Mamie and Homer.  Ed tries to patch things up, but is thwarted by a lie from Granny, whose actions and words have become crueller as the story has progressed.  With the family in crisis, Granny goads Ellie into following in Mamie's footsteps to provide needed money.  However, typically of films of the period, there was the required "happy ending".
     
The stretch and range of the role is a little beyond Rogers' abilities, but this film was made the same year she won the Best Actress Oscar for her performance in "Kitty Foyle".  Overall it's a fairly dull stew; with all the salty spice provided by Vassar, and the peppery warmth courtesy of Rambeau in their flashy supporting roles.  Also worth a mention is noted character actor Henry Travers as Ed's friendly Gramps. 

Hush...Hush, Sweet Charlotte (1964)

Among the sisterhood of the crazy old biddy horror genre, "Hush...Hush, Sweet Charlotte" is both gorier and grander than it's predecessor, "Whatever Happened to Baby Jane", even managing to pull the reins in on Bette Davis' performance in the title role to somewhere just south of over-the-top.

Similar to 'Jane', this film opens with an extended prologue set some 40 years earlier.  Plantation owner Sam Hollis is raging at John Mayhew, the married lover of his Sam's beloved daughter Charlotte.  Mayhew is given an ultimatum, but nonetheless, soon ends up rather gruesomely dismembered in the gazebo during a swinging cotillion style dance (where the costumes and hairstyles are hilariously inappropriate for the 1920's setting).  Young Charlotte appears suddenly; her party dress stained across the front of the skirt with blood (the location of the blood stains indicates a loss of Charlotte's innocence in more ways than one).  The mystery jumps forward a few decades, where neighborhood kids dare each other to enter the spooky old Hollis mansion.  Charlotte appears again, this time in the  form of grizzled, half-mad Bette Davis, clutching the music box that plays the tune John Mayhew wrote for her back in the day, (a tune that runs through the entire picture, even a swooning baritone vocal version plays over the end credits), still in an inappropriate party dress.

Discovering that the county has condemned her property in order to complete a new construction project, Charlotte goes on a shooting spree against the crew, and then is thrilled to discover that her dear cousin Miriam will be returning to the bayou to help her save the family grounds (and keep the secret of John's murder, which threatens to be revealed).  Miriam (Olivia de Havilland, a trace of her Melanie Wilkes but played for irony, and with a much firmer spine) arrives with a cool smile, designer wardrobe, and a huge chip on her shoulder from always being considered Charlotte's poor relation when the two were girls.  Her return starts old-flame Dr. Drew Bayliss (Joseph Cotten, barely a shadow of the actor he was for Orson Welles and Alfred Hitchcock in the 1940's) sniffing around once again, as well as another new arrival in town, Harry Mort (Cecil Kellaway, twinkling merrily like the overstuffed Irish cliche he is), an insurance investigator looking into the unclaimed policy on John Mayhew.

There are shocks and slashed dresses, screams and resurrected corpses, staircase tumbles and gunshots in the night, all of which lead to a satisying comeuppance for the villains of the piece, while Miss Charlotte is (at long last) allowed some peace, and a moment of quiet grace.

And now we come to the pearl in the oyster.  When this film premiered in late 1964, Agnes Moorehead had made her film debut as Kane's mother in "Citizen Kane", earned a trio of Oscar nominations, toured the country numerous times over in an acclaimed stage reading of "Don Juan in Hell", and was acknowledged as one of the foremost dramatic radio actresses of the time.  In addition, she had spent the past few months being seen by millions of television viewers as the ultimate witch of a mother-in-law on the smash sitcom "Bewitched".  The exposure from the sitcom was more than she had recieved in her 20-plus year career.  Moorehead was nominated again, for this role, and it is definitely played for laughs and to the hilt.  But she seems to be having the time of her life as Velma, the loyal old family servant.  Velma skulks and sneaks around the decaying mansion in an ill-fitting old dress and uncombed hair.  Like Charlotte, she too seems half-mad, sometimes squawking loudly and sometimes merely mumbling and muttering to herself.  She is devoted to Charlotte, suspicious of Miriam and Drew, and cautiously reaches out to Harry for assistance, but ultimately takes it upon herself to try and save Charlotte. 

Considering performances in the picture, the most interesting things to notice are the vocal performances of the main actresses.  This type of film by its very nature encourages overacting, which Bette Davis, and, to a lesser degree Moorehead happily oblige.  Yet it is the differing vocal styles of the actresses that stay in my memory.  Of the four primary female characters in the film, Davis, De Havilland, Moorehead, And Mary Astor (whom I include in this list for her masterful cameo as John Mayhew's elderly widow), each of the women hails from the same geographic region, and are roughly the same age, and, yet each exercies a different tone and tempo of speaking that reveals much about their characters.

As Charlotte, Davis takes the ladle from the gravy bowl and lavishly covers every line of dialogue with a thick drawl, but she never really sounds like someone who'd been raised with an aristocratic background (which her character is) or like a complete nutcase either (which her character isn't, quite).  It's a performance that vocally Davis takes just north of the line of good taste, and it isn't really a great performance overall, but it IS, after all, Bette Davis, doing a rather good 'talk-show' imitation odenf Bette Davis, which is usually enough for most of the audience.

