The Best Years of Our Lives** (1946)

As I write this review of a film following three World War II veterans struggling to reacclimate into everyday life, a heated debate is raging about a film that looks at the same issue. While I have yet to see American Sniper, I have to wonder if this film sparked any controversy upon its release. Re-entry into civilian life was either taboo or not on Hollywood’s radar before The Best Years of Our Lives was made. Granted, the golden age of Hollywood was in the roaring 20s, when glitz and glamour were in vogue and long after the end of World War I, and production codes restricted a wide range of content from being put on film. The content of this film feels like it should have been risky, which is why I think it is so powerful.

Three servicemen meet while heading home after World War II and discover that they all live in the same town. Al Stephenson (Fredric March) returns to a loving upper-middle class family and a job as a loan officer at a bank. Homer Parrish (Harold Russell) lost his hands in the war and is nervous how his fiancée and their families will react to his disability. Fred Derry (Dana Andrews) returns to an unskilled job and a wife who is tired of scraping by. The three men find themselves leaning on each other as they all struggle to rejoin civilian life.

This is a very honest film in its presentation of civilian America. All of the sets were built to real size as opposed to the oversized architecture common to Hollywood films of the day. All of the costumes are real off-the-rack items instead of designed and perfectly tailored by a costuming department. All of this adds up to a tight, authentic look that feels almost like a documentary at times. If you don’t know these facts, then you might find the aesthetic elements of the film to be lackluster. I don’t hold this against the film but the length of it made me restless at times.

The Best Years of Our Lives comes in at just under three hours long. I think any viewer would get fidgety in that final hour because the film lacks any external conflict or rising tension. Instead, it’s like a three-hour case study of three veterans struggling to figure out who they are and what they believe after the war. What we do have are three genuinely interesting men struggling internally with how they want to define themselves. As the film goes on, each of these characters develop in their own way. Harold Russell provides a completely honest portrayal of struggling with disability but he also struggles with his more emotional scenes (this was his first experience as an actor).

Perhaps this film avoided any controversy over its subject matter because it was treated with respect and earnestly raised awareness of the struggles of veterans. Had it been more exploitative or made veterans look bad there probably would have been a row. Still, I was shocked to see Al’s daughter declare her intentions to break up Fred’s struggling marriage in a film made in the 1940s.

Its length and slow but true-to-life pace may turn some off but this really is an excellent film. Other than a few deep focus shots, there isn’t much to see in this film that will dazzle you but that is by design. The film appeals so well to the emotions that one can’t help but root for each of the three principals to find their place in the world. Younger audiences may not care for The Best Years of Our Lives but this is certainly a case of slow and steady winning the race.

RATING: 4 out of 5

The Lost Weekend (1945)**

In the early days of Hollywood, addiction was presented on screen either in an over-the-top manner, watered down due to the production codes of the day, or buried between the lines. It was also rare for addiction to be the focus of a film. Instead of being laughably bad or yawningly bland, The Lost Weekend is dark and uncomfortable to watch. The film retains most, if not all, of its power as it drags the audience down into the murky depths of alcoholism.

Don Birnam (Ray Milland) could be a great writer if it weren’t for booze. His girlfriend Helen (Jane Wyman) and his brother Wick (Phillip Terry) try to get him away from New York City for a weekend trip to help keep him sober. Slave to the drink that he is, Don tells them he will meet them at the train station but heads to a bar instead. Thus begins a weekend-long bender showcasing Don’s pathetic state while flashbacks clue the audience in on his relationships with Helen, Wick, and the bottle.

I’ve seen every Best Picture winner from 1927 through 1945 and I have to say that this is the first one to make me uncomfortable. The Oscars have honored several cinema gems packed with action and humor, a few duds that are boring by today’s standards, and some powerful human drama with some kind of uplifting message. In stark contrast to everything that came before it, The Lost Weekend just keeps kicking you while you’re down.

It doesn’t take long to find elements of this film that have been recycled or lampooned in later films. Milland’s mannerisms, staggered lurch down sidewalks, and frantic behavior are everywhere in cinema, which is a testament to their original power. Some of these elements may seem cheesy if viewed out of context but if you watch this film from start to finish, there’s no snickering about it.

This film is also quite emotionally draining. For much of the film you are filled with disgust and surprise at Don Birnam, as he sinks to new lows to get his fix. At the same time you are bouncing back and forth between feeling pity and anger for Helen & Wick. They put up with a lot and that gets under your skin. At times you wish they would just cut Don off and let him rot in his own mess of a life. Whatever is left of the optimist in you clings to hope though, keeping you wishing for a recovery if only for Helen’s and Wick’s sakes.

As dark and depressing as The Lost Weekend is, it is that sense of hope that keeps you going, just as in real life. The ending of this film leaves you with a lot of hope for a major change in Don but you also have to wonder how many times he’s reached this point before. It’s that fervent, right-out-of-the-gate sense of urgency and deliberateness we all have when we start a goal. It’s why gym memberships soar around New Year’s.

But, as humans, we understand all too well how easy it is to fall off whatever wagon we stand so triumphantly on. We know Don Birnam is human, yet, we hope that this time it is different. Instead of triumph, we have cautious catharsis. It is expertly wielded by the filmmakers here because it feels authentic. This whole film hits a home run in that department and, while the subject is alcoholism, audiences can easily substitute whatever addiction they understand best for Birnam’s drinking. The Lost Weekend does what few films prior and since have been able to do- it humanizes addiction in such a way that grips you but doesn’t preach to you.

RATING: 4 out of 5

Going My Way** (1944)

This is far from the first Best Picture winner to leave me wondering what the Academy saw in it to make it worthy of its highest award. It features Bing Crosby, one of the hottest entertainers of the time, crooning and meandering his way through a tale of kindness and redemption. Maybe it was the allure of Crosby’s charm. Maybe it was a weak year for films. While Going My Way is not an inferior film by any means, it doesn’t exactly light up the screen these days.

Father Charles O’Malley (Bing Crosby) is assigned to a financially struggling church in New York City. The elder priest of the church, Father Fitzgibbon (Barry Fitzgerald), does not approve of O’Malley’s nonchalant attitude and his lack of strict, conservative Catholicism. Rather than look down upon the sins of others or look the other way for regular mass attendees, O’Malley inserts himself into their lives. By seeking to understand and make a difference, O’Malley shakes the foundation of the parish and the lives of those around him.

This is a nice story about a likeable new guy in town who mixes things up for the better. Most, if not all the supporting characters are enjoyable. What Going My Way lacks is wow factor. It’s a solid little film but it’s also the kind of heart-warming ‘rise-above’ sort of yarn that has become clichéd and predictable. That’s not the fault of anyone involved with this film. Rather, all the half-baked feel-good flicks over the decades have numbed our senses to these kinds of inspiring tales.

