Version Variations: Goodbye, Mr. Chips (1939, 1969)

Tags

Classics, Drama, Meet 'em and Move on, Musical, Romance, Version Variations

A young boy’s mind is a fallow field
With unknown promise yet to yield,
And every word their minds import
Of criticism or support,
Of firm reproof or merely sport,
Contributes to the man revealed
At last when boyhood is cut short.

To nobly tend this field with care,
Since parents can’t be always there,
Requires a person resolute,
Profuse with passion, temper mute,
With love of learning absolute.
Such people tasting praise is rare,
But they produce the finest fruit.
_____________________

MPAA rating of 1939 version:  Not Rated (should be G)
MPAA rating of 1969 version:  G

Those who’ve seen my Top 365 movie list might know that I love Mr. Holland’s Opus.  I’ve just always been drawn to the story of an unassuming teacher finding worth in the service of his students.  I’ve always vaguely known that 1939’s Goodbye, Mr. Chips, based on a 1934 novella, was the original version of such a story, but I’d never gotten around to seeing it. When I then learned it had been remade as a musical in 1969, I figured it would be a prime chance to compare the two in one of my overdue Version Variation posts.

The first Goodbye, Mr. Chips is known as one of the members of the great movie year of 1939, managing to win Robert Donat the Best Actor Oscar over some stiff competition, including Clark Gable in Gone with the Wind. Having seen the winning performance, I can now see why Donat edged out the rest, letting his range of sometimes inscrutable emotions play out with great subtlety as he ages from a fresh-faced new Latin teacher in 1870 to a celebrated educator in 1933, weighed down with all the joys and sorrows of a lifetime. (My VC enjoyed the film a lot, but as a huge Rhett Butler fan, her loyalties still lie with Gable.) Like Mr. Holland, the respect Mr. Chipping ends up with is hard-won, but much of it stems from his marriage to the lovely Kathy Ellis (Greer Garson), whom he meets on a European holiday. I would have loved for Garson’s role to have been longer, but, even with limited screen time, her warm presence successfully brings the prosaic Chipping out of his shell, improving his reputation at the school.

In many ways, Goodbye, Mr. Chips is exactly the kind of movie I like, a film spanning decades wherein one character meets various people and experiences alongside the ebb and flow of time, fostering a sense of fond nostalgia. I particularly liked his run-ins with successive generations of the Colley family, showing how static his life at school is while his students go on to have lives of their own. Mr. Holland’s Opus had some similarities, but whereas that film allowed time for characters to be eventually remembered, the turnaround in Goodbye, Mr. Chips is sometimes too fast, introducing a character only for us to learn what happened to them years later in a few minutes’ time. Ultimately, Goodbye, Mr. Chips is well-deserving of its classic status, and while there’s no danger of it supplanting my preference for Mr. Holland’s Opus, it was wonderful seeing a forerunner of a story I’ve come to love.

And then there’s the 1969 remake with Peter O’Toole and Petula Clark, which fits into the not-so-modern sentiment that remakes hardly ever match the original. There’s nothing wrong with making it a musical, allowing the songs to mainly serve as interior monologues, but the songs are largely forgettable, except for a couple clever lyrics, and O’Toole just isn’t much of a singer, trying out the Rex Harrison method of talk-singing but less successfully.

The plot has the same basic elements: Chipping is a somewhat unpopular Latin teacher at a boys’ school who meets and marries a girl named Katherine (Clark) and eventually becomes a mainstay of the institution. There are still the lines of boys sounding off their attendance and a very similar ending, but the filmmakers made significant plot changes elsewhere. For one, the time period is moved up, no longer starting in the 1800s but in the 1920s with Chipping already an established teacher; thus, the war he experiences is World War II rather than World War I.

The worst change, though, is that Katherine is no longer a cycling suffragette Chips meets on a mountain but a music hall singer with an unsavory past, and their formerly brief courtship takes up the entire first half of the film, which also features an intermission to pad out its greater length. There’s pushback against their marriage where there was none before, along with Roaring ’20s parties and O’Toole’s wife-at-the-time Siân Phillips as an annoying socialite. I know I said that I wished Chipping’s wife was in the original more, but I was referring to Greer Garson’s version; the writers of the remake essentially rewrote her whole character, and while Petula Clark was great in the role, it was such a weirdly unnecessary change from the original.

