ward bond film festival: evening three

Unconquered: (1947. dir: Cecil B. DeMille) Flat and uninspired frontier epic by that master of the genre who seems to have been tired in this particular year. We all walk into an epic with certain expectations of thrilling grandeur, and in return we are willing to sacrifice certain beloved qualities: subtlety of acting, for instance, and any semblance of historical realism. And those things ARE sacrificed in this, but where's the pay-off? Where's the burning of Atlanta? or the fire hailing against the marble at Yul Brynner's sandaled feet? the eerie green effluvia reaching down to choke the first-born of Egypt? Anne Baxter with her over-chewed but somehow adorable "Moses, Moses"? where's the chariot race, or at least the lepers? Nowhere to be found.

Even the plunge over the great waterfall, which I suspect was meant to be the grand centerpiece of the film, feels rote and decidedly unthrilling, and who among audience-members has ever for a moment bought that particular escape from death? Groans of disbelief all around. The one set-piece that does come off well is when the Indians attack the fort at night with flaming arrows -- always a crowd-pleaser, -- but even that doesn't match up to its counterpart in Drums Along the Mohawk, when the settlers are furiously trying to stop the live immolation of a friend and Ward Bond gets a flaming arrow right in the shoulder. It's a brilliantly vibrant shot, and how in hell did they do it? without actually shooting Ward Bond in the shoulder with a flaming arrow, I mean?

In place of grandeur DeMille's given us lots of colour, and, as anyone who's been reading lately knows, I'm big on bold colour use right now, but this is random. Bright colors randomly placed do not provide the aesthetic pleasure of the well-used palette, so I offer him no cigar for that. The script is incredible both in its plot-turns and in the choices its human characters make. Of course it's politically incorrect as far as the Indians go, that's expected from the time; even worse is the dull use to which they are put. All the Indians are two-dimensional, thick and sanguinary, and wholly fixated on the white man.

Not that the white men are any further fleshed out. Ward Bond is relegated to a maiden-auntish role, fussing over Gary Cooper and doing little else. Paulette Goddard is utterly dreadful and talks though her nose. Is she always this bad? Is it really possible this woman was considered for Scarlett O'Hara? I have to watch the Women; perhaps she's skilled in dark, snarky comedy, but any talent she might have got lost under the sofa cushions at home or something while she was shooting this.

And in what era of history were slaves ever this well treated? When in the history of the world did a guy ever buy a beautiful woman off an auction block, slavering with lust, then say, "I will not force you. I will wait until you come to me of your own free will." PLEASE! There's historically incorrect, and then there's crazy Maybe-On-Some-Distant-Mary-Poppins-Planet la-la-la Pollyannaism.



Park Avenue Logger: (1937. dir: David Howard) Unpretentious, low-budget and badly-preserved little comedy about a rich man sent by his father to learn toughness by helping to deforest Oregon. It's not funny, but it's got a certain charm, and feels ten years older than it really is. The blocking is stage-bound, the sound is bad, and there's a lot of heartbreaking stock footage of really huge trees being ruthlessly downed. Ward Bond is young and handsome and playing the heavy, but one with a conscience. George O'Brien, a strong-man who started in stunts and got his first break when John Ford cast him in the Iron Horse, is easy in front of the camera, the very antithesis of vain.



The Night Key: (1937. dir: Lloyd Corrigan) Unassuming and surprisingly entertaining Boris Karloff piece about an electrical genius whose lifework is stolen by big business, so he teams up with a small-time crook to get his own back. Complications ensue when more serious mobsters get involved; there's a beautiful daughter to be kidnapped, and a handsome security guard to fall in love with her. Karloff may have the most interesting face and the most photogenic eyes in the business, and just contrasting this mild-mannered, nearsighted boffin with the Indian war chief he played in Unconquered is clear testament to his considerable adeptness and flexibility. Bond plays a version of the mobster heavy he came to know so well during his career, but it may be the only time he ends up electrocuted in an easy chair while reading a magazine.