Praise is due to Bing Crosby for not being as stiff as some singers-turned-actors have been. Then again, Crosby was more than just a singer- he was an entertainer. He and other crossover artists had more presence and charisma than most of the compartmentalized stars of today. Sure, they made records, but they also performed to smaller audiences, not just stadiums. Stars like Crosby knew how to work a room and that helps when the time comes to work the camera.

The people behind the camera, however, are another story. The director may have won awards, but there isn’t much in the way of visual stimulation to be found here. I counted a number of static shots where the cast has to move about. There are still elements of composition to this set up- people still need to hit their marks and be placed just right- but it’s not as visually interesting to watch people move about without moving with them. It’s old school Hollywood and perhaps I shouldn’t complain, but I’ve seen much more daring directorial decisions in films around and before Going My Way’s release.

This film will probably continue to be known for as long as there are avid admirers of Bing Crosby’s work. Without Crosby front and center (and that Oscar win), this film would have been forgotten about in fairly short order. It’s a charming, nice, safe film that will entertain those of us who enjoy classic cinema, but nothing outside of its casting possesses that legendary quality that demands it be watched.

RATING: 3.5 out of 5

SECOND HELPINGS: How Green Was My Valley** (1941)

Does anyone really believe that this film deserved Best Picture anymore? The Academy needed a fallback film because they were too scared to recognize the masterpiece that was Citizen Kane. What gets the award instead? An emotional tale of poor Welsh coal miners that band together to fight for the right to work for a decent wage.

I must admit that this film is well made if you look at the technical aspects. It is also a very emotional film, as we watch a young boy named Huw grow up in the midst of the Industrial Revolution. The coal mines change his town and his family forever. There is also a subplot involving a new pastor in town who takes a liking to Huw’s sister and speaks controversially in support of unionizing the town’s coal miners.

How Green Was My Valley is far from pro-union propaganda, but it certainly wears its liberal-leaning heart on it sleeve. The Industrial Revolution was a time when unions were actually desperately needed to help laborers get fair wages but this sentiment is laid on thick enough to the point where it is obvious that the story also advocates for the urgency for unionization in the present. Through this and other early films, it seems clear to me that it took decades for much of Hollywood to master subtlety as a filmmaking tool.

Maybe I am jaded, having grown up thinking films like this are cliché-ridden. It’s got emotional manipulation through focusing on a child, advocacy for social change, a David v. Goliath tale, and a largely negative portrayal of Christianity. Pretty standard old-school Hollywood stuff, really. Maybe in some circles How Green Was My Valley was considered important. You’ll have a hard time justifying it as great though.

Through re-watching some of these old films, some of which I was overly harsh on as an 18 and 19-year old, I have had a kind of epiphany. There are great films, there are important films, and then there are those rare few that are both great and important. These categories are still largely subjective but, for the most part, consensus builds and opinions are collected.

Maybe the vote was split widely in the Academy. Maybe this film rode the wave of being a safe and uncontroversial pick. How Green Was My Valley may not be the weakest Best Picture winner in Oscar History but it certainly doesn’t make much of an impression. If nothing else, watch it for the curiosity that it is- a mostly harmless, well-made film that beat one of the greatest American films ever made on Oscar night.

Original Rating: 3.5 out of 5

New Rating: 3.5 out of 5

The Artist** (2011)

If it sounds weird to hear me describe a film as adorable, please know that it feels just as weird for me to make such a proclamation. Yet that is the best word I can come up with to describe this love letter to Hollywood’s silent film era. It has charm, heart, and it stays very true to the qualities and craftsmanship of the films that inspired it.

It’s 1927 in Hollywood and George Valentin (Jean Dujardin) is the star of the silent silver screen and helps discover a talented newcomer named Peppy Miller (Berenice Bejo). Two years later, Valentin’s studio tells him they are through with silent films. Valentin’s reluctance to convert to talkies (and the stock market crash of 1929) leaves him in professional and financial ruin. While Peppy’s career takes off, George struggles to cope with his new-found has-been status.

Save for a few shots and a handful of well-known supporting characters, The Artist looks like it could have come from the silent film era. That fact alone is a testament to the attention to detail behind this film. Silent films demand attention to detail because there is no sound supplementing or distracting from the visuals. The pacing, the cinematography, and the expressiveness of the cast make this movie a success. It lags at times, but there is so much imagery and sophistication built into the composition of some shots that I found myself giddy with excitement for noticing them.

The duo of Jean Dujardin and Berenice Bejo are a treat to behold. They’re expressiveness is so true to silent films. With no sound to convey emotion in the voice, actors had to over-emote with their posture, gestures, and facial expressions. In their attempt to replicate what we would now call over-doing it, there was a fine line between nailing the nonverbal communication of silent films and parodying it. The Artist never slips into parody.

Writer-director Michael Hazanavicius chose to fashion his silent movie after the melodramas of the 1920s. This was the right choice because an all-out silent drama would feel too self-important and a full-on comedy wouldn’t seem as special. With a story arc that is far from unique, The Artist is admittedly a success because it is style over substance.

But why make a silent film just for the sake of making a silent film? The filmmakers appreciate the artistry that has been lost for more than 80 years of talkies. Something about silent films speak to them and, as it turns out, they still speak to us too. This is the kind of cheery, nostalgic fare that makes me fall in love with cinema all over again.

RATING: 4 out of 5

SECOND HELPINGS: Gone with the Wind** (1939)

I am well aware that this film presents a woefully inaccurate depiction of blacks in the antebellum and post-war south. That doesn’t stop me from loving this film and still holding it to be the greatest film I have ever seen. It will take quite a film to knock Gone with the Wind from my top spot.

The scope of this film is incredible. The filmmakers spared no expense to bring this tale to life. It’s a nearly four hour long period piece, in Technicolor, and utilized studio and on-location filming. The cost of production was historic but worth every penny. Some scenes may come across as a little stagey, but the world looks believable thanks to all the immaculate set details.

Some people criticize the writing and characters of this film. I’ll grant them that Butterfly McQueen’s Prissy is more caricature than character, but everyone else in the cast nails their performances and the writing is old school Hollywood at its best. Clark Gable and Vivien Leigh ooze with sex appeal and light up the screen every time they are on it, together or individually. They bring Rhett and Scarlett to life, realizing the characters’ true potential and power.

On their own, neither is particularly likeable. Scarlett is a manipulative little tramp who uses her playful sexuality and beauty to get what she wants. Rhett is an opportunistic scoundrel who thinks he has it all figured out and takes what he wants when it comes down to it. A movie about either character would fail but they somehow form the basis for one of the greatest love stories of all time. These two are just made for each other. They’re beautiful, egotistical, and drive each other mad. It’s so perfect yet unlikely an arrangement that you can’t help but want them to be together.

The film does lag a little bit in the third hour, as Scarlett skanks her way up the societal ladder. This is usually where people trail off on enjoying Gone with the Wind. The first half is exciting, powerful, and has just about everything you could ask for in an epic period piece romance. That third hour is necessary though because it makes the sparks fly even hotter when Rhett comes back into the picture.