Even so, the latter half (or really third) of the film is much more similar to the first film and is better for it. O’Toole and Clark do well with their roles (O’Toole even got an Oscar nomination and won a Golden Globe), although O’Toole’s Chipping is slightly more stiff and crotchety, even in scenes supposed to be romantic. The film overall was solid enough, but, as with so many remakes, it just doesn’t compare with the original.

I guess films about long-suffering teachers who touch the lives of their students just naturally appeal to me, and Goodbye, Mr. Chips, whatever the incarnation, fits that mold. The original is clearly the better of the two, though, and certainly the one I’d recommend first. While the scene wasn’t in the 1939 movie, I couldn’t help but recall Mr. Holland’s Opus when the second film’s Kathy organizes a school musical with the students, which made me wonder how much either version of Goodbye, Mr. Chips really inspired the 1995 film. They’re so different in setting and character, and yet so similar in theme, particularly in their final heartwarming sentiments (see below). I suppose that’s what speaks to me most of all.

Best line (from 1939 film but something similar in both): (Mr. “Chips”) “I thought I heard you saying it was a pity… pity I never had any children. But you’re wrong. I have… thousands of them, thousands of them… and all boys.”

 

Rank of 1939 version:  List Runner-Up

Rank of 1969 version:  Honorable Mention

 

© 2019 S.G. Liput
646 Followers and Counting

 

Version Variations: The Magnificent Seven (1960, 2016)

Tags

Action, Classics, Drama, Thriller, Version Variations, Western

(Today’s NaPoWriMo prompt was for a poem dedicated to some other form of art, so I opted for the film Seven Samurai and its many incarnations.)

In the land of Japan, after warring was done,
An epic and classic of film was begun
By one Kurosawa, director renowned,
Who left cinematic impressions profound.

This film Seven Samurai dazzled the critics
(And still holds a high spot in film analytics)
So Hollywood said, after only six years,
“We’ll do that in English for our Western ears.

“And speaking of western, we’ll re-set the plot
With cowboys and Mexicans. Now that’s a thought!”
So that’s what they did, and it turned out a winner
With quite the ensemble headlined by Yul Brynner.

They didn’t stop there; three more sequels ensued,
But even those westerns were just a prelude.
A Corman sci-fi set the story in space,
Hong Kong made a version with China the place,

And Italy even confused the translators
By making the samurai brave gladiators.
A Bug’s Life was Pixar’s cartoonish conversion,
Then back to Japan for an anime version.

And Hollywood remade the remake it made,
The most recent role that this formula’s played.
Imitation is flattery’s form at its highest,
But would Kurosawa, I wonder, be biased?
_________________________

MPAA rating for the 1960 version:  Approved (basically PG)
MPAA rating for the 2016 version:  PG-13 (pretty strong on the violence)

I haven’t done one of these Version Variation posts in a while, mainly because I haven’t watched an abundance of remakes lately. Yet I stumbled upon the 2016 remake of The Magnificent Seven, and finding it to be an above average western, had to see how it compared to the more celebrated original (not to mention how it compared to the original original, 1954’s Seven Samurai).

Of course, Akira Kurosawa started it all with Seven Samurai, the tale of seven disparate but skilled misfits recruited by desperate villagers to fend off invading bandits. The Magnificent Seven is very much the same tale, simply transplanted from feudal Japan to the mythic American West. Certain scenes and plot elements are common to every version, such as the duel that introduces the most deadly of the bunch or the number of the seven who are killed by the end (though which characters die seems to differ).