Playing dear, sweet cousin Miriam, who has lived abroad for a number of years, De Havilland has a more ladylike accent, which accents her silvery voice- but that voice begins to change as the picture goes on.  As more of Miriam's character is revealed, De Havilland's voice becomes both deeper and darker, recalling a similar change in vocal style she employed when she played Catherine Sloper in "The Heiress" in 1949.  The voice is still velvet smooth, but there is cruelty in it now, an undercurrent of ugliness; a snake slithering through a rose garden.

In addition to her skills as a radio actress, Moorehead had been a speech and elocution teacher early in her career, and gives the most vocally versatile performance of the actresses.  Her drawling Velma sounds unlike any of the other women in the picture, appropriate since she is of the servant class and not of the same social upbringing as Charlotte, Miriam, and Jewel.  There also seems to be some ethnicity to Velma's sound, perhaps some Cajun inflection, which is also appropirate considering the film's bayou setting.  Moorehead sasses and backtalks De Havilland and Cotten in a defiant squawk, coos at and consoles Davis with warmth, pleads desperately to Kellaway with fear and uncertainty in her cries, and mumbles just under her breath to no one in particular at several points in the picture.  These vocal gymnastics completely fit the messy hairdo and weatherbeaten dresses she wears, and makes Velma a character that is sorely missed after her departure from the story.

In what is basically a two-scene cameo, Mary Astor is the sickly widow, Jewel Mayhew.  She has the most authentic accent of all the actresses, as well as the perfect rich tone, a lovely, unhurried tempo, and a grand choice of words (courtesy of the film's writer, of course).  Astor has a very brief scene early on with De Havilland, in which she sounds like what she is: an annoyed, suffering old lady.  A later, longer scene with Kellaway shows Jewel more relaxed and at ease, although there is an urgency to her voice when she makes  a final request of sorts.  It is during this scene with Kellaway that Astor has a line about how all she has left is "ruined finery".  That phrase is a beautiful, sublime moment in a picture that celebrates the grotesque and outrageous; and, not to put too fine a point to it, but I believe it to be not only the best written line of the film, but the best spoken as well.

"Hush...Hush, Sweet Charlotte" has some gore, some laughs, and some meaty roles for veteran actors who gave performances that indicated that both they and the audience knew they were really better than the roles they were being given to play, but they played them to the hilt anyway.
 

Rebecca (1940)

It has been said that Alfred Hitchcock was able to get away with some of his personal stylistic touches in "Rebecca" because producer David Selznick was preoccupied with the completion of "Gone with the Wind".  Whether that is the case or not, "Rebecca" is something of a wonder; something akin to a walking nightmare, where the viewer is on the same unstable footing as Max DeWinter's new young bride, never quite sure of her steps and always feeling a bit uneasy.  This sense of unease was one of Hitchcock's trademarks: the sense that something is not quite right, but not being able to exactly define or put your finger on what it is makes us uncomfortable, even in a home as grand as Manderley.  Or more precisely, especially in a home as grand as Manderley.

When Max DeWinter (Laurence Olivier) brings his bride (Joan Fontaine) to her new home, she is overwhelmed by the house, as she will soon be overwhelmed by the sea, and most of all by the lingering presence of her predecessor.  And though Max tries to be kind, there is a darkness shading this kindness, and we're never entirely sure what part he may have played in Rebecca's fate, even when he tells her (and us) what he did do.  It is a mark of excellence in Olivier's portrayal that we doubt him even then, for if the viewer does, then certainly so must his unsteady wife.

Supposedly, Hitchcock fostered an additional sense of unease in Joan Fontaine by telling her that the other castmembers didn't regard her as worthy of her role, and especially, that Olivier had pushed for Vivien Leigh to do the part.  This may be one of the endless Hitchcock legends that have sprung up over the decades like so many toadstools; merely a brilliant old Hollywood anecdote.  If however, this is true it was a masterstroke that allowed Fontaine to become so undone that she couldn't possibly have seemed more meek and helpless than she does during the major portion of the film.  Fontaine, in fact, did not give as fine a performance until "Letter from an Unknown Woman" in 1948. 

There is evil in "Rebecca", to be sure, but not of the ghostly variety.  Manderley's housekeeper, Mrs. Danvers (Judith Anderson) remains faithfully devoted to her deceased mistress, and it is her presence that drives the new Mrs. DeWinter to the brink of insanity.  As played so exquisitely by Anderson, Mrs. Danvers doesn't walk so much as drift through the film in a mist of malevolence; she is unforgettable and completely forbidding.  Anderson's sharp, angular features give her a witchlike countenance; her stare can freeze the blood, the arch of an eyebrow can bring about perspiration, and her caress (which you just know is a touch of ice) sends chills.  Needless to say, she also has a face that would stop a clock.  At times during the film, she gets a faraway look in her dark eyes, as if she's under a spell (which she is).  The spell was cast by Rebecca, and so Mrs. Danvers is doomed to haunt the rooms of Manderley in a trance that can only be broken by her death.  She is not a monster or a demon, but rather a zombie, still controlled by Rebecca from beyond the grave. 

Minor roles in the film are filled with stalwarts of the era: George Sanders (in professional cad mode) as Rebecca's 'cousin' Jack, Gladys Cooper (not nearly as harsh as she usually appeared) as Max's sister, and Florence Bates in a lovely, hilarious bit at the beginning as a vulgar tourist.  These characterizations add texture to the film, and provide tiny respites from the darkness of the story. 

"Rebecca" is a gorgeous, gothic nightmare.