THE FRENCH CONNECTION (1971)

THE FRENCH CONNECTION (DIR: WILLIAM FRIEDKIN) (SCR: ERNEST  TIDYMAN, BASED ON THE NONFICTION BOOK THE FRENCH CONNECTION: A TRUE ACCOUNT OF COPS, NARCOTICS AND INTERNATIONAL CONSPIRACY)

Just two years after giving the gritty, adult, New York set film MIDNIGHT COWBOY the best picture award, the Academy again embraced a dark urban film that illustrated just how much Hollywood had changed in the new decade: William Friedkin's violent cop film THE FRENCH CONNECTION.  

The film began as a nonfiction book by Robin Moore about the biggest drug bust in history.  The book raised the interest of Friedkin, who was relatively unknown at the time, but who eventually got Richard Zanuck of 20th. Century Fox to produce it for around two million dollars.  Former New York Times reporter Ernest Tidyman was hired to adapt the book, while various actors were discussed for the lead role of Jimmy "Popeye" Doyle, who was based on real life cop Eddie Egan. Names like Paul Newman and Jackie Gleason were thrown around, and even New York based writer Jimmy Breslin was considered before Gene Hackman, probably then best known for his supporting role in BONNIE AND CLYDE, was cast, followed by Roy Scheider as his partner Buddy Russo.  Before making the film, the two actors spent time patrolling with the real life cops their characters were based on.  Hackman was shocked by the experience, and came to dislike Egan, which lead to some tension with him and Friedkin,  with the director  wanting Popeye to be more brutal and racist than Hackman was often willing to play.  Despite this, the film would become a huge hit, making over fifty million dollars in the US, and influencing nearly every cop film and TV show that came after it.

Gene Hackman

The film's story is simple:  French drug lord Alain Charnier (Fernando Ray) is planning for a huge shipment of heroin to arrive in New York city.  Two Brooklyn based cops, Jimmy Doyle and Buddy Russo, get wind of the shipment, and begin tailing Charnier and some other suspicious characters.  After several shoot outs and chases, the police stop the shipment, although Charnier escapes at the end.

Although 1968's BULLITT clearly had an influence on this film (especially in the car chase scene), THE FRENCH CONNECTION was really where the modern cop film began. For years, cops on screen were portrayed as noble straight arrows who only used force when necessary, like Jack Webb on TV's DRAGNET.  Hackman's "Popeye" Doyle couldn't be further away from that: he's a driven, almost obsessive character who casually uses violence on suspects, unapologetically makes racist comments, and, in the film's most shocking scene, shrugs off his accidental shooting of a government agent while pursuing Charnier.  He drinks too much, lives in a shabby apartment, and, other than a one night stand, has no personal life.  He truly lives for his job, clearly relishing the way he intimidates and frisks an entire bar  and having no problem with going on stake outs that can last hours; the only moment in the film where he appears really happy is when he and Buddy discover that the wire tap they're listening to has given them definite information.  Hackman may have fought with Friedkin over how to play the character, but his intense performance won him a best actor Oscar and made him a star.  

Along with setting the tough cop template, there are other cop movie cliches that this movie more or less created: the strong bond between the two partners, complete with funny, foul mouthed macho banter, the often apoplectic  police chief who takes the heroes off the case, the seemingly erudite but actually evil drug lord (Fernando Ray makes a good villain), and, of course, the car chase.  Personally,  I think the chase here does indeed oneup the chase from the aforementioned BULLITT by making it a chase between a car and a speeding subway train, also through it's clever camerawork (I love the point of view shots from inside Popeye's speeding car) and by making the assassin that Popeye is chasing a real murderous slime of a villain (he shoots several innocent people), making Popeye's eventual victory (he shoots the baddie in the back) all the better. Unfortunately, the popularity of this  chase and the one in BULLITT would lead to one of the worst trends of 70's movies: films that were built almost entirely around car chases, like SMOKEY AND THE BANDIT.

The classic chase scene

Friedkin began his directorial  career making TV documentaries, and he uses that realistic technique to good effect in the way that he and his cinematographer Owen Roizman shoot  the steamy streets of New York city.  The constant motion and crowds make even a simple scene like Popeye tailing a suspect exciting.  I also like the way that Friedkin sets the tone of the film right away, with Don Ellis's thumping score grabbing the audience while the opening credits shoot out at the camera, promising action to come.  Yes, over forty years later, after literally hundreds of movies and TV shows with chase scenes and shoot outs, Friedkin's film still feels thrilling.  Sometimes, I think he may overdue the grittiness of the  film; in one scene, we see the remains of a car accident that has nothing to do with the film's main plot, and there is more than one pointless shot of the bloody bodies.  (One can almost sense Friedkin's glee at being able to show gore in a movie that he couldn't have a few years earlier under the production code.)  I also think that the film's ending is a cop out; Hackman chases Charnier through an abandoned garage, he thinks he has him cornered, we hear a gunshot without seeing what's going on, and then some credits tell us what happened to most of the characters.  Although I admire directors who confound audience expectations, I think it doesn't work here.  The whole film has been building up to a confrontation between Popeye and Charnier (they never speak to each other, but they know about each other), and by avoiding that confrontation Friedkin leaves the film unresolved.  Still, overall, this is a terrific action picture.

It is interesting to note that there was another influential cop picture released that year; Don Siegel's DIRTY HARRY, and the similarities of the two films are striking:  they are both violent films featuring tough guy cops  who often bend the rules on the mean streets of big cities.  The crucial differences are that Clint Eastwood's Harry is an outright hero, whereas Popeye is far less likable (Harry would never make a mistake like shooting a federal agent), and that Siegel's film is less realistic than Friedkin's, and really is downright cartoonish at times.  I don't think that it's a coincidence that the two films came out at the same time, with then President Richard Nixon promising to get tough on crime and often violent war protests still rocking the nation, audiences flocked to see movies that showed cops restoring order and taking down scum bags. But not everyone was as thrilled as they were, with both Harry and Popeye being labeled as Fascists by a number of people, like film critic Paulene Kael.  To be fair,  I think part of the reason people go to movies is to watch stories that have simple resolutions in which bad guys get what's coming to them, realizing fully that  the real world doesn't always work out so easily, so the Fascist label seems too harsh to me, even if I do cringe when Harry tortures a criminal for information in DIRTY HARRY.  In any event, both films are interesting as signs of their times, along with being entertaining films in their own right.

SO DID THE ACADEMY GET IT RIGHT?