All three also feature extremely talented ensembles, led by an established movie star. In the case of The Magnificent Seven, that would be Yul Brynner (1960) and Denzel Washington (2016), both dressed all in black and oozing enough self-confidence to recruit six others with minimal effort. Watching the different versions, it was interesting to pick out the parallels between the other characters. Horst Buchholz (who went on to appear in Life Is Beautiful) plays a scrappy upstart in the 1960 version, clearly modeled after Toshiro Mifune in Seven Samurai, but there’s not really an equivalent character in the 2016 film. As the second recruit, Chris Pratt seems comparable to Steve McQueen’s drifter, while James Coburn’s knife-thrower is unmistakably akin to Lee Byung-hun in the remake. Other comparisons are a little harder, such as Ethan Hawke’s war-haunted Cajun in the remake having elements of both Robert Vaughn and Brad Dexter’s characters in the original.

One thing that is self-evident about the 2016 remake is its effort to be more inclusive in its representation. While all of the original seven were white, the new seven include three whites, one black, one Mexican, one Native American, and one South Korean (who I guess is supposed to represent the Chinese? I didn’t know there were Korean immigrants in the Old West).  Another difference is that the characters in the remake are given far more colorful names; after all, aren’t “Goodnight” Robicheaux and Billy Rocks cooler sobriquets than Britt or Chris or Lee?

While it makes the character comparisons a little harder, the racial changes aren’t unwelcome and don’t make much difference storywise, aside from a clash between the Native American member of the Seven (Martin Sensmeier) and his counterpart on the bad guy’s side (Jonathan Joss, who surprisingly also played Chief Hotate on Parks and Recreation). Speaking of bad guys, that’s another major change; whereas the original’s Eli Wallach played the leader of a Mexican outlaw band, the remake’s Peter Sarsgaard plays a ruthless businessman aiming to buy out the townsfolk for the nearby gold mine (which is notably not in the original, much to Brad Dexter’s chagrin).

Perhaps it might have been different if I had watched the 1960 version first, as most cinephiles did, but I think I actually prefer the 2016 version. The 1960 film is a classic, no doubt about that, with Yul Brynner’s man in black standing up as one of the quintessential western heroes. Yet even though that film has its fair share of gunfights, the 2016 film plays out much more like an action movie, tossing out the love subplot and apparent defeat of the original in favor of bigger and more explosive battles. The body count is higher, but the thrills don’t disappoint, in contrast to the original film’s excessive length and occasional boring parts.

That being said, cheating though it may be, I don’t have any problem grouping the two together for ranking purposes, or even grouping both with Seven Samurai. Seven Samurai may be the most artistic and the 2016 film the most entertaining, but all three are worthwhile. (I’ll draw the line, though, at grouping them with A Bug’s Life, which is also basically the same story. I did like how Charles Bronson’s bond with some local kids was recycled for Francis the lady bug in Pixar’s film.) Many may scoff at the mere idea of remakes, often rightfully, but, like A Star Is Born, this is one story that has endured the test of time and excelled in multiple incarnations.

Best line from the 1960 version: (Vin/Steve McQueen) “It’s like a fellow I once knew in El Paso. One day, he just took all his clothes off and jumped in a mess of cactus. I asked him that same question, ‘Why?’”   (Calvera/bad guy) “And?”   (Vin) “He said, ‘It seemed to be a good idea at the time.’”

Best line from the 2016 version: (Sam Chisholm/Denzel Washington) “What we lost in the fire, we’ll find in the ashes.”

 

Rank: List-Worthy (both grouped with Seven Samurai)

 

© 2019 S.G. Liput
627 Followers and Counting

 

Genre Grandeur – The Wages of Fear (1953) / Sorcerer (1977) – Rhyme and Reason

Tags

Classics, Drama, Thriller, Version Variations

Here is my contribution to MovieRob’s September Genre Grandeur of Remade Movies. I reviewed both the classic French thriller The Wages of Fear with its American counterpart Sorcerer, comparing and contrasting them as one of my Version Variations.

MovieRob

For this month’s first review for Genre Grandeur – Re-Made Movies, here’s a review of The Wages of Fear (1953) / Sorcerer (1977)) by SG of Rhyme and Reason

Thanks again to Robb of Red Bezzle for choosing this month’s genre.

Next month’s Genre has been chosen by Kira of Film and TV 101 and it is Western CrossoverMovies.