Others will complain about the ending but you’ll get no such complaints out of me. Things end badly for Scarlett and Rhett but you know that it is not really the end. Scarlett’s stubbornness got her from destitute to affluent after the war. How could she not end up with Rhett again now that she knows in her heart that they were always meant to be together?

The ending may not tie things up in a nice neat bow, but it doesn’t have to. By the end of the film you know the passion and determination these characters share for each other. You know how this cliffhanger is going to end, which makes Gone with the Wind something special. It leaves you hanging narratively but not emotionally.

Gone with the Wind has sass, attitude, romance, drama, thrills, chills, and laughs. For my money, it is the complete package because it is delivered so smoothly by its leads. This film proved to be one for both the record books and the history books. Who am I to disagree? Since the first time I saw it, this film was, and still is, at the top of my list.

Original Rating: 4.75 out of 5

New Rating: 4.75 out of 5

SECOND HELPINGS: Casablanca** (1942)

It seems like every time that I watch this film I understand its popularity more and more. This was one of what I call the Original Eleven- one of the 11 films that I watched in my freshman comp & speech class in college that started my whole movie rating obsession. I did not care for it one bit when I first saw it in the autumn of 2002. Over time, I have come to terms with much of this film, but I still have a few issues with it.

Some films from Casablanca’s era are ridiculously dialogue heavy. I used to wonder if this was a common trait for older films but I found that to not necessarily be the case as I have watched more and more films from the early days of Hollywood. Casablanca certainly fits the mold of reel-to-reel lightning-fast conversation. The conversations between Rick, Ilsa, Victor, and Captain Renault are full of exposition, wit, and a flurry of emotions.

At times, these conversations literally pull you from one point to the next, giving you very little time to digest what is actually being said. If you are fine with taking the film as it comes, then you probably see nothing wrong with any of its content. The more you think about the film afterwards, however, the more you realize its plot elements fall apart in some ways. It’s only an hour and forty minutes long, so there is plenty of room to slow the dialogue down and tighten up a few of the details.

The music of Casablanca is terrific and the acting is very good, but there isn’t much that I found technically exciting about this film. There are a lot of static shots of people talking to each other or cuts back and forth between the faces. I can recall one scene in Rick’s where the use of shadow is quite good but very little else stands out as a unique or memorable shot. There is also a pretty glaring continuity error during the famous airport scene- Major Strasser’s epaulettes appear and disappear between cuts. Oops!

Overall, I get why people love Casablanca. It is full of romanticism, heroism, and idealism set against the dark days of World War II. The cookie cutter bad guys are so mean that it’s hard not to cheer on those who oppose them. I see it as an above-average film with a cult following. I think part of the appeal is generational, as it provided a distraction from the grim realities of World War II when it was released and it was a model for idealism and earnestness for Baby Boomers growing up with its occasional re-release in theaters. I am not part of either generation, so I can easily look past it to find the better films of the era.

Original Rating: 2.5 out of 5

Second Rating: 3 out of 5

New Rating: 3.5 out of 5

Mrs. Miniver** (1942)

Of the Best Picture winners in the 1940s, this was one of the few that I had not heard of before starting my Oscar journey. I feared that the reason I hadn’t heard of it was because it suffered a similar fate as the 30s Best Picture winners no one ever mentions any more- it didn’t age well. Just the opposite happened, however. I was pleasantly surprised to find myself enjoying artfully-made thriller.

Based on a series of fictional stories run in British newspapers during the late 1930s, Mrs. Miniver focuses on the lives of a moderately well-to-do London couple (Greer Garson and Walter Pidgeon). As Hitler flexes his muscles throughout Europe, the Miniver’s find themselves drawn into a new normal where air raids are a constant possibility and sacrifices are expected of all good British citizens. Love, loss, fear, class separation, and more are all addressed within this film’s two-hour, 15 minute runtime.

It took me a very long time to determine a rating for this film. Given the right context and the proper appreciation for its beautiful cinematography, it’s easy to see why this film was cherished in its day. By 1942, America had been drawn into World War II and was sharing the physical, financial, and emotional burden of war with Europe. While American civilians were far removed from any real threat from the Axis powers, Mrs. Miniver gave them a lens through which to view the impossible task of living a normal life in the cross hairs.

For modern audiences, this brand of rugged determination and sacrifice in the name of nationalism will probably seem a little over-the-top at times. Cynics will view parts as bordering on propaganda (indeed, FDR had it rushed into US theaters for just such a purpose). I will admit to being nonplussed by some of these sequences. I am normally just cynical enough to balk at such content but I am also very passionate about contextualizing films in order to understand them better. Some of this content feels very dated but the passion the actors put into their roles is undeniable.

As the titular character, Garson carries the film on her back. The range of emotions that she delivers is no small task but she produces like a champ. No indication is given to us that her family members are safe from harm (unless, I suppose, you have read the newspaper stories). Indeed, danger is lurking around every corner as the war picks up. This uncertainty keeps the tension high in all the right places. It may not be a non-stop thrill ride, but it would be hard to suspend disbelief if it were.

As I mentioned before, it’s the cinematography that won me over with this film. Camera angles and lighting choices during the more harrowing moments keep this film from becoming just another outdated war-era film. There may come a time when audiences are too cynical to appreciate Mrs. Miniver, but that time is definitely not now.

RATING: 4 out of 5

Rebecca** (1940)

As a fan of Alfred Hitchcock’s films, I am amazed that he never won an Oscar for directing. This Best Picture winner, his first Hollywood film, makes up for the Academy’s mistake and offers a superb look back at the growing talent of one of cinema’s all-time greats. While it may not be remembered as fondly as his later work in Hollywood, Rebecca is a taut thriller that fires on all narrative and technical cylinders.

An unnamed woman (Joan Fontaine) narrates a tale of memories, love, and danger. Her early life as a paid companion for the rich and self-important Edythe Van Hopper (Florence Bates) is dull despite their many travels. Her life changes forever when she meets the dashing Maxim de Winter (Laurence Olivier). Despite recently becoming a widower, Maxim falls in love with the girl and they marry hastily. When Maxim brings his bride back to his family estate, called Manderley, the new Mrs. de Winter receives a cool reception from Mrs. Danvers, the housekeeper. Obsessed with her former mistress, Rebecca de Winter, Mrs. Danvers engages in unrelenting psychological torment to show her displeasure. This, compounded with the mysterious circumstances of Rebecca’s death, pushes the timid new Mrs. de Winter to the brink

By the end of this film, you may feel as if your brain is a yo-yo. Hitchcock and his filmmaking crew are constantly playing with the pace of the story. After getting taken off guard by the speed at which the unnamed main character and Maxim de Winter fall in love, the flow tapers off to accommodate the exposition necessary to introduce Manderley and its housekeeping staff. Mrs. Danvers’ game of cat-and-mouse with the new Mrs. de Winter provides plenty of false starts and genuine thrills. By the time the third reel rolls around, I was all but ready to be let off the ride. Sure enough, Hitchcock saves the best and biggest adrenaline plunge for last.