While I'm clearly a fan of this film, I think another violent movie released that year was even better: Stanley Kubrick's A CLOCKWORK ORANGE.  I also greatly enjoyed Robert Altman's MC CABE AND MRS MILLER and Alan Pakula's KLUTE, still, for its influence alone, THE FRENCH CONNECTION is a good choice.

PATTON (1970)

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PATTON (DIR: FRANKLIN J. SHAFFNER) (SCR:FRANCIS FORD COPPOLA & EDMUND H NORTH)

The 1970 best picture winner PATTON often has the feel of an old style, 1940's World War two propaganda film, with its mostly bloodless action scenes and righteous war attitude, not to mention its use of old style news reels to move the plot along.  At the same time, it features the kind of lead character that could never be realistically portrayed in one of those films: the cantankerous, foul mouthed, slightly crazed military genius, George S Patton.
The film was the result of a nineteen year attempt by brigadier general Frank Mc Carthy to have a movie made about his former boss during World War two.  When he had trouble getting the blessing of Patton's family, he purchased the rights to two books (the biography PATTON: ORDEAL AND TRIUMPH by Ladilas Fargo and A SOLDIER'S STORY by Omar Bradley) about the man, and then went to work with 20th. Century Fox producer Darryl F. Zanuck.  Zanuck  hired the then little known screen writer and director Francis Ford Coppola to write a script.  Although he had no military experience himself, Coppola  did a lot of research before writing, but, when actors like Burt Lancaster, Lee Marvin and Rod Steiger all  were considering the title role, none of them liked his script and a more conventional one was written.  However, when  George C Scott was finally chosen for the role of Patton, Coppola's script was brought back and rewritten by writer Edmund H. North, who would share screenwriting credit and an Oscar with Coppola, even through the two would not actually meet until the night of the awards ceremony!  Directors like Fred Zinnemann and John Huston were considered to direct the film, and William Wyler actually agreed to before leaving after numerous fights with Scott.  Finally, Franklin J. Schaffner was picked, a logical choice given that in 1968 he had successfully made the hit film THE PLANET OF THE APES, which showed that he had a skill for big scenes with lots of extras. From that film, Shaffner brought along composer Jerry Goldsmith, who's odd, muted trumpet score for Patton is certainly memorable, if far from what one would expect for a war film.
Not surprisingly, PATTON proved to be a massive undertaking, with locations in six different countries and the employment of dozens of tanks and warplanes.  Meanwhile, Scott immersed himself into the role, reading biographies, watching newsreel footage and making sure that the makeup department got just the  right look.  All the work would pay off, as both Schaffner and Scott would win Oscars for their work, and the film would become a big hit, returning about sixty million dollars in box office on a budget of over twelve million.
The film's story opens in Tunisia in 1943.  After a humiliating loss to the Germans under the leadership of Erwin Rommel,  US general George Patton has been sent to aid general Omar N. Bradley(Karl Malden).  Patton instills discipline in his men and leads them to victory.  He is then sent to aid in the allied invasion of Sicily.  While there, his aggressive ways anger the British leaders even as he proves  his worth in battles.  After slapping a shell shocked soldier that he considers a coward, he is relieved of duty.  But during the D Day invasion of Normandy he is brought back, first as a decoy, and then he is allowed to lead an army through France that eventually reaches Germany itself.  As the war ends, his dislike for the Russians and continued outspoken manner get him in trouble again, and he retires, although he does help oversee the rebuilding of Germany.

George C. Scott

The film's opening is its most famous scene: we see an enormous American flag on a stage.  In full military regalia, Patton appears and, even before he speaks, we see from his manner, his medals and, yes the ivory handled pistol he wears in a holster, that this is an important man in a moment that will make history. He then gives a rousing, profane, funny, and slightly crazed speech that Scott delivers with such gravel mouthed gusto that he probably would have won the best actor award for this scene alone. The speech itself is not taken verbatim from one speech he gave, but instead combines several lines he said, almost like a "greatest hits" collection.  Interestingly,  no context is given as to where he is or what battle his men will be in, but then none is needed; the scene is about defining his character, and it does that perfectly.  It also sets out the film's main theme: sometimes you have to have a crazy man on your side to win a war.
Throughout the film,  Patton's balance of brilliant tactician and battle hungry zealot is joyfully expressed by Scott's performance; we see that he clearly knows how to win battles and push his men to their full extent, but then we also see him single handedly try to shoot down two German fighter planes with nothing but a pistol, as bullets fly around him. And we find that he not only believes in reincarnation, but that he also believes that he himself has fought in every major battle in the history of the world.  Truly, he sees himself as an eternal warrior! Scott's broad performance as  Patton is offset by the more subtle job that Karl Malden does as general Bradley, who not only counterbalances Scott but serves as his voice of reason for him, a voice that Patton doesn't always listen to.

George C. Scott and Karl Malden 

Director Scraffner keeps the movie moving quickly, even at almost three hours; and if the film sometimes falls into a predictable pattern, with another battle, and then another moment when Patton says or does the wrong thing, it's never really boring.  The most impressive combat moment comes early on, when Rommel's tank forces clash with the Americans, as huge explosions throw up clouds of dust in the air.  And it has a great conclusion, as Patton gleefully admits that he won by reading Rommel's own book about tank warfare beforehand.  ("Rommel,  you magnificent bastard, I read your book!")
Periodically in the film, we see the German officers making battle plans; these scenes mainly exist just to show how much respect the Germans had for  Patton, and don't feel necessary.  I think it's unfortunate that none of the Germans really come across as characters (Karl  Micheal Vogler makes little impression as Rommel), since that leaves the film without any strong villains. And I also wish that there was more feeling for how Patton's men felt about him; we hear him saying that he will push them hard and leading them into battle, but we never get to know any of his men or how they feel about him.  Really, this film is a one man show, with Scott in nearly every scene, but fortunately his performance and the character he plays are compelling enough that that's not really a problem.
Another interesting thing about the film was the way that it was perceived by  American audiences; in a country at war in Viet Nam and strongly divided by it, both sides could see something to like in PATTON.  Pro war advocates (like president Nixon, who called it his favorite movie) saw a film about a hero who did what he had to do, and who was ahead of his times by hating the Russians when they were still allies. Anti war activists saw a film about a crazy, war hungry general who's gung ho attitude  confirmed everything negative they thought about the military mindset, even if Karl Maldin's character is there to remind us that not all generals are like Patton. I think it is to the film's credit that both sides could see what they wanted in it; the film presents the man as he was without judgement.  When he proudly says in the opening speech, "All real Americans love the sting of battle", the rightness of the statement is left up to the audience.  Even when he gets in trouble for slapping a soldier (Tim Consedine) who is unwounded but in the hospital for "nerves", the soldier is sensitively  portrayed, and Patton's reaction to him  is open to interpretation.  By avoiding politics and just following the man, Shaffner made a film that holds up well decades later.