Literally any film from any genre with western elements to it; comedy/drama/musical or even thrillers or horror.

Please get me your submissions by the 25th of October by sending them to westerncrosskira@movierob.net

Try to think out of the box! Great choice Kira!

Let’s see what SG thought of these movies:

_________________________________

The Wages of Fear (1953) / Sorcerer (1977)

You don’t know what fear is, son.

You’ve felt it flicker and then fade.

But none can say they’ve fully felt

The fear that makes men’s spirits melt

Until their nerves…

View original post 1,236 more words

Version Variations: Pete’s Dragon (1977, 2016)

Tags

Animation, Drama, Family, Fantasy, Musical, Version Variations

To some, a forest holds mere trees,
With empty air between,
While one who knows to notice sees
A firmament of green,
Of life and lives and rarities
That few have ever seen.

What wonderments may hide out there
I cannot dare to guess,
But those who speak of creatures rare,
Withdrawn from man’s progress,
Perhaps perceive that empty air
Cannot be magicless.
_________________

MPAA rating for 1977 version: G (maybe PG)
MPAA rating for 2016 version: PG

With Disney so dedicated now to translating its past canon of animated classics into live-action films, it’s rather disconcerting that their attempts thus far have been fan favorites, like Sleeping Beauty or Beauty and the Beast, but not the lesser entries in Disney’s catalog. While remakes of The Black Cauldron and The Sword in the Stone are supposedly in the works and would be welcome, Pete’s Dragon is the first recent remake that actually had a chance of surpassing the original simply because the original is fairly lame. Yet, even though a simple updating of the tale could have sufficed, writer-director David Lowery took the essentials of the first story and transformed them into something closer in spirit to E.T. than to their source, providing an example of improvement for future Disney remakes to follow.

Let’s take a look at the original, a film whose “classic” status is more reliant on its age than anything else. The first Pete’s Dragon sees young Pete and his sometimes invisible dragon Elliott escape from a wicked foster family and seek a home in the seaside town of Passamaquoddy, where kind lighthouse keepers (Mickey Rooney, Helen Reddy) take him in and sneaky snake-oil salesmen (Jim Dale, Red Buttons) plot to capture Elliott. It’s a family-friendly musical in the vein of Mary Poppins, Bedknobs and Broomsticks, and Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, the key difference being that it came out in 1977, a less innocent time when ultra-sincere stories like this began tasting too saccharine.

The silly musical numbers and childish wish fulfillment simply don’t work as well here, thanks to some dreadfully gee-whiz acting from young Sean Marshall as Pete. There’s a notable lack of Disney magic, perhaps due to a new generation of animators (including Don Bluth) taking the reins at the time, and some elements are downright unpleasant, like the abusive backwoods Gogans, headed by Shelley Winters, who want Pete as their personal slave. The songs range from forgettable to embarrassing, but Helen Reddy’s “Candle on the Water” is a beautiful exception and even earned an Oscar nomination.

I suppose I shouldn’t be too hard on the original Pete’s Dragon. If I’d seen it as a kid, maybe I’d consider it a classic, as I do Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. The merging of animation and live-action is actually done quite well, and there are some fun moments sprinkled throughout the tiresome ones, like Mickey Rooney’s panic over seeing Elliott or the visiting mountebank who can’t pronounce the name of the town he claims to love. It was also neat seeing Jim Backus of Gilligan’s Island appearing as the town’s mayor. By the overly heartwarming ending, I even was able to recognize why others might find this as charming as Elliott himself. Yet my adult sensibilities couldn’t let me overlook its glaring flaws and often laughable excesses, like the soap opera twist at the end that explains away a character’s year-long absence with amnesia. With these earnest family films, it’s a fine line between delightful and cloying, and Pete’s Dragon is one member of the Disney canon that could have certainly benefited from a remake done right.

