This section of the site features original and previously published
articles by George Pelecanos.
Two May Picks, 2006
Now Playing at the Valencia, by Stephen Hunter
Sometime in the 60s, I would guess when I was 8 or 9 years old, I received a gift of a book called The Movies, by Richard Griffith and Arthur Mayer. A history of motion pictures from their invention up until 1957, it contained informative text and over 1,000 photographs and production stills. Far from being a deep critical appraisal of the art, it offered a solid overview of the art, especially appropriate for a kid, and initiated my lifelong film education. Tellingly, I still have The Movies on the shelf behind my desk. Along with that book, I was fortunate to have grown up around an honest-to-God city, packed with movie theaters, in a time when a boy could get on a bus by himself or with friends and go see a show. I was also fortunate to have at my disposal a daily newspaper, The Washington Post, which employed an interesting, engaging movie critic named Gary Arnold. I still remember the reviews of Mr. Arnold, how I anticipated them, and how he got me stoked to see certain films. That was then. Enter Stephen Hunter, around 1997. It might be enough to say that Hunter has since won the Pulitzer Prize for his film reviewing, but let me also add that he deserved it. He's the best critic in the country, and by that I mean he is someone you read, not only for his opinions, but for his lively, provocative style and beautiful command of language. Though he is miles apart from her politically, the best comparison I can make is to Pauline Kael. You can get thumbs-up/thumbs/down criticism anywhere, but people read Hunter and still read Kael after her death because the writing is so damn good. My point? Hunter's best reviews and essays are currently available in one volume, called Now Playing at the Valencia (Simon & Schuster, trade paperback). Hunter will make you laugh, educate you, and, depending on your world view, infuriate you (and that's good, isn't it…to feel something, I mean). He knows history (not just film history), and will pick apart the inaccuracies of costume dramas, westerns, and war films with scalpel-like precision. He knows which actors are boys dressed up like men, and will tell you so. He understands story. He's a gun enthusiast (notice I didn't say gun nut), ridicules political correctness, and is a bit of a romantic. He's refreshingly honest, always astute, and has a clear point of view that will, guaranteed, get your blood going. My favorite sections in this collection are on Westerns (naturally), Crime and Suspense, and War. His essay on The Last Samurai is worth the price of the book. Of the two most heralded war movies of recent years, Hunter writes: "It's pointless to compare or contrast (Terrence Malick's) The Thin Red Line with Steven Spielberg's Saving Private Ryan, because their intentions are so vastly different. With Ryan, a kind of generational tribute, Spielberg's ambition was to commemorate the men who won the war. Malick's seems to be to photograph as many parrots as possible. Polly want a movie?" If this is your kind of red meat, run, do not walk, to get this book.
Seven Men from Now, directed by Budd Boetticher
This 1956 western, helmed by legendary adventurer/director Budd Boetticher, has recently been restored and made available on DVD after a long absence from the screen. Produced by Batjac, John Wayne's company, this Warner Brothers was the first of five collaborations between star Randolph Scott and Boetticher. I think it's the best. Seven tells a simple story of an ex-lawman (Scott) who is after the men who killed his wife in a Wells Fargo holdup, and his relationship with a shady character (Lee Marvin) who is also on their trail. To make it interesting, Scott rides with a married couple, and develops a highly charged attraction to the wife, played by Gail Russell. There is no wasted screen time, as the story and backstory are handled with economy, typical of the B-pictures of the era (screenplay by Burt Kennedy). Scott is his stoic, dependable self; his horse is beautiful and he rides it well. Gail Russell's face shows the fade of youth and dreams, understandable as she was battling the alcoholism that would kill her four years later. Lee Marvin, all sleepy-eyed menace and big-cat motion, stands out as Bill Masters, the quick-draw antagonist. Marvin's name appears, for the first time in his career, single-card and above-the-title, and he seems to recognize the importance of the opportunity by grabbing the ring. In the film's most memorable scene, inside a covered wagon on a rainy night, he intimates his intent of sexual conquest over Russell in front of her husband (Walter Reed) and Scott, his every word a lascivious suggestion. By the time the guns come out, you'll be sorry to see him go. Boetticher uses the rocky landscape expertly in these battles to frame and trap the players, with the final showdown prefiguring Leone by eight years. Seven Men from Now was made, I would guess, for less than a million bucks. These movies flew under the radar screen of studio execs, who had their eyes on the bigger productions, and for the directors that freedom could be liberating. Put another way, this is an example of poverty giving birth to art. For more on this topic, seek out a book called Kings of the Bs, by Todd McCarthy and Charles Flynn. And check out this gem of a film.
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