SO DID THE ACADEMY GET IT RIGHT?

While 1970 had several other terrific films like Bob Raphelson's FIVE EASY PIECES, Arthur Penn's LITTLE BIG MAN and Robert Altman's MASH, PATTON is a hard film to disagree with on the strength of Scott's performance alone.

MIDNIGHT COWBOY (1969)

MIDNIGHT COWBOY (DIR: JOHN SCHLESINGER) (SCR:WALDO SALT, BASED ON THE NOVEL OF THE SAME NAME BY JAMES LEO HERLIHY)

1968 saw an enormous change in Hollywood when the Hollywood production code that had for decades put strict rules as to what could and could not be shown or said in films, came to an end.  For years directors like Billy Wilder and Alfred Hitchcock had battled against its restrictions, while films like 1966's WHO'S AFRAID OF VIRGINIA WOOLF (with its raw language)  and 1967's BONNIE AND CLYDE (with its graphic violence) pushed the boundaries of the now antiquated production code (which had once dictated that  cartoon character Betty Boop had to wear a longer dress!).   Change seemed inevitable, and finally in 1968, Jack Valenti,  the head of the Motion Picture Association of America(known as the MPAA) ushered in a new era when he introduced the letter ratings "G" for general audiences, "M"for all audiences, but with some mature subject matter, "R" for no child under 17 allowed without a parent or guardian, and "X" for adults only ("M" would later become "GP" and finally "PG").  With just a little tweaking (PG-13 was added in 1984 and NC-17 in 1990), these ratings remain in use today.

The freedom to finally tackle adult subject matter, combined with the continuing influence of the counter culture and "youth" movement sweeping the nation caused  an outpouring of new, innovative films that would make the late 60's and the early 70's one of the classic time periods for Hollywood.  (The 1999 book EASY RIDERS AND RAGING BULLS  by Peter Biskind excellently covers this era in detail).

Although MIDNIGHT COWBOY was not the first Best Picture winner to be rated by the MPAA, (1968's  OLIVER! got a "G"rating) it was the first truly adult film to ever win; in fact, it initially received an "X" rating, making it the first (and it's safe to say, only) film with that rating to ever win the award.  While it seem surprising today that an "X" rated movie ever actually won an Oscar for anything, it should be remembered that in 1968 an "X" rating did not mean pornography the way that it eventually would.  What happened was, for some reason the rating board failed to trademark the "X" rating, leading to porn film makers pouncing on it, often rating their films "XXX" to imply just how hardcore they were.  This got so out of hand that the MPAA would sometimes reverse themselves on non pornographic films being  rereleased, as they did with MIDNIGHT COWBOY, switching  it from an "X" to an "R" rating in 1971.  In the late 80's, films like HENRY PORTRAIT OF A SERIAL KILLER and THE COOK THE THIEF HIS WIFE AND HER LOVER were considered too intense for an "R" rating, but weren't pornographic, which lead to the creation of the adults only "NC-17", rating, which is still mostly shunned by major studios and some theater chains, although a few brave films are released with it, like the recent SHAME. (For more on the MPAA, Kirby Dick's 2006 documentary THIS FILM IS NOT YET RATED is certainly worth watching).

Jon Voight

MIDNIGHT COWBOY began as a film project after British director John Schlesinger read a copy of Jame Leo Herlihy's novel and immediately contacted producer Jerome Hellman about making the film; United Artists eventually agreed to a budget of over two million dollars, which would eventually balloon to 3.6 million.  After working with a number of writers, Schlesinger went with the formally blacklisted Waldo Salt; Dustin Hoffman, then best known for his classic comedy role as Benjamin Braddock in 1967's THE GRADUATE, strongly desired the role of the sleazy  Ratso Rizzo, and he gave an in character tour of New York's Times Square to Schlesinger to convince him.  Warren Beatty was apparently interested in the role of wannabe gigolo Joe Buck, but Schlesinger felt that he was too famous to make a believable low level hustler, and instead cast the mostly unknown Jon Voight, who spent time in Texas to work on his accent.  Schlesinger rehearsed his two actors, allowing for improvisation, and then shot the film in New York.  The shoot was difficult,  with the director claiming that many local grifters overcharged the film production to shoot there, hence the increased budget. Still, despite its adults only rating, it proved to be a big hit, making over 44 million dollars.
The film is about Joe Buck(Voight) a small town Texan who travels by bus to New York City with little money and no contacts, believing that he will be able to live off of the money given him by the rich women he will seduce.  With little to no luck, he eventually winds up living in an abandoned apartment with  Enrico "Ratso" Rizzo, a limping low level hustler who tries to get him "work."
It is interesting to note that for a film that broke ground in its depiction of sex (both heterosexual and homosexual), there is no real eroticism in the film, instead the sex is presented as just part of Buck's work, and it often involves sad, self loathing people.  (While the fact that all the gay men in the film are portrayed as guilt ridden and self hating may make the film homophobic,  it could also just be said to be an accurate portrayal of how most gay men were forced to live at the time).
The sex scenes are really of a piece with the whole film, which is often stark and bleak as it portrays two low lifes who sink further and further downward in a big, cruel city. And yet, Schlesinger's film also has much beauty in it, like the soon to be iconic shots of Buck walking the crowded streets as Harry Nilson sings the sad song "Everybody's Talkin'" on the soundtrack, or when we see Buck's flashbacks and fantasies in vivid black and white.  There are also moments of humor in the film, as when Buck makes his first successful pick up in New York, only to have her ask him for money, or when Ratso imagines himself living in Florida and becoming an unlikely ladies man.