Thankfully, almost forty years later, that remake arrived. I debated on whether to call this review a Cartoon Comparison or a Version Variation since the original’s dragon was animated and the latest Elliot was CGI, but since CGI is still animation, I opted for a Version Variation. (Did anyone else notice that the 1977 dragon was named Elliott with two t’s, while the more recent one was Elliot with one t?) Yes, in the 2016 version of Pete’s Dragon, there’s still a boy named Pete and a giant invisible green dragon, but that’s really all this film has in common with the original. Gone are the brutish hillbillies. Gone is Dr. Terminus, the greedy charlatan. Gone are the musical numbers and the silly tone. Whereas established fairy tale films are expected to follow the same beats as their predecessors, Pete’s Dragon took the bare minimum of inspiration from the 1977 movie and made something new yet affectionate out of it.

Young Pete (Oakes Fegley) is still an orphan, but the beginning actually shows the loss of his parents and how his first encounter with Elliot saves him, after which the boy grows up as a wild child with his protective dragon friend in the remote woods of the Pacific Northwest. In place of Helen Reddy’s beer cask-skipping lighthouse keeper, Bryce Dallas Howard is pleasantly down-to-earth as Forest Ranger Grace Meacham, and her father (Robert Redford) still tells tall tales of spotting an enormous dragon out in the woods. When Pete is discovered and falls into Grace’s charge, the same familial bonds and adoptive hopes develop as in the first film, only done better and with more subtlety. In lieu of the covetous swindler who wants Elliott for elixir ingredients, the villain role goes to Karl Urban as Gavin, the brother of Grace’s lumberjack boyfriend. His desire to capture a fantastical creature isn’t the most original element, but he’s more like Peter Coyote’s man with the keys from E.T. than an outright villain, and a good moment toward the end reaffirms that he does care more for his family than about fame and fortune.

The latest Pete’s Dragon is perhaps a bit too slow in spots, but it’s an appealing contrast to the frantic comedy of most family fare these days. Unlike the 1977 film, all of the human performances are natural and endearing, and Elliot himself is masterfully brought to life in all his fluffy green dragon glory, behaving like a giant dog at times, which is perhaps different from the whistling original but not at all in a negative way. And as a huge Lindsey Stirling fan, I have to mention her lovely and wistful song “Something Wild” that easily makes my End Credits Song Hall of Fame and was my #4 song of last year.

Of all the live-action remakes Disney has created and planned, Pete’s Dragon seemed an unlikely contender, with a lackluster original with limited appeal. Yet even if it’s not the most entertaining entry, Pete’s Dragon may be the best live-action translation yet. While Cinderella and The Jungle Book did their sources justice, 2016’s Pete’s Dragon blows its predecessor out of the water, from the much more intimate change in tone to the uplifting final scene that offers a happy ending to Elliot as well as Pete. Notably distinct without the need to be edgy or revisionist, it’s a gentle remake that Disney would do well to learn from.

Best line from 1977 version:  (Merle Gogan) “Say, have you seen anything of a mean, fresh kid, about yea big? Answers to the name of Pete.”  (Hoagy) “Half of the kids here in this town answer to Pete. Other half don’t answer.”

Best line from 2016 version:  (Mr. Meacham) “There’s magic in the woods, if you know where to look for it.”

 

Rank for the 1977 version: Dishonorable Mention
Rank for the 2016 version: List Runner-Up

 

© 2017 S.G. Liput
484 Followers and Counting

 

Version Variations / VC Pick: A Star Is Born (1937, 1954, 1976)

Tags

Drama, Musical, Romance, VC Pick, Version Variations

 

For every star to glory born
And lifted from obscurity,
Another sinks to dark and scorn,
An endless cycle now well-worn
But no less pitifully.

Some seek, some flee the weight of fame,
For which so many mourn.
They love the players, hate the game,
Who lose the lights around their name
That more stars may be born.
_________________

MPAA rating for 1937 version: Not Rated (should be PG)
MPAA rating for 1954 version: PG
MPAA rating for 1976 version: R (mainly for language)

My VC has been urging me to review the 1976 version of A Star Is Born, one of her favorites with Barbra Streisand, and I saw it as an opportunity to compare all three movies of the same name in a long overdue Version Variation review. It’s a Hollywood story that has become well-known through repetition, earning a remake every twenty years or so. The original was in 1937 with Janet Gaynor and Fredric March; the second retooled the tale as an epic musical with Judy Garland and James Mason; and the third is my VC’s favorite, another musical with Streisand and Kris Kristofferson. Ironically, I believe I was exposed to each of them in backwards order and enjoyed the story more the further back I went. And to anyone who thinks this story is too old to be relevant over forty years after the last version, there is yet another remake in the works for next year, starring Bradley Cooper and Lady Gaga. Time will tell how that compares with the others, but let’s take a look at the similarities and differences between the past versions.