I am unsure where I stand on the story itself. While it happens, the pre-wedding romance feels too sudden, rushed and unlikely. It’s not until the payoff in the third reel where the events of the first reel become acceptable. You just don’t see this type of narrative styling anymore, which may make the film hard for some younger audiences to digest. I like that, at the end of the film, you are invited to think your way through the entire tale once more. It doesn’t command a second viewing per se, but Rebecca is the kind of film that changes after the first time you watch it. The first time through, your time is spent absorbing the details and information. A second viewing affords you the opportunity to marvel at the little details scattered about that only made sense at the end of your first viewing.

The danger of this film is that it does not fit the 50s and 60s Hitchcock formula. If you come into this film expecting that kind of payoff, you may find yourself confused. I know I was. Having seen several Hitchcock classics and the works of those who emulate him, I felt like I knew what to expect and, for a while, this attitude had me enjoying this film less than it deserved. All that was reversed when the film took another direction entirely. My mind was sufficiently blown and all respect was restored. Not all credit can be given to the director though. This is an adaptation of a novel, so kudos to the original writer are in order. But, a little research shows that the Production Code of the time required the story to be altered slightly, which actually improves the ending if you ask me.

This is a film that does just about everything right. Overexposure to the suspense and thriller sub-genres water down some of Rebecca’s impact, but there is no denying the powerhouse performances of the main characters. Laurence Olivier effortlessly runs the gamut of emotions, Joan Fontaine is perfectly naïve and high-strung, and Judith Anderson crafts one of the most psychologically twisted villains in big screen history. Add on top of this the cinematography (including some deep focus shots) and editing, and you’ve got a real winner. To think that Hitchcock got even better than this is awe-inspiring.

RATING: 4 out of 5

You Can't Take It with You** (1938)

Nowadays, the ‘when worlds collide’ comedy setup has all but lost its luster. It’s been played out in just about every possible permutation across just about every demographic group. While this now-tired film convention has made many a moviegoer cynical and detached from the antic within the reels, there’s a magic present in its early incarnations that still manages to bring a smile to faces everywhere. Such is the case with You Can’t Take It with You.

Alice Sycamore (Jean Arthur) is madly in love with her employer’s son, Tony Kirby (James Stewart). Tony reciprocates her feelings and their world is hunky dory. The only snag is that they come from two very different families. The rest of the Sycamore clan, and their live-in friends, are nothing less than eccentric. Tony’s family is a bunch of stiff, well-to-do elitists who don’t believe in marrying below their privileged station in life. Sparks fly and hilarity ensues when the Sycamore’s and the Kirby’s finally meet.

I don’t think I’ve been disappointed yet by a Jimmy Stewart film. He and Jean Arthur are simply adorable in this film. They share the kind of chemistry that Hollywood classics are made of. Arthur’s relationship with her bizarro family is equally seamless. The film could probably use a little more interaction between the easy-going Tony and his highbrow parents. Is he as whimsical around his folks as he is around Alice? If so, the shock value of the Sycamore’s wouldn’t be as exaggerated as it is, though it would certainly raise the eyebrows of just about any parent.

As enjoyable as this film may be, the word ‘adorable’ keeps popping into my mind. It applies easily to many aspects of the film: Alice’s Grandpa (Lionel Barrymore) and his simplistic worldview, the optimism of the Sycamore clan, the love between Tony and Alice, the trajectory of the film itself even works in adorable ways. That creates a problem for me. Great films go beyond adorable.

I can’t tell if it’s the jadedness that comes from being exposed to these polar opposites coming together kinds of tales or if it’s the lack of much technical whizbangery that holds this film back for me. I’d like to say the latter but the former is always a possibility. In many ways, my generation is blessed and cursed with the period of films we grew up on. We’re blessed by ever-increasing technical advancements but we’re cursed because everything we’ve grown up watching is in some way derivative of films no one really watches anymore.

Fortunately, quaint films like You Can’t Take It with You remind us that the Hollywood hits of today have a solid foundation underneath them. I won’t make any promises as to how much you may laugh at this classic comedy (let’s face it, some of you out there are so cynical it’s scary!) but I can say with some confidence that this film will, at the very least, make you smile. Even if you try to thwart me by remaining as stern as possible throughout it, I think the charm and magic of this film will finds a way to win you over.

RATING: 3.75 out of 5

The Life of Émile Zola** (1937)

At one time, I’m sure that grade school history books mentioned the name Emile Zola, if not then certainly the Dreyfus Affair. But with two world wars amidst a century of Western and American development, the subject matter of this early Oscar winner no longer exists in the recesses of audience’s minds. While it may have been fresh and riveting back in the day, The Life of Emile Zola feels more like the stiff, performance-focused biopics of today that are offered up as Oscar bait more so than for box office returns.

In his early days, Émile Zola (Paul Muni) ekes out a bohemian lifestyle in the heart of Paris with his friend and artist Paul Cézanne (Vladimir Sokoloff). Upon meeting a prostitute evading the police, the aspiring writer makes her his muse and writes a salacious and popular novel. As Zola becomes the voice of the people, he loses his desire to ‘fight the good fight’ and grows complacent as a wealthy and respected writer. Many years later, a chance encounter with his old friend emboldens Zola to take on the task of fighting the injustice of the Dreyfus Affair, in which a French soldier (played by Joseph Schildkraut) is falsely accused of being a spy only because he is Jewish.

I can see how the content of this film won favor with the Academy and Hollywood in general. What’s not to like about fighting injustice, especially when it involves corrupt government officials and antisemitism? The true-story aspect of it is just icing on the cake. The trouble is that, in the decades since this film’s release (and the century since Zola made his stand), America has seen enough rights fights and political shenanigans that 19th century European scandals have lost their appeal.

In theory, this fact shouldn’t take anything away from The Life of Émile Zola. Taken for the piece of cinema that it is, Zola shows signs of creakiness in its structure. The film makes the fatal error of many modern biopics and puts too much focus on the titular character. Paul Muni does a very good job, particularly in his four-and-a-half minute long extended take monologue before the French courts. Schildkraut won a Supporting Actor Oscar for little more than looking exhausted, which surprised me. The only other supporting player to make a dent in my memory is Gale Sondergaard as Dreyfus’s wife. Her passion and desperate pleas for help clearing her husband’s name are powerful, though a smidge overdone.

Herein lies the problem, for all the social justice elements fueling the drama (though the film never directly tackles the issue of French antisemitism), The Life of Émile Zola is a one-man show. The cynic in me thinks it served as little more than a star-vehicle for Muni to get a little more attention. He had already been making waves for his supporting and lead performances and was fresh off an Oscar win for The Story of Louis Pasteur. Might the studio have been looking to make him the first two-time and first back-to-back winner for Best Actor? I t wouldn’t surprise me in the least.