Dustin Hoffman

The film's main strength lies in the great performances by the two leads:  with Ratso, Hoffman showed his dramatic range while putting his Benjamin Braddock character from THE GRADUATE to rest.  His Ratso, is greasy, sweaty and can't seem to stop hacking and coughing, yet he has a certain pride about himself as he limps his way defiantly through the city streets, angrily pounding on the hood of a taxi that almost hits him ("I'm walkin' here!  I'm walkin' here!").  Even though he shop lifts, we can admire his resolution to never shine shoes like his father did, and he clearly builds an affection for Buck, even if his initial interest in him was purely monetary.  And in the less flashy role of Buck, Voight is just as good as Hoffman.  Voight plays a dimwitted, naive character who winds up in a hell of his own making, but still somehow remains likable, and the chemistry he has with Hoffman is excellent, as the two form an unusual buddy duo; it's fun to hear them argue about Voight's cowboy outfit ("In New York, no rich lady with any class at all buys that cowboy crap anymore. They're laughin' at you on the street."), or have an odd conversation about reincarnation.
The film shows its age in an odd scene in which our two heroes are inadvertently invited to a Andy Warhol style party, complete with light show and a woman with a film camera filming stoned hippies rambling; while this scene is interesting in its recreation of the popular New York gatherings of that time, I think it goes on far too long, and when Buck gets high, Schlesinger uses it as an excuse to use all sorts of psychedelic effects that seem to pander to the drug users in the audience.
Another problem I have with the film is that it's almost too harsh in its story, with our two heroes having every opportunity to improve themselves shot down again and again as their horrid living quarters get even more oppressive in the winter months.  And the film's ending is a real twist of the knife: after Buck robs one of his pick ups, he uses the money to buy bus tickets to Florida for him and Ratso.  On the way, the ailing Ratso, begs Buck to call him by his real name of Enrico, and for the first time in the film, Buck agrees. Buck also tells Ratso that they should get real jobs in Florida, and he disposes of his silly cowboy outfit on the way; clearly, they both see Florida as a chance for a  new beginning, and things may finally be looking up for them, but then Ratso dies before the bus gets there. Although there's still some glimmer of hope for Buck, that is one raw ending. Still I can't argue with the rightness of it, since it makes sense that for Buck to start a new life he has to leave both Ratso and New York behind.

SO DID THE ACADEMY GET IT RIGHT?


It's interesting to note that, in a year where a film that has the word "cowboy" in its title, even though it wasn't a Western, won Best Picture,  two of the best westerns ever made were released.  George Roy Hill's BUTCH CASSIDY AND THE SUNDANCE KID, and  Sam Peckinpah's THE WILD BUNCH, were both terrific and influential films.  I also greatly enjoyed Sydney Pollack's THEY SHOOT HORSES, DONT THEY?, and any one these films would have a fine choice, but still, for its wonderful performances alone, MIDNIGHT COWBOY is certainly hard to argue with.

OLIVER! (1968)

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OLIVER! (DIR: CAROL REED) (SCR: VERNON HARRIS, BASED ON THE MUSICAL OF THE SAME NAME  BY LIONEL BART, BASED ON THE NOVEL OLIVER TWIST BY CHARLES DICKENS)

After acknowledging the civil rights movement still going on in the country at that time by awarding IN THE HEAT OF THE NIGHT in 1967, in 1968 the Academy went right back to what it did for most of the 60's, giving yet another Best Picture award to a film set entirely in Europe.  Which is not to say that OLIVER! is a poor choice; with it's lively, catchy score, energetic choreography and massive, gorgeous sets, it's a charming and delightful musical that never feels dull at two and half hours.

The 1838 novel by Charles Dickens was first adapted into a musical  in 1960 by Lionel Bart,  who wrote  the score and the book.  Premiering at London's West End theater, it came to Broadway to success and acclaim two years later.  Inevitably, film rights were bought by Romulus Films  and journeyman director Carol Reed was hired to direct; he would spend months rehearsing his cast of unknowns (thousands of boys were auditioned before Mark Lester was chosen for the title role) before even shooting.  The cavernous sets reportedly took up six sound stages, and weeks were spent shooting the bigger musical numbers.  The budget of ten million dollars was steep at the time, but the film returned over sixteen million in the US alone.

It tells the story of OLIVER TWIST, an orphaned boy who is thrown out of his work house/orphanage for asking for a second helping of gruel.  Eventually making his way to London, Oliver meets a slightly older boy named the Artful Dodger (Jack Wild), who introduces him to Fagin (Ron Moody), who provides food and shelter to boys who are willing to steal for him.  After a pick pocketing attempt goes wrong, Oliver is adopted by the wealthy Mr. Brownlow (Josephy O'Conor), who eventually realizes that Oliver is the son of his niece that disappeared years earlier, but not before Oliver is kidnapped by the evil Bill Sikes (Oliver Reed).  Eventually, Oliver is saved from the clutches of Sikes, who is killed in a rooftop chase, and goes to live with Mr. Brownlow. 

Jack Wild and Mark Lester

I find it interesting that Vernon Harris's script for the film  often has almost the bare minimum of spoken dialogue necessary to move the plot along, frequently using physical action to tell the story, while the musical numbers are practically piled up on top of each other. Just look at the way that the opening song, "Food Glorious Food" segues almost immediately into the next song, "Oliver". But, with its simple story (this film is a good introduction to musicals for kids) and terrific score, I don't think this is a bad thing, as it feels that this a film that almost bursts at the seams with music.

My favorite scene in the film is the unforgettable "Consider Yourself" number, which begins with the Artful Dodger singing to Oliver and just gets bigger and bigger, with street urchins, butchers, newsboys and many others  all joining in as the two boys make their way through the crowded London street.  As the song ends, Reed's camera pans up to show blocks of hundreds of people singing and dancing at the same time in a perfect moment of cinematic delight.  This formula is used again later in the film during "The Who Will Buy" number, which starts with Oliver singing alone and then grows until an entire  town square joins him; although it isn't quite as successful as the earlier scene, it still is impressive.  And even in the non musical scenes, Reed comes up with some excellent visuals: I love the way that he introduces Fagin from behind a cloud of steam, brandishing a tong like a devil's pitchfork, or the way that we see Bill Sikes's long shadow moving down a dark tunnel before we see him.

Ron Moody as Fagin

My favorite performance in the film is Ron Moody's as Fagin; Moody had already played the character in the London production,  and clearly had him down cold.  His Fagin is a greedy, unrepentant criminal who corrupts young boys, but somehow he is lovable, mainly because he clearly does care about the boys, and abhors violence.  And he is also very funny, especially when he sings the classic "Reviewing the Situation", in which he considers reforming, but can't quite bring himself to do it.  I also enjoy Oliver Reed as the evil Bill Sikes; he plays the role completely straight, and his intense, brooding presence keeps the film's tone from getting too light.  Interestingly, his character sang on stage, but not in the movie, and there are some reports that this was because of Reed's singing voice not being up to the standards of his costars. Personally, I think this actually works for the character; the fact that Bill refuses to join in with the dancing and singing going on around him makes him more removed and darker, adding to his villainous nature.  