What every incarnation of A Star Is Born has in common is the central story of an ambitious female newcomer who catches the eye and support of a celebrity with a reputation for being difficult, and as her star rises, his fades with heartbreaking results. While the necessity for the existence of a remake is always questioned, A Star Is Born is one case where every new version updated it for the times in completely understandable ways. The 1937 film had Hollywood as its setting, with Janet Gaynor’s Esther Blodgett dreaming of rising from a country girl to a starlet of its Golden Age. Judy Garland’s version is also about Hollywood but at the height of its musical phase; Garland’s Blodgett is already an established singer, and it’s her voice that prompts Mason’s Norman Maine to help her to shoot for something bigger through the studio system. By 1976, Streisand’s version ignores Hollywood in favor of the rock-and-roll scene of the ‘70s; the voice of her renamed Esther Hoffman catches the ear of not a movie star but rock star John Norman Howard (Kristofferson). All three films see Esther and her self-destructive benefactor share wedded bliss that is sadly short-lived, and the final scenes, while handled in different ways, are essentially the same.

Let’s start with the original 1937 film. It was the last one I saw, and knowing how unimpressed I usually am with dated movies of its era, I watched it more for the sake of comparison than for personal interest. Yet, surprisingly, I found it to be the best version of them all, which I suppose should be expected of the original work. The first A Star Is Born has no music like the other two, and thus the story is more boiled down to the basics of its plot, without the often unnecessary window-dressing of a musical number. In doing so, it also includes important details left out in the 1954 version, such as the origin of Esther’s screen name Vicki Lester.

Above all, the original’s greatest asset that the other two can’t match is its script, pointed and eloquent in just the right measure. While it received seven Oscar nominations, including the honor of being the first color film to be nominated for Best Picture, it’s no surprise that its one win was for Best Writing (plus an honorary award for its color photography). One important character that is totally absent from later versions is Esther’s Grandmother Lettie, played with witty spunk by May Robson. It’s her grandmother that gives Esther the initial encouragement to become a star, and her shrewd counsel at both the movie’s beginning and end may be my favorite bit of grandmotherly wisdom on film. All of the other performances are outstanding, with not one devolving into overacting, and Gaynor and March deserved their acting nominations, even if they didn’t win. (On a side note, I thought it interesting that Lionel Stander, who plays the studio’s unsympathetic publicity manager, sounded exactly like Harvey Fierstein’s raspy voice. I doubt there’s any relation, but it would be funny if Fierstein played the same role in the next remake.) Dated or not, the original A Star Is Born is the best, as its 100% Rotten Tomatoes score attests, and it has somewhat changed my views on prejudging a film based on its age.

As for the 1954 version with Judy Garland, Esther is presented not as an aspiring nobody but as the lead singer of a musical ensemble, whose performance at a gala is interrupted by Norman Maine’s drunken antics. (Danny McGuire, her friend from the original, becomes her bandmate in this version.) Won over by her voice, Norman invites her to stay in Hollywood for a screen test, and after some bumps in the road, she becomes a star of musical cinema. Many scenes, especially in the second half, are recreated from the first film, often word for word, such as the studio head’s visit to Maine in a sanitarium or Esther’s intervention when her husband is about to be sent to jail. What the remake adds is a surfeit of musical numbers, ranging from small personal songs to lavish song-and-dance routines. One sketch detailing Esther’s supposed rise to stardom plays out like Judy Garland’s version of Gene Kelly’s “Broadway Melody” number in Singin’ in the Rain.