Unlike many of the older films I have watched, Zola actually does play in to the generalization that older films have a sluggish pace. The film drags in many places, making its runtime feel quite a bit longer than two hours. If you’re big on European history or social justice, this might be worth your while. Otherwise you can freely pass up on this winner from yesteryear because its polish has been lost with age.

RATING: 3.25 out of 5

The Great Ziegfeld** (1936)

In just eight years, the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences’ top prize has gone to just about every major film genre of the era. With the crowning of The Great Ziegfeld as the ninth ever official winner for Best Picture, the Academy ushered into its ranks what has come to be a time-honored tradition of awards season- the biopic. Cynics may argue that this film is a sappy example of Hollywood’s self-loving of all things showbiz. Hindsight isn’t always 20/20 though, because, while the story may not be riveting by modern standards, this little gem holds plenty of acting, writing, and technical prowess to be worthy of its place in Oscar history.

As a young man, Florenz (Flo) Ziegfeld (William Powell) sets out to make it in show business, much to the chagrin of his music professor father. Over the years, Flo finds himself in constant competition with fellow promoter Jack Billings (Frank Morgan). From carnival attractions to singers to Broadway musicals, Flo always finds his way on top. Determined to be a game-changer in entertainment, Flo’s lifelong quest to be an American original has many ups and downs both personally and professionally.

At first this seems like quite a daunting film to take in. At over three hours long (including the overture and entr'acte), this is still one of the ten longest Oscar winners of all time. Your time will be rewarded though, and how! There is something for aficionados of every branch of filmmaking to appreciate here and even general audiences who don’t normally care to spot the little details will have a good time. Does it drag a little bit? Yes, particularly in the second act, when we see more of Flo’s personal troubles. That might make some people squirm a little bit but if you are wise enough to take a break between acts, you should have little trouble managing it.

Many of the sets are glorious in detail and (at times) impressive in scope. Choreography and blocking prove to be stunning feats if you take time to consider the logistics of the large-cast sequences. And what film about an early titan of Broadway would be complete without including the songs that took him to prominence? A few new numbers are added as well, all of which are delightful. For me though, the icing on the cake is the use of extended takes. Several of them exist but the granddaddy of them all occurs just before the entr'acte. It’s actually two extended takes edited together so seamlessly that you’d swear it was one ridiculously intricate 5-minute sequence. This scene single-handedly bounced this film up a notch into my ‘great’ range.

Tying the film together are the writing and performances. Anytime a film includes crisp one-liners and charm, it’s natural to credit the actors first. William Powell has a Clark Gable-esque presence as Flo Ziegfeld. He’s charismatic but authentic, a far cry from the morally ambiguous aura currently demanded from the biopic genre. Behind all the wit and charm lies some powerful writing. If you consider the length of The Great Ziegfeld, it’s all the more impressive that a writer can sustain all those magical qualities. Granted, it’s up to the actors to infuse those words with all the necessary pizazz to make the film watchable, but without a firm foundation, performances are nothing.

As much as I appreciate this film, I understand that it will not be everyone’s cup of tea. It’s not a musical in the way musical fans will expect. If you’re looking for an early Singin’ in the Rain, you’ll be out of luck. The musical numbers are all within the context of Ziegfeld shows. Old but not creaky, dated but still aging well, The Great Ziegfeld is a joyous blend of romance, drama, style and substance. If you find yourself in a position to take in this all but forgotten about Oscar winner, I recommend you do so.

RATING: 4 out of 5

Cavalcade** (1933)

Maybe it’s because it won Best Picture at the Oscars. Maybe it’s because it was so darn difficult to track down a copy. Whatever the reason, I think I came into this film expecting too much. Instead of a rousing through-the-years drama, Cavalcade turns out to be more like Cimarron for stuffy, upper-class Brits.

Beginning on New Year’s Eve of 1899, the Marryot family is living high on the hog. They’ve got a team of servants, two strapping young boys, and a very nice position among upper class London. The 20h Century offers more than they could have ever expected, as the family finds themselves intimately connected to several key historical events. The Second Boer War, the death of the Queen, the sinking of the Titanic, World War I, and beyond- yes the Marryot family sees it all as the cavalcade of years passes them by.

My initial reaction to this film is that many of the scenes feel very stagey. Sure enough, Cavalcade is based on a popular Noël Coward play from earlier in the decade. That explains the rigidity and plethora of static shots. I would assume that plays were being converted into films quite regularly in this time period to capitalize on popularity and mass appeal. The detail in the sets and costumes is certainly commendable.

The trouble lies in that these details don’t need to be quite so painfully exacting to build up the illusion in a film. Interesting characters and a good story are what drive film. The main characters haven’t aged well for modern audiences, so it’s up to the supporting cast to spice things up. As far as the story goes, it lacks any central conflict or purpose. It’s simply a series of vignettes progressing in chronological order. The only thing tying it all together is the Marryot family. At least with Cimarron there was the subtle plot of taming the wilderness of the American frontier hiding in the background.

I can see why this film won Best Picture (though I haven’t seen any of its competition yet). In 1933, some of the events covered in this film were still somewhat fresh in the minds of the industry bigwigs making up the Academy. This, on top of the popular stage play, probably gave it enough populist appeal to make it a no-brainer pick for the Oscar.

Unfortunately for Cavalcade, it has not aged as well as some of the other early Oscar winners. Static shots and a barely-existent plot make for a boring film by today’s standards. The sets are quite good and there are a few scenes that are large in scope but a few sprinkles can’t mask its decidedly vanilla flavor. Appreciable as it may be for what it is, I would steer you away from this film unless you are making a point, like me, to watch every single Oscar winner for Best Picture.

RATING: 3.25 out of 5

The King's Speech** (2010)

Featuring a powerful one-two punch in the acting department and a solid supporting cast, all one needs to do is see this film to understand why it claimed Best Picture at the Oscars. While younger audiences may yearn for something more contemporary and faster-paced, The King’s Speech mirrors its subject matter with a measured pace that is both satisfying and rewarding.

The film follows Britain’s Prince Albert, Duke of York (Colin Firth) along his journey to Kinghood (as George VI) in the 1920s and 30s as he struggles to overcome his pronounced speech impediment. Helping him through his struggle to sound like the leader of his people is Lionel Logue (Geoffrey Rush), a quirky Australian actor and speech therapist. In confronting his client’s stammer, Logue also helps Albert/George confront feelings about his brother Edward and other memories that influence and exacerbate his speaking issues.

Let’s not kid ourselves here, this film is all about Colin Firth’s performance. It is darn near flawless. People work for years to conquer speech impediments, making it difficult to accurately determine how much progress Albert/George makes as we jump through the years. The way Firth pins down the intricacies of the stammer is impressive because actors are notorious for underplaying and overplaying disabilities to movie-ruining effect. Firth’s performance makes this film, no doubt about it.