I do have one problem with the film's casting: I am genuinely surprised that after auditioning thousands of boys, Mark Lester was chosen.  Oh sure, he's a reasonably cute kid, but he often seems a bit stunned or bored on screen, and he just isn't all that interesting or likable as a child actor, unlike Jack Wild's charismatic Artful Dodger.  I also don't like Lester's singing voice (which, it was revealed years later, was dubbed by a girl named Kathe Green), and I find Oliver's one solo number, "Where is Love?" the only one in the film that completely fails.  Even worse is that, considering that he's the hero, Oliver  actually never does anything in the story that could be called heroic.  Most of the time, he has other characters help or hinder him, and he just passively stands by and accepts it. He's even too dim witted to run away from Bill Sikes when he has a clear chance to do so. And, of course, his happy ending arrives entirely out of sheer luck, without any energy expended on his part.  (I realize that my criticisms here apply as much to the original novel as they do to the film).  Thankfully, having such a dull lead character really doesn't hurt the film, because Oliver is constantly surrounded by far more colorful and interesting people who brighten up the film. So I still really enjoy it.

SO DID THE ACADEMY GET IT RIGHT?

While I obviously have a real affection and warmth for OLIVER!, there was a colder, stranger film that came out that year that would prove to be extremely influential: Stanley Kubrick's 2001, which is perhaps the finest Science Fiction film ever made, and clearly is superior to the charms of OLIVER!, engaging as those charms may be.

IN THE HEAT OF THE NIGHT (1967)

IN THE HEAT OF THE NIGHT  (DIR: NORMAN JEWISON) (SCR: STERLING SILIPHANT, BASED ON THE NOVEL OF THE SAME NAME BY JOHN BALL)

In 1967, for the first time ever, the Academy acknowledged the civil rights movement in its best picture award; yes, after years of awarding escapist froth like 1964's MY FAIR LADY, the Academy finally awarded a film that dealt with racism in modern America.  Although prejudice was also the subject of 1947's GENTLEMEN'S AGREEMENT, IN THE HEAT OF THE NIGHT was the first best picture winner to deal with race and to feature an African American actor in the lead.  In fact, almost all of 1967's best picture nominations showed the creeping influence of the counter culture in Hollywood: clever sex comedy, THE GRADUATE, the stunningly violent BONNIE AND CLYDE, and even GUESS WHO'S COMING TO DINNER, which showed Hollywood veteran stars Spencer Tracy and Katherine Hepburn deal with their daughter's interracial marriage, (and which also starred Sidney Poitier) showed that something new was happening in American movies.  (Anyone interested in further information on these films can be directed to Mark Harris's excellent 2008 book "Pictures at a Revolution".)  Only the fifth nominee, the silly kiddie musical DOCTOR DOLITTLE, showed that old school Hollywood was still hanging in there.

IN THE HEAT OF THE NIGHT was first published as a novel in 1965, written by John Ball, one of the few African American authors to write in the crime fiction genre.  It's success led to producer Walter Mirish purchasing the rights for the United Artists company.  Veteran director Norman Jewison was hired to direct, and Rod Steiger  was cast as Southern sheriff Gillespie.  When it came to casting the film's hero, homicide detective Virgil Tibbs, there was little question of who to get: Sidney Poitier.  Although African Americans had been involved with American film making from almost the very beginning (director Oscar Micheaux, for example, directed over forty movies from the silent era to the 1940's), most films with African American casts and directors were made almost entirely for African American audiences.  Poitier, on the other hand, was the first African American movie star to become famous with all audiences, starring in hit films like THE DEFIANT ONES and TO SIR WITH LOVE.  In 1967 he was one of the biggest stars in Hollywood, having become the first black actor to win a best actor Oscar for 1963's LILIES OF THE FIELD.  He accepted the role, but demanded the film not actually be shot in its Southern setting, understandably fearing that the local residents would be angry about the portrayal of their town.  (Another Southern based film about racism made that year, Oscar Preminger's HURRY SUNDOWN, had resulted in death threats from the KKK towards the cast and crew).  Suitable shooting locations were found in a small town in Illinois (except for a few brief shots of a cotton plantation that could only be found in Mississippi), and the shooting went smoothly.  It would quickly become a sizable hit, making almost eleven million dollars on a budget of around two.

Rod Steiger and Sidney Poitier

Set in the fictional town of Sparta, Mississippi, the story begins with local police discovering the murdered body of wealthy industrialist Colbert.  Homicide detective Virgil Tibbs, who works in Philadelphia and was just in town to visit his mother, is first brought in as a suspect, and then winds up assisting local sheriff Gillespie (Rod Steiger) in the investigation, while dealing with the racist attitudes (and even attacks) of the local townspeople.
The film's opening shots show a train running through a rural setting as Ray Charles sings the great title song and the credits role.  Eventually the train passes a welcoming sign for the state of Mississippi, and audiences of that time already could feel a sense of tension, knowing full well that Mississippi was the location of some of the worst violence of the civil rights era.   As the film continues,  Jewison keeps that tension going through nearly every scene; Virgil spends the whole movie forced to interact in situations  where he runs the risk of saying or doing something that could put his life in danger.  Therefore, Poitier's Virgil is a man of few words, and long, thoughtful looks as he sizes up the people around him before he makes his next move; he grimly accepts the casual racism of the people around him, but he can lash out when pushed too far.  This leads to one of the film's most memorable scenes:  while questioning wealthy plantation owner Endicott (Larry Gates), he lets it be known that he considers Endicott a prime suspect in the murder.  When Endicott angrily slaps him, Virgil slaps him right back, a moment that brought gasps from audiences in 1967.  It still plays well today, not just because of  Poitier's defiance, but also due to the stunned reaction the slap gets from Gillespie, who just can't believe what he's seeing!

The famous slap scene

Steiger, who won a best actor award for this role, has excellent chemistry with Poitier, as his loud and boisterous performance contrasts nicely with Poitier's taciturn Virgil.  I love the way that he sarcastically mocks the large amount of Virgil's salary, or the way that he gets Virgil to stay and  help with the case by playing up to Virgil's pride("You're just gonna stay here and show us all. You've got such a big head that you could never live with yourself unless you could put us all to shame".)  More importantly, Steiger effectively shows his character changing in his racial attitudes as the film progresses, as he goes from angrily spewing epithets at Virgil to respecting his obvious intelligence and ability.  The quiet, admiring way that he says goodbye to Virgil at the film's end shows that the film believes that people can change, even in Mississippi in 1967.
As good as the two leads are, the film is far from perfect; this is especially true of its confused (and confusing) murder plot that meanders before reaching a less than surprising finish.  But really, the murder plot is just an excuse to get the two main characters working together, and on that level, the film excels, clearly influencing later interracial cop buddy movies like the LETHAL WEAPON films.