All the additional music helps the remake stand apart from its predecessor, but with essentially the same story, it’s hard not to feel that the extended scenes of choreography are merely padding to warrant its somewhat tiresome three-hour runtime. Like Janet Gaynor before her, Judy Garland was nominated for Best Actress but lost to Grace Kelly that year, a snub that was widely criticized, but I can understand. As marvelous as she was as a singer, Garland never struck me as a great actress, and I found her most emotional scenes rather forced, the kind of dated acting that Gaynor actually avoided in the earlier version. Another odd discrepancy is that the original film is still intact, but portions of the 1954 film have been lost and recreated with still photographs. Even if Garland’s incarnation has some drawbacks, it’s still entertaining in the musical department, and, nailing the suave but broken sides of the character, James Mason plays probably the best Norman Maine role of all three films.

And now the moment my VC has been waiting for, Barbra Streisand and the oh so handsome Kris Kristofferson in the 1976 retelling of A Star Is Born! Since this is the greatest departure from the original film, I’ll start with what my VC loves about it, particularly the music. She’s always loved Streisand’s voice, if not her personally, and like Judy Garland before her, Streisand was the premier singer/actress of the time. (Whether Lady Gaga is for our generation has yet to be seen.) The whole soundtrack is updated to excellent classic rock standards, and unlike the previous version, Streisand’s film won an Oscar for Best Song, the theme “Evergreen,” which rather pales in comparison with the more dynamic showstoppers, like “The Woman in the Moon.” Both she and Kristofferson are also quite good in their acting roles, though not in any award-worthy way, an opinion on which my VC vehemently disagrees with me.

I do wish I could like this version as much as she does, but it has even more problems than the ’54 film. For one, the great script of the original is nowhere to be found, despite clear echoes of the earlier films’ events, like Norman interrupting Esther’s award ceremony (here the Grammys rather than the Oscars). Perhaps the most frustrating aspect for me is Kristofferson’s character of John Norman Howard. Like the previous Norman Maines, he’s a drunken, self-destructive jerk at times, whose behavior is harder to understand here. He frequently makes terrible decisions, even when not drunk; for instance, this is the only version where he cheats on Esther, and while my VC insists there’s a deep motive behind it of self-resentment on his part, I’m afraid I just don’t see it. His final act of the film is also perplexing; in the other versions, it is because Norman fears Esther will throw everything away on him, while here, he has a chance at a comeback but refuses to take it for supposedly the same reason.

All three versions of A Star Is Born have their strengths: the shrewd dialogue of the original, the sprawling musical numbers of Garland’s incarnation, the bittersweet and passionate ending of Streisand’s (the only one to actually end with a performance). While my VC’s favorite is not mine, it did give me a reason to check out the others, the first of which is now among my favorite films from the 1930s. This story of Hollywood success, love, and loss has proven its staying power, and although I’m always dubious about remakes, this is one tale that can support further retellings.

Best serious line (from the 1937 version): (Grandmother Lettie) “Tragedy is a test of courage. If you can meet it bravely, it will leave you bigger than it found you. If not, then you will have to live all your life as a coward, because no matter where you may run, you can never run away from yourself.”

Best funny line (from the 1937 version): (Esther’s aunt) “Of course, no one ever listens to me!”   (Grandmother Lettie) “They do if they’re within ten miles of ya.”

 

Rank for the 1937 version: List-Worthy
Rank for the 1954 version: List Runner-Up
Rank for the 1976 version: Honorable Mention

 

© 2017 S.G. Liput
451 Followers and Counting

 

Version Variations: Of Mice and Men (1939, 1992)

Tags

Drama, Version Variations

 

A man’s secure within his plans,
Within his mind and strength of hands.
The world he’s in, though, makes demands
That cast his hopes in doubt,
That turn his rock to shifting sands,
His promised lands to drought.