Fortunately, this film is not like many biopics in that it is not a one-star show. Geoffrey Rush is delightful as Logue, providing most of the humor opposite of Firth’s pathetic and angry straight man role. Helena Bonham Carter isn’t given much to work with as the Queen Elizabeth (the Queen Mother, not the current queen) but it’s a refreshing break from her usual eccentric roles. Guy Pearce is perfectly slimy as Edward, the weasel who makes Albert/George’s life miserable as a person and as a royal.

As something of a history buff, I am probably better able to appreciate this film’s sets, costumes and visual effects than some in my generation. Period details are often lost on people uninterested in things that aren’t flashy and hip. So if you can’t get into the story being told in The King’s Speech, you’ll be too bored to appreciate the subtle and intricate details the filmmakers are careful to include.

There may not be anything in the way of unique or fancy camerawork on display in this film but the story doesn’t require it, so that cannot be considered a negative. Younger audiences may be turned off by the old school approach the filmmakers are going for but if you’re over the age of 21, chances are you will be able to see this film for what it is- a great true-life story told through great performances. In short, a great film.

RATING: 4 out of 5

Grand Hotel** (1932)

Hard as I try to put older films in their proper context, sometimes I’m left feeling as if I missed something. Such is the case with Grand Hotel. It’s one of those early Oscar winners that no one really talks about anymore. Depending on what you look for in a film, you might feel that this fact is either a real shame or perfectly understandable.

Set in the Grand Hotel in the heart of post-World War I Berlin, this ensemble feature plays out a series of interconnected storylines. Having blown away his wealth and living as a charming but petty thief, Baron Felix von Geigern (John Barrymore) moves in on an all-too-trusting Otto Kringelein (Lionel Barrymore). The terminally ill Kringelein is dying and has come to the Grand Hotel to spend his last days in luxury. Sure enough, Kringelein’s cold-hearted employer, General Director Preysing (Wallace Beery) is at the Grand Hotel as well. Using an attractive stenographer named Flaemmchen (Joan Crawford), he seeks to close a very important and lucrative business deal.

The Grand Hotel is also abuzz over a celebrity guest. The Russian ballerina sensation Grusinskaya (Greta Garbo) does her best to keep up appearances while suffering anxiety over the decline of her young career. All of these characters and their motives intertwine over the course of 48 hours. Friendships are made, tempers flare, and romance is in the air, resulting in events that will change attitudes and outlooks on life forever.

While doing a little background research on this film I found that it was among Hollywood’s first star-studded ensemble films. To be sure, of the five main characters, Wallace Beery is the only one who lacks instant name recognition for me. The rest are obvious A-listers from Hollywood’s Depression era. This almost certainly worked in the film’s favor when drawing audiences in. Who wouldn’t want to see several of the best actors in the business on screen together?

This hodge-podge of the acting elite also works against the film in unexpected ways. Nowadays ensemble films are commonplace and many of the finest actors have been in one or two. Top billing on a film was everything back in the day, however, so being part of an ensemble cast must have been a little awkward for this group. At times it seems as if each of these five stars overacts a little, especially when sharing moments with one or more of their co-stars.

Perhaps the members of the Academy saw this unspoken competition to be the audience’s favorite for what it was. Despite all the star talent, Grand Hotel received zero acting nominations. In fact, it has the dubious honor of being the only Oscar winning film to receive no other nominations besides Best Picture. The acting snubs I can understand but I am astounded that this film failed to earn any technical nominations.

Five main characters and a number of interconnected storylines add up to a lot of editing. The icing on the cake comes with the cinematography though. A large lobby set was constructed, allowing crane cameras to swoop up, down and around to follow characters or move seamlessly between them. A conversation plays out between two characters by the railing and we pan a few feet away to see another character listening in on the conversation. Then the camera cranes up to join another character as they head back to their room. It’s these clever techniques that really give the film a sense of flow and hammer home the interconnectedness of the hotel patrons.

Does the story hold your interest? That depends on how much you love old Hollywood acting. A number of plot elements had been done before and have been done since. This familiarity of the plotlines makes it difficult to fully immerse yourself into the film. I would hope, however that viewers take note of all the intricate camera work for a film made in 1932.

If you like ensemble films, this one should be on your list simply because it’s one of the first. Comparing it to more recent ensemble productions shows you how far we’ve come in this interesting sub-genre but it will also show how much current all-star vehicles owe to their predecessors. Grand Hotel is more of a thrill for those who watch film for the technical aspects. Those who watch for entertainment and performance might come away underwhelmed.

RATING: 3.5 out of 5

Cimarron** (1931)

The fourth film to win Best Picture and the first of only three westerns to do so, Cimarron is a tale of how the West was tamed. It features big action sequences, a vast landscape, and tackles complicated moral and social issues of the Old West. What it doesn’t have is staying power. Here is a film that, while immensely popular initially, has not aged well one bit.

Yancey Cravat (Richard Dix) is a Western man’s man. He feels the call of the wild and untamed wilderness and seeks to conquer it. Several years after settling the Kansas Territory, Yancey grows restless for a new challenge. When the US government opens up the Oklahoma Territory for settlement, Yancey forces his wife and son to join him as they once again try to make a home and successful enterprise out of new and dangerous land.

I can see how the need for escapist cinema made this film popular in the 1930s. That time period wasn’t too far removed from the Land Rush of 1893 depicted in the film. Perhaps at the beginning of the Depression there was still an urge to go West and make something of yourself. That mindset no longer exists today, however, and this is only one of many generation gaps that sabotage this film.

Yancey Cravat is the kind of hyper-masculine hero that only exists in fables anymore. Why? Because society now (rightfully) expects men to take responsibility for their actions. There are several references to a wild past, suggesting Yancey might, at one time in his youth, have been something of a rebel and not on the side of the law. He’s a crack-shot who is respected among some of the more notable hustlers and thieves of the region. Perhaps the trade-off for conquering a woman was settling down. It seems Yancey did so on his own terms in Kansas, because when he mentions the Oklahoma Land Rush to his wife, she seems to know exactly what it will entail.

Is Yancey arrogant and selfish for putting his own desire for adventure above the safety and security of his family? The current answer is yes. Back in the day, people might have sided with Yancey. His argument is that they could live their already comfortable lives in Kansas or make an even better life for themselves in Oklahoma, where there is no established bureaucracy to work around. Naturally, once they make something of themselves in Oklahoma, Yancey gets antsy for something else to conquer. It’s this farsightedness that makes it hard to like Yancey.

When you don’t completely support your main character (or in the case of a villain, completely hate), it’s hard to stay interested in a film. The glory days of wandering testosterone are long in the past and fail to resonate with modern sensibilities. Does this make Cimarron a bad film? No, but it makes it darn hard to watch.

Cimarron mostly scores well with me for technical reasons. The Land Rush sequence is epic in scope, featuring hundreds of carriages and covered wagons racing across the open plains. The rising city of Osage is impressive because everything looks authentic and it is interesting to see how the façade of the town changes over the film’s 40-year time span. That kind of attention to detail is worth noting.