SO DID THE ACADEMY GET IT RIGHT?

As much as I enjoy Poitier and Steiger,  and admire the Academy for taking a stand on the civil rights movement,  I still don't think this film holds up nearly as well as Arthur Penn's outstanding BONNIE AND CLYDE, not to mention Mike Nichols's generation defining classic, THE GRADUATE.  Still, as usual, the Academy's choice was far from a terrible one.

A MAN FOR ALL SEASONS (1966)

A MAN FOR ALL SEASONS (DIR: FRED ZINNEMANN) (SCR: ROBERT BOLT, BASED ON THE PLAY OF THE SAME NAME, ALSO BY BOLT)

A MAN FOR ALL SEASONS was the second best picture winner for director Fred Zinnemann, the first being FROM HERE TO ETERNITY in 1953; it was a surprising success, considering that he hadn't had a hit in some time, and that the film lacked any big stars.  Interestingly, it's victory illustrates the continuing influence that the British invasion was having on the Academy: between 1962 and 1966, every best picture winner featured a European born star in the lead role, usually playing an English character.   In any event, A MAN FOR ALL SEASONS is a well made costume drama that has good  performances and is pleasing to look at; unfortunately, it also drags at times, and its main character is, to me, not quite as heroic as he's supposed to be.
It began as radio play written by Robert Bolt that played on BBC radio in 1954, then on British television in 1957.  Then Bolt adapted it to the stage, and eventually it had a successful run on Broadway.  Eventually, it came to Columbia, who gave Zinnemann a relatively small two million dollar budget to make the film, and then mostly left him on his own, which allowed him to cast Paul Scofield in the lead role of Sir Thomas More, a role that he had performed on stage, even though Scofield was not a well known star.  Other good actors like Robert Shaw, a young John Heard, and Orson Welles (who steals his only scene as the cynical Cardinal Wolsley) were cast and the shoot for the film went without a hitch; it became a surprise hit, making over twenty eight million dollars at the box office.
Set in 16th. Century England, and based on the true story of Sir Thomas More, it reenacts a time of great political and religious tumult in England's history:  King Henry the eighth (Robert Shaw), in dire need of an heir, plans to divorce his current wife, Catherine, so that he can marry his mistress, Ann (an unbilled Vanessa Redgrave). When the pope will not sanction the divorce, the King breaks with the Catholic church; More, who was then high chancellor and a devoted catholic, resigns rather than accept the King's actions.  He hopes to retire quietly, but the King desires More's public approval, which he steadfastly refuses to give, eventually leading to his ruin.
Scofield won an Oscar for the role, and it interesting to see the award go to a performance that is so often   soft spoken and reserved; he only raises his voice once, at the end, when he is literally defending his life.  Still, his performance is forceful even without volume, giving the strong willed More a quiet dignity and strength.  The film's best scene comes when the King arrives to personally plead for More's approval; in stark contrast to Scofield, Shaw's acting is boisterous and full bodied; I love the way he shifts from cajoling to pleading to yelling in an attempt to move the taciturn More.  It is also interesting in that while More's determination in the face of royalty is admirable, we can't help but like the King, who feels he is only asking a reasonable favor, and who's desire for an heir is understandable. So the audience can see both sides of the argument, and we can also sense the warmth and respect the two men have for each other, even as they disagree.  It is disappointing that this is the only scene the two characters share in the movie (Shaw appears again only briefly later in the film), especially since for the rest of the movie More's main adversary is Leo McKern's villainous Cromwell, a far less interesting character than Shaw's.

Robert Shaw and Paul Scofield

Even worse though, is the fact that this confrontation between More and the King is the last great moment in the film, as the rest of the movie quickly becomes a series of predictable (but admittedly well acted) scenes.  Once it is established that More will never give in, the story becomes one long slog of him slowly losing one thing after another, from his position to his freedom to, inevitably, his life.  It is interesting to note that the original radio production was just one hour long, while the film lasts two, and I think the padding of the story shows.
Also, I often find it hard to sympathize with More's stubbornness; here is a man who is willing to lose everything in his life, despite the entreaties of his King, his friends and his family, all to prove a principle.    Early in the film, we see that he refuses to allow his daughter, Margret (Susannah York) to marry a Lutheran (calling him "a heretic"),  so the importance of religion to him is clearly established, and his deference to the Vatican is a logical move for him.  Still, by the end of the film, when he is imprisoned while his family lives in poverty, I just can't feel that he's doing the right thing, and I admire his wife for resolutely saying that she will never understand him.  Personally, I've always felt that it was perfectly reasonable for, say, Galileo,  to publicly admit that  he was wrong about the earth rotating around the sun when the Inquisition threatened to kill him because of it.  I understand how important principles can be to people, but I put human life before ideals, and because of that I can't say that I have  much sympathy for More.   He is also a bit of a fool, since he assumes that the King will allow him to retire peacefully, when it should have been obvious to him that that would never happen.

Paul Scofield

SO DID THE ACADEMY GET IT RIGHT?

While writing about 1964's best picture winner, MY FAIR LADY, I criticized the Academy for picking that old fashioned musical while rejecting the far more dynamic A HARD DAY'S NIGHT, and I feel the same way about this choice; A MAN FOR ALL SEASONS is a well mounted and performed adaptation of a play, but it is far less exciting than another play turned into a movie that was released that year: Mike Nichols's adaptation of Edward Albee's WHO'S AFRAID OF VIRGINIA  WOOLF?.  With   it's great, raw performances by Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton, (featuring equally raw language!) that was really the best and most memorable movie of that year.