A plan is never set in stone,
And though the future is unknown,
Both good and ill are all our own,
As it has always been.
When sown and grown and maybe blown,
New plans must then begin.
________________

MPAA rating of 1992 version: PG-13
MPAA rating of 1939 version: Approved (should be PG)

I’m one of the few people for whom John Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men was not required reading in high school. Thus, even though I had a vague notion of the plot due to its general fame, I was able to watch Gary Sinise’s 1992 adaptation without knowing how the story would actually play out. Only after that did I also investigate the original adaptation with Burgess Meredith and Lon Chaney, Jr., one of the famous 1939 classics. In order to review both with one stone, this will be the first of a new feature called Version Variations, where I’ll be contrasting two versions of the same story. (Of course, if one happens to be animated, that will still fall under Cartoon Comparisons. Can you tell I like alliteration?)

I’ll start with the remake, the personal passion project of Gary Sinise, who directed and starred as George, the Depression-era migrant worker who travels with the large but simpleminded Lenny Small (John Malkovich). George watches out for Lenny, shielding him from trouble when possible and encouraging him with promises of a ranch of their own, complete with rabbits to pet and feed. While they both work hard and make progress toward their goals, most people probably know theirs is a tragic story; circumstances are the real enemy, and sometimes the slightest of mistakes can send things spiraling out of control.

Sinise is just as talented a director as he is an actor, displaying a steady hand for the gut-wrenching moments and an eye for detail during the lovingly recreated harvesting scenes. As well as Sinise translates the novella to the screen, most of the credit goes to Steinbeck. As works like Lifeboat and Cannery Row illustrate, he was a master at creating distinct and sympathetic characters, like the dog-loving old man Candy (Ray Walston, aka Boothby from Star Trek: The Next Generation) and the bitter black cripple Crooks (Joe Morton). In addition to swiftly developed characters, the structure of the story is perfection, with poignant foreshadowing that only becomes clear by the end. And of course, at the heart of the film are Sinise and Malkovich, giving some of the best performances of their careers, with Malkovich in particular nailing the childlike innocence that makes Lenny all the more pitiful.

As for the 1939 adaptation, which included Steinbeck’s personal involvement and approval, it’s almost identical, testifying to the faithfulness of both versions to the book. Directed by Lewis Milestone and scored by Aaron Copland, this black-and-white version features Burgess Meredith as George and the hulking Lon Chaney, Jr., of Wolf Man fame as Lenny. One thing I liked from the outset was a clear reference to the title’s source, since “of mice and men” comes from the Robert Burns poem “To a Mouse.” Much of the characterization and dialogue are the same, with one difference being the slightly altered countenance of the only female character Mae (Betty Field in the original, Sherilyn Fenn in the remake), the bored and rebellious wife of the boss’s arrogant son Curley. The 1939 Mae is more vocal and antagonistic than the 1992 version of the character, who is known only as Curley’s wife as in the book. In addition, the 1939 film lacks the frequent profanity that Sinise included, though due to the book’s reputation for censorship I suspect Sinise was a bit more faithful in that regard.

The quality of the performances is certainly admirable, though some of the acting feels dated and overplayed. While Chaney can’t compare with Malkovich, Meredith and Sinise are equally excellent as gruff but caring George. The one role that I found even better in the original was that of Candy (Roman Bohnen), the old farmhand urged to kill his aging dog. As good as Ray Walston is in the remake, Bohnen steals his scenes with tearjerking effect, making me wonder why he wasn’t even nominated for Best Supporting Actor.

Both versions are powerful examples of adapting a classic book. Both have their strengths, yet Sinise’s version sidesteps the original’s weaknesses and wins my preference, despite the needless profanity. Perhaps it was simply because I saw the 1992 adaptation first, but it had a much greater emotional impact for me, aided by how the eventual climax wasn’t given away as quickly as in the 1939 version. Still, the original has enough dramatic power and artistry to recommend it too, such as a scene that slowly zooms backward as George walks across the barn toward the end. Neither earned any Oscars, though the 1939 version was nominated for Best Picture, Sound Recording, Musical Scoring, and Original Score. I may or may not ever read Steinbeck’s novel, but these two adaptations do his work proud.

Best line (same in both versions): (Slim, speaking of Lenny) “A guy don’t need no sense to be a nice fella.”

 

Rank for 1992 version: List-Worthy
Rank for 1939 version: List Runner-Up

 

© 2016 S. G. Liput
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