Unfortunately, technical achievements will only carry you so far. The stereotypical portrayals of American Indians, Jewish peddlers and black servants are kept mostly in the background but they are noticeable. This is all added on top of the fact that only half of our lead couple has a firm grasp on what really matters in life. The end result is one those early Oscar winners that you just can’t quite put in the proper context. It’s a shame that some of the earliest Best Picture winners have been all but forgotten about. The same cannot be said about Cimarron.

RATING: 3.25 out of 5

Amadeus** (1984)

Sunrise: A Song of Two Humans (1927)**

Despite a simple premise that has been replicated too many times to count, this is a beautiful film. There’s something inherently charming about silent films for me. Perhaps it’s because it seems quaint to look back at films from simpler times. Everyone has a soft spot for nostalgia and, as a film lover, silent films represent an innocent age for the industry, before films became obsessed with special effects, sex and violence. Then again, all one has to do is watch Sunrise: A Song of Two Humans to realize that the all-but-forgotten films of this era did tackle serious and potentially controversial issues.

A nameless couple lives in a small countryside village. The Man is having an affair with a Woman From The City. The Wife is aware of her husband’s indiscretion but says nothing, shedding tears when he isn’t looking. The Woman From The City grows tired of sharing this country boy and asks him to run away with her- kill his wife, sell his farm and move into the exciting City. The Man protests at first but gives in to her persuasiveness. The Man tells The Wife they are going for a trip to The City by rowboat. Thinking her husband is showing affection, she is overjoyed.

Far out into the water, The Man comes close to drowning his wife but cannot go through with it. He realizes deep down that he loves her. When they reach The City, The Wife attempts to run away, terrified of her husband’s plot to kill her. Their journey into The City brings about the rediscovery of their identities and the rediscovery of their love for each other. The two must battle the commotion of The City, nature and more temptation in order to make their love last.

There is a lot going on in this film. On the surface it may seem generic and clichéd but you have to look deeper to appreciate old films like Sunrise. Director F. W. Murnau’s European expressionist style drips from every frame. The use of shadows, camera angles and forced perspective creates a vivid fantasy-like world that our characters inhabit.

Unlike other silent films, Murnau lets the story tell itself, keeping the use of title cards to a bare minimum. This forces the actors to step up their game a notch. Their faces tell the tale fantastically. Janet Gaynor won Best Actress at the first Academy Awards for her role as The Wife and it’s clear why. Silent films are often panned by modern audiences because of the need to over-emote and exaggerate expressions but there is very little of that here. Gaynor’s expressions of sadness, heartbreak and joy feel genuine. George O’Brien should have been considered for Best Actor, because his performance is marvelous. His cold stare as he prepares to drown his wife pierces and terrifies in a way few films have managed to replicate since. Simply put, Murnau delivers silent film acting at its finest.

The dearth of title cards does another unique thing for the film. It allows and invites the audience to process, understand and analyze the film on their own terms. If you want to see just the surface, you will see a redemptive love story. If you want to go deeper, you will discover at least a half-dozen themes: virtue vs. lust, small town values vs. big city vices, isolation, man vs. self, man vs. temptation, and the list goes on. Is it any wonder that this film won the first and only Academy Award for Best Picture of Unique and Artistic Production? The award was merged the Best Picture- Production award the following year to create one definitive Best Picture award, but seeing how the awards were split makes perfect sense when comparing Sunrise to its inaugural Oscar counterpart Wings.

Murnau also delivers the goods with his work behind the camera. He and his cinematographers use some innovative techniques for 1927, including a tracking pan that follows the actors through a swampy set. Putting the camera in motion like this revolutionized filmmaking when Murnau first utilized it in Germany three years before coming to America to make this film. I haven’t seen very many films from the 1920s and earlier yet but even I was able to recognize how radical this technique was for the early days of film. Murnau also employs flawless superimpositions in scenes where The Man is being tempted by thoughts of The Woman From The City. Again, this is mind-blowing stuff for the 1920s.

Sunrise: A Song of Two Humans lays it all out and lets you pick up from it whatever you want. It’s a multidimensional film accessible to everyone. That alone is a triumph in storytelling and style. It’s a shame that this film had to come around at the dawn of the ‘talkies’ because Sunrise could have been the prototype for a new era of silent films. The advent of sound took Hollywood a step forward and two steps back artistically but it would rebound in due time. It’s a tragedy that this film is not talked about outside of film scholars and historical circles.

RATING: 4.5 out of 5

No Country for Old Men** (2007)

I’ll be the first to admit that I’m no expert when it comes to film. I am passionate about it and I try to learn about the craft and its history when I can. Every now and then a movie comes along that makes me feel like an outsider. In some cases it boils down to too much hype or my subjective opinion. These cases are easy to identify because there are usually a number of professional critics and moviegoers who share my outlook. Then there are films like the Coen brothers’ No Country for Old Men. Praised for its artistry and themes by many, I stand confused and wonder if I missed something.

While hunting, Llewellyn Moss comes across the aftermath of a drug deal gone wrong in the wastelands of West Texas. Moss finds all but one man dead and makes off with over $2 million in drug money left at the scene. Later that night, he suffers a guilty conscience and takes water back out for the lone survivor to ease his suffering. This decision proves life-altering, as men connected to the botched deal show up to reclaim their money at the same time. Moss escapes but leaves his truck behind. The drug lords use the plates to identify him and hire a vicious hitman to track him and the money down.

The hitman, Anton Chigurh (Javier Bardem), is inventive, super-intelligent and relentless. Using a transponder hidden in the money, Chigurh tracks Moss down and they begin a deadly game of cat-and-mouse spanning both sides of the border. In the midst of all this, aging lawman Ed Tom Bell (Tommy Lee Jones) does what he can to protect Moss and his wife, finding himself always one step behind and picking up the pieces of a new breed of lawlessness he can’t comprehend.

I’ll put a little praise out there first- Javier Bardem is spectacular as Anton Chigurh. He earned his Oscar, no questions asked. The cold indifference toward his victims is chilling enough but Bardem really gets across how smart the man is too. Here is not just a desensitized killing machine; Chigurh ponders philosophy, determinism and chance with his victims. Nothing creeps us out like a bad guy smart enough to be a college professor and yet doesn’t bat an eye while killing someone.

Here’s the trouble- Chigurh is the kind of frightening villain that requires a strong protagonist. Lewellyn Moss is not that person. Even without passing moral judgment on his actions (leaving a man in the desert heat, taking money that isn’t his, and not reporting a crime scene), Moss does not come across as a likeable guy whatsoever. He’s stubborn, defiant and I’m pretty sure he was poaching instead of hunting. Nothing he does early on tells me I should care about this man.