THE SOUND OF MUSIC 1965

THE SOUND OF MUSIC (DIR: ROBERT WISE) (SCR: ERNEST LEHMAN, BASED ON THE MUSICAL OF THE SAME NAME BY HOWARD LINDSAY AND RUSSEL CROUSE, BASED ON THE BOOK THE STORY OF THE TRAPP FAMILY SINGERS BY MARIA AUGUSTA TRAPP)

In 1966, for the second year in a row, the Academy decided to award a sweet, popular, musical as best picture; at a time when the country was still reeling from the assassination of president Kennedy and   was roiled by the civil rights movement, the escapism provided by both of these films resounded with both the Academy and the general public.  THE SOUND OF MUSIC is a film that tends to divide people, based on its bright, good natured tone that often sinks into sickly sweet territory.  And while I do agree that the film is almost too light hearted at times, it wins me over with it's fine Richard Rogers and Oscar Hammerstien score (those songs stick in your head, whether you want them to or not!), beautiful location shooting (a big improvement over the fake sets used in the previous year's winner, MY FAIR LADY), and, of course, it's sprightly, winning performance from Julie Andrews, in the role of Maria Von Trapp.
It's story began in 1949 when Maria Von Trapp published her autobiography, THE STORY OF THE TRAPP FAMILY SINGERS, which was turned into a popular German film (THE TRAPP FAMILY) in 1956. In 1959 Howard Lindsay and Russel Crouse wrote a musical for the Broadway stage based on the book, with Mary Martin as Maria.  Originally, they planned to use songs the Trapp family actually sang for the score, but Martin asked Rogers and Hammerstein to write a song for her, and eventually they wound up doing the entire show.  The musical was enormously popular, and 20th. Century Fox quickly bought the rights  for a film version.  Robert Wise, who had directed WEST SIDE STORY so successfully in 1961, was slated to direct.  After watching advance footage of MARY POPPINS, he cast Andrews in the lead.  He also cast  Christopher Plummer as Captain Von Trapp,  thinking that Plummer could bring some darkness to the role to balance out Andrews's sunniness.  And, after auditioning literally dozens of children, five girls and two boys were chosen to play the Von Trapp children.  Most of the shooting was done on location in Salzberg Austria, and while it went over schedule and over budget (around eight million dollars), it would become the biggest hit film of the decade, grossing almost one hundred and sixty million dollars in the US alone; adjusted for inflation, it remains one of the top money making films of all time.  And the fact that a "singalong" version of the film is still being run at revival houses to this day shows what a lasting impact it has made.
Set in Salzberg, Austria in the 1930's, it tells the story of Maria, a young nun whose spirited ways cause he nunnery to  send her to take care of the children of Captain Von Trapp, a wealthy widower.  Although she has trouble at first, she wins the children over by teaching them how to sing.  Eventually she even warms the heart of the Captain, who ends his engagement with a Baroness (Eleanor Parker) and marries Maria.  As the Nazis come to power in Austria, the Captain, an outspoken opponent of them,  takes Maria and the children across the border into safety.

Julie Andrews

As he did with WEST SIDE STORY, director Stevens  showed that he had a real flair for opening up a Broadway show into a movie, and  nothing displays this better than the film's legendary opening shots, (taken in a helicopter), that pass over stunning, mountainous scenery for over two minutes, until the camera finds Maria, joyfully singing the title song in a field of flowers. I also enjoy the way he uses quick cuts to different locations when Maria takes the children out singing, or the way that he elegantly frames Maria and the Captain in their romantic moonlit stroll.  Stevens also makes sure to keep his simple story moving along briskly, so that the film never sags despite being almost three hours long, and he even pulls off some nice suspense scenes towards the end. (Although I wish he'd explained just how the Von Trapps managed to get from the theater to the nunnery without any of the Nazis seeing them!).
Interestingly, Andrews reportedly considered turning down the role of Maria because it was too similar to the one she played in MARY POPPINS, and in many ways those two films have become a millstone  around her neck, often limiting what other kinds of roles she could take, (she really tried to put that idea to rest in the 1981 film SOB).  Still, it's hard to imagine anyone else in the role, whether she's wonderfully singing  about "whiskers on kittens", or lovingly attending to the children and the Captain, Andrews's Maria simply radiates goodness.   If Andrews was reluctant to be in the film, Plummer has often said that he outright regretted it, but I think he does bring enough of an edge to the role, at least in the beginning, to keep the film's light tone from being overwhelming.  Plus the chemistry between him and Andrews is sweet, and he is believably brave when standing up to the Nazis.

Christopher Plummer

Speaking of that tone,  I do wish that the film had a little more darkness and conflict in it; it bothers me that the supposedly difficult Von Trapp children (who drove off their last governess in two hours!) take to Maria so quickly.  Or that the love triangle between Maria, the Captain and the Baroness is settled so easily, with the Baroness shrugging off her love for the Captain in a matter of seconds.  Also treated too lightly is the ill fated romance between eldest child Liesl (Charmain Carrof) and a young telegraph boy, with just a few encouraging words and a brief song from Maria curing Liesl's broken heart. (If only it were that simple!) Worst of all, I wish the film had made the Nazis more  genuinely scary instead of hardly mentioning them until the last forty five minutes of  the film; this is especially true of  Nazi leader Zeller (Ben Wright), who seems more like a buffoon than a real villain.  While I'm aware that this is supposed to be a feel good movie, I think a little more implied evil by the Nazis would have made the latter part of the film more exciting.  Interestingly, in the stage version of the story, the Baroness and the Captain break up mainly because of her acceptance of the Nazis, and I think that should have been left in the film to add some depth to both characters and the story.
Despite the problems I have with its sappiness,  which keeps this film low on my list of favorite musicals, I still find it irresistible and charming; hating on this film is like kicking a puppy.  But kick some people did and still do: legendary film critic Pauline Kael's scathing review of this movie  probably got her fired from her job at MCALL'S magazine.  To argue my defense of the film to its detractors, I would like to compare it to another movie: in 1982, legendary director John Huston was given a huge budget to adapt a successful Broadway show that also featured much singing and dancing from children.  The result was ANNIE, a notorious critical and financial flop, which just shows how difficult it is to do this kind of story right, and what a great job Stevens and company did.

SO DID THE ACADEMY GET IT RIGHT?


1965 was not a particularly good year for movies, with THE SOUND OF MUSIC'S biggest competition coming from David Lean's DR ZHIVAGO, which I find even more uneven.  And while I take a certain perverse pleasure in citing Roman Polanski's REPULSION as one of my favorites of that year (a film the Academy wouldn't have touched with a ten foot pole!), I won't argue with the treacly delights of THE SOUND OF MUSIC.

MY FAIR LADY (1964)

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MY FAIR LADY (DIR: GEORGE CUKOR)  (SCR: ALAN JAY LERNER, BASED ON THE PLAY PYGMALION BY GEORGE BERNARD SHAW)

The Academy's choice for best picture of 1963 was a safe and easy one: an enormously popular adaptation of a Broadway musical, directed by a Hollywood veteran (George Cukor) and featuring one of the biggest stars in the world, Audrey Hepburn.  And, while MY FAIR LADY has a mostly terrific batch of songs by Alan Jay Lerner and Frederick Loewe, and lovely costumes by Cecil Beaton (who won an Oscar), the film sags at two and half hours, and it often feels stage bound with it's painfully artificial sets. Compared to 1960's WEST SIDE STORY, which had dynamic dancing and beautiful location shooting, it seems stodgy and old fashioned.  Cukor's direction won him an Oscar, but I can't see why, it feels like all he tried to do is recreate the Broadway show on screen instead of making a real movie.  And Hepburn, for all her legendary loveliness and charm, was miscast and gives an uneven performance.
The film's story first began in 1914 as the play PYGMALION by Irish playwright George Bernard Shaw, which was very popular and revived numerous times.  It tells the story of Henry Higgins, a wealthy English gentleman and bachelor, who bets that he can turn a lowly flower girl, Eliza Dolittle, into a proper English lady in six months.  A film version was made in 1938, with Leslie Howard as Henry Higgins and Wendy Hiller as Eliza Dolittle (Howard co directed the film with Anthony Asquith).  Personally, I find the earlier version of the story superior, with Hiller making a far more believable English flower girl than Hepburn.  What's surprising when watching both films back to back is how little Lerner and Lowe added to the story other than the songs: the plots are nearly identical, and whole chunks of dialogue (including the famous last line) are taken verbatim from the earlier film.

MY FAIR LADY the musical first opened on Broadway in 1956, with Julie Andrews as Eliza and Rex Harrison as Henry, and it played successfully for six years.  Film producer Jack Warner saw the premiere and immediately made plans to adapt it, paying a record five and half million dollars for the rights.  Harrison was cast to repeat his role, as was Stanley Holloway as Eliza's father Alfred.  But Andrews, not yet a proven star, was replaced by Hepburn ("I knew Hepburn had never made a financial flop" explained Warner).  Cukor was tapped to direct after Warner's original choice, Vincent Minnelli, wanted too much money.  (I think this is a shame, as I imagine Minnelli, who directed GIGI and AN AMERICAN IN PARIS, would have made the film in a more lively manner than Cukor did).  The film was a very big production, with large 1912 London period sets being created while Cecil Beaton made over a thousand costumes for the huge cast, pushing the budget to over sixteen million dollars. But, buoyed by its success on Broadway and Hepburn's star power, it was an almost sure fire hit, earning well over seventy million dollars at the box office.

Audrey Hepburn

Thirty years after her last starring role, and twenty seven years after her death, Audrey Hepburn remains one of the most popular movie stars ever, with posters of her iconic, chic, "look" from BREAKFAST AT TIFFANY'S hanging in bars and cafes while her famed movies like CHARADE  and SABRINA are shown at revival houses and on TV constantly.  Much of the attention she garners seems to be more for the way her sleek body could easily be draped in some of the most stylish clothes of her era than for the quality of her movies or her acting ability.  And, while I enjoy most of her films, and  can appreciate the way she wears a dress, I think the only movie she made that could be considered truly great is Willam Wyler's ROMAN HOLIDAY, for which she won a best actress Oscar.  There, her immediate charm and likability was used perfectly.  One problem I have with many of her movies is that she was often paired up romantically with male stars who were literally decades older than she was (in CHARADE, for example, she was 32 and Cary Grant was 64) while this was nothing new for Hollywood, Hepburn's waiflike features and little girl voice made it all the more noticeable, and a bit creepy.  Returning to MY FAIR LADY, I've already mentioned that I think Hepburn was miscast in the film, with her poor flower girl's shrill Cockney accent that often sounds painful to listen to.  Also I find it disappointing that, although she trained to do her own singing, the vast majority of it is dubbed by Marni Nixon (who also dubbed Natalie Wood in WEST SIDE STORY and Deborah Kerr in THE KING AND I), especially because the  transition from Hepburn's natural speaking voice to her singing voice in the film is often jarring.  Still, once she loses the accent I find myself warming to her performance, even if I think that Julie Andrews would have been a better choice.   Andrews would have the last laugh though, as she wound up starring in MARY POPPINS instead of this film, and she won an Oscar for best actress for it, while Hepburn wasn't even nominated.

Rex Harrison

My favorite performance in the film is Stanley Holloway's as Eliza's ne'er do well father Stanley; he brings great energy and humor to the roll, and his two big songs ("With a little bit of Luck" and "Get me to the Church on Time") are the musical highlights of the film (and he does his own singing!).  And of course Rex Harrison, who won a best actor award, is also good, in a role that that he had literally portrayed thousands of times on Broadway.  With his beautiful voice and emphatic talk-singing style, not to mention his superior, English gentleman manner, it feels like the role was written for him, and he clearly delights in delivering Shaw's sharp, clever lines ("Yes, you squashed cabbage leaf, you disgrace to the noble architecture of these columns, you incarnate insult to the English language, I could pass you off as the Queen of Sheba!").  He's also good towards the end of the film, when he finally realizes he does have feelings for Eliza, thoughtfully singing "I've grown Accustomed to her face."  But this leads to a big problem I have with the end of the film: while I can totally believe that he would find himself missing her, I cannot for the life of me understand why she returns to him.  Higgins spends most of the story insulting and belittling her, pushing her harder and harder to learn her lessons, and then he doesn't give her a single word of praise after he wins his bet. He is a sexist, pompous, classist, egotist, and Eliza, who has a number of other options in her life, chooses to go to him of her own free will at the film's end, presumably to marry him. And the fact that the last line of the film is an outright order to her ("Where the devil are my slippers?"), shows that he intends to continue to be condescending to her; honestly, I don't think he deserves her. Interestingly, I am not the only one who's ever felt this way; in the original 1914 production of PYGMALION, Eliza defiantly does not return to Henry at the end.  Clearly George Bernard Shaw, an ardent socialist, did not want a happy ending for a snob like Henry, but, sadly, stage directors starting changing the ending almost immediately, giving audiences a more conventional happy ending.  This enraged Shaw, who, even as late as the 1938 movie, was trying to make sure that his version of the ending got made.  Unfortunately, he lost that battle, and I think that this famous story is all the weaker because of it.

SO DID THE ACADEMY GET IT RIGHT?

Clearly, I am not a big fan of this only middlingly pleasant trifle of a movie; really, if the Academy felt that they had to reward a musical, why couldn't they go with the far more original Richard Lester film  A HARD DAY'S NIGHT?  Along with the great Beatle music in that film, its clever style still has an influence on MTV to this day.  Perhaps even better is Stanley Kubrick's cold war comedy classic DR STRANGELOVE, OR HOW I STOPPED WORRYING AND LEARNED TO LOVE THE BOMB, which, unlike MY FAIR LADY, holds up wonderfully, and features a great triple performance by Peter Sellars.