But then Chigurh comes along and all but forces you to care about Moss. Not because he’s in the right or in any way an innocent victim, but because, subconsciously, we know that we shouldn’t pull for the psychotic killer chasing him. It makes for a frustrating experience. When Chigurh comes close to his prey, the intensity ratchets up and you can’t help but find yourself on the edge of your seat. You want to shout at Moss to stop being such an idiot, but you’re still on the edge of your seat.

Speaking of Chigurh catching up to Moss, this is just one example of how much chance and luck fills the story. Moss coming across the carnage of the drug deal is believable. Going back to give a dying man water hours later is a stretch at best (and also did nothing to redeem Moss’s character for me). Obviously, Moss needs to go back or there would be no story, because the drug lords wouldn’t have tracked his plates and Chigurh probably never would have found Moss with his transponder. Said transponder is the lone element of the film that reminds you that the story takes place in the 1980s. Chigurh had to be less than a quarter of a mile away from the cash in order to pick up a signal. He may have been able to track Moss down over time but, frankly, he got lucky to find him at all.

The only likeable major character in the film is the lawman. He spends most of the movie wondering what’s gone wrong with the world that criminals keep getting more violent and using more frightening means to do their dirty work. His musings on crime and violence are interesting but they’re also made a moot point later in the film when another former lawman tells him that all the old-timers say the same thing when a new generation finds ways to break the law. The question is still out there as to whether or not crime will ever stop getting uglier but the answer is that ‘uglier’ is all relative anyway.

While much of the film is an exciting game of cat-and-mouse, the third reel leaves something to be desired. There’s some finality and resolution but that last reel feels anticlimactic in a number of ways to me. I understand that not every story needs to have a clear-cut ending but the film seems to end too suddenly after a very slow stretch of dialogue. It’s one of those endings that make you go ‘huh?’

No Country for Old Men is a very good film about very sketchy people. Maybe Hollywood and the Academy enjoyed embracing their darker side with this film. That could explain why it won Best Picture. Or maybe it just wasn’t a strong year for Oscar nominees. Whatever the reason, I don’t quite see what everyone else saw that made this such an award-worthy film.

RATING: 3.5 out of 5

The Hurt Locker** (2008)

For all the clamoring about James Cameron’s Avatar during 2009, there were always audible whispers about this gritty little war film. Critics loved it and lined up in droves to throw their annual society honors at it. Sure enough, The Hurt Locker became something akin to The Little Engine That Could. While war films are by no means strangers to Oscar glory, this eventual Best Picture winner took a long and winding path to playing David to Avatar’s Goliath.

For Sergeant First Class William James (Jeremy Renner), war is a drug. As frustrating as his duties may be, diffusing improvised explosive devices in post-invasion Iraq is what makes the man tick. James takes over as the team leader of a three-man Army Explosive Ordinance Disposal unit after the previous leader was killed in action. His new partners, Sergeant J.T. Sanborn and Specialist Owen Eldridge get more than they bargained for with James. He knows his stuff and is willing to take on risks that his crew views as reckless and a danger to all of their lives.

The rest of the film is a series of vignettes, each one showing a dangerous assignment or encounter that befalls the EOD squad. As Sanborn and Eldridge get closer to the end of their tour of duty they become increasingly frustrated with James’ wildcard antics and tempers flare. From diffusing a number of frighteningly complicated artillery bombs to being ambushed in the middle of nowhere, there is very little rest for this war-weary trio.

To call this film intense is an understatement. Director Kathryn Bigelow and her team of filmmakers pull out all the stops to present an in-your-face experience. The opening segment presents you with the grim reality of war- there are no guarantees that anyone gets out alive. We take this prologue into our journey with James and his new partners. Never are we given the option of taking comfort that all three will make it to the end of their tours. This leaves you with a constant unsettled feeling that is frustrating to no end but also a terrific achievement.

One critical ingredient to The Hurt Locker’s effectiveness is its lack of a Hollywood star on the EOD team. Jeremy Renner became a big deal after this film but he and his co-stars were relative unknowns in the industry, mostly nabbing supporting roles in modestly successful films. This gives the characters an everyman feel. They look, talk and act like regular people, making it easy for audiences to connect with and care for these men. They’re no angels, but how effective would a film about a squeaky-clean bomb squad really be?

The way the film is shot adds to the anxiety and emotion. Rarely does the camera cut away to a safe distance. Instead we are forced to take in all the fear, anger and confusion in an up close and personal way. Time rarely skips ahead in each vignette and when it does it’s never by much. This prolonged exposure to the realities of war is draining and just might leave you as breathless as the soldiers.

We get only the briefest of glimpses into the struggle for soldiers to reintegrate back into society. In this case, war and the skills learned during combat are drugs that cannot be given up. Some may view this as pro-war propaganda but it’s really just a case of ‘old habits die hard.’ Anyone engaging in a specific line of work for a long time will struggle to adjust to a new setting that is fundamentally different. If anything, this should raise awareness for supporting our troops when they return to the States to move on with their lives. While it is certainly frustrating to watch, I think the filmmakers are subtly making valid points for us to pick up on.

Despite laying a few ideas before us, The Hurt Locker does not take any kind of political stance on war. It’s not pro-war even though characters like James enjoy what they do. It is also not anti-war despite all the carnage and frustration we see. This is a rare thing, especially for a film centered on the Iraq war. Several films about the recent conflict have been released but many faltered in their one-sidedness. The Hurt Locker plays out like a polished documentary. The audience is like an embedded reporter, sticking beside the soldiers through all the trials and tribulations. There are no sides to take, no inferences to make; all we can do is digest what befalls us.

Filming on location in Jordan with hundreds of Iraqi refugees as background extras adds an enormous amount of realism to the film. There are no pre-fab sets or obvious special effects to create scenes of desolation and endless sand. The actors aren’t just acting as if they are struggling with their environment; they are living in it. That’s real sweat, real heat fatigue, and real dehydration on the screen. That kind of authenticity can’t be beat.

There are only a few pieces to the puzzle that didn’t fit right for me. There is one scene where James leads his EOD trio on an unauthorized reconnaissance mission during the night. This sort of bold action does not make sense to me. It emphasizes James’ rogue status but it doesn’t feel like anything a real soldier would do. There also aren’t any emotional revelations in dealing with ‘addiction’ to war. The soldiers play it close to the vest and just deal with getting through their assignments. We see growth and development on a team level but not on an individual level.

Perhaps this is what held me back from throwing The Hurt Locker into the upper echelon of my rating scale. It’s expertly filmed, perfectly cast, and the writing flows with spot-on realism. The heat of battle is largely an emotional vacuum (save for aggression and fear) but it would have been nice to see a little more internal struggle. I have not yet seen all of the 2009 nominees for Best Picture but I have little doubt that any of them can compete with the intensity of this very worthy winner.

RATING: 3.75 out of 5

(This film premiered at the Venice Film Festival in 2008 but did not get distribution in America until 2009, allowing it to compete for the 2009 Oscars)