The Misfits (1961)

“Because we're all dying, aren't we?"

This is a film well known for ominous reasons. It had a troubled production, with John Huston frequently drunk and Marilyn Monroe frequently late or absent through the heavy drinking and prescription drug use that would eventually kill her. And Arthur Miller may be one of the twentieth century’s finest playwrights (A View from the Bridge is sublime), but this script is essentially a love letter to his wife- but during filming his marriage to Monroe was falling apart. Add to this that Clark Gable was past his prime and, while a superb leading man, not necessarily the greatest actor.

And yet the film, while tragic, is extraordinarily good. Miller’s script is literary, subtle and multi-faceted but Huston manages to raise this tale of how feminine compassion takes the tough men of the west into something even more poetic, and the performances of Clark and the troubled Monroe, along with the extraordinary method man Eli Wallach, are elevated into something special. This is a film where the Old West is gone and everybody knows it, but the few surviving cowboys band together to eke a living that way because “anything’s better than wages”- but they know they’re a dwindling band, they have no future and they know it. And Gay (yes, I know, and his son is called Gaylord...), Perce and Guido all have their demons, whether parental estrangement, abandoned ambition or being away from children- Gay’s drunken longing for his kids is a shockingly vulnerable moment.

The three men are all doomed, in a sense, while Roslyn is lonely after her divorce and deeply compassionate but fundamentally melancholy- did Miller write this part for his wife because he saw her like that? The film ends on a note of hope for Roslyn and Gay, as they seem to have a future together- but the future beyond that is full of foreboding for everybody.

The Maltese Falcon (1941)

“You... you imbecile. You bloated idiot. You stupid fat-head, you."

This film may be a remake, and I may have a policy of not seeing remakes before originals, but you have to draw the line somewhere; the original version of this is ancient and obscure, and in any case I’d say both are just different adaptations of the same novel so the argument doesn’t apply.

This film is, I hope you’re not surprised to read, jaw-droppingly good. I’m well-verses with the works of Raymond Chandler, but less so with Dashiell Hammett whom I haven’t read at all. The genre, and Spade himself, feel very much straight out of the splendid novels of Chandler, though; femme fatales; a jaded, cynical, witty but secretly moral hero; people trying to get along in an imperfect and sinful world; hats and/or cigarettes everywhere. And at the centre of it all is the sublime Humphrey Bogart. To my shame, this is the first film of his that I’ve seen. It won’t be the last.  And the entire cast is superb.

The film is brilliantly shot, too, by the young John Huston; there are some particularly brilliant shots. I noticed that when Sam picks up the phone to hear of Archer’s death we first see only the phone, then his hand. Only later do we see Sam’s face.

The plot is complex but clearly told and engaging; the dialogue is amazing; the characters gripping; the conclusion deeply satisfying. This is a movie everyone should see.

Chinatown (1974)

"Middle of a drought and the water commissioner drowns..."

SPOILERS

Best film about utilities and nonces ever. Ironic, seeing as it was directed by a man who urgently needs to get on a plane to the very city that this film is about to face the charge of being a nonce himself. But let's not get distracted by a certain heinous event in 1977 for which the perpetrator has yet to face justice...

Annoyingly, even nonces can direct films which are exquisite works of art. It's a film noir, it's a whodunit, it's an early '70s auteur film in the same vein as Scorsese and Coppola's stuff. The 1930s as a setting is glorious, the whole fictionalised history of the Los Angeles Water Wars manages to completely avoid being, ahem, dry, and Jack Nicholson is the best Philip Marlowe ever as he plays Jake Gittes. Faye Dunaway also impresses as the femme fatale who turns out not to be that at all, and John Huston(!) is suitably evil as the rich old corrupt nonce who causes so much misery.

One thing, though: why does Katherine pretend to be her mum/sis and hire Jake to expose the rather nice Hollis as an adulterer? If it's a hint at getting him to find out about the conspiracy then it's a rather odd one. But the film is a triumph, and reminds us of just how much Los Angeles is a desert city, unnaturally watered. Ironic that the Los Angeles Aqueduct was designed by William Mulholland, and that I would have watched Mulholland Drive tonight if Amazon Prime had been civilised and had subtitles...

The Man Who Would Be King (1975)

"And now the woman's of Er-Heb will cut his bollocks off. Ha ha!"

Let's deal with the elephant in the room first: is this film racist?

First, let's consider that this is an adaptation of a story written in 1888 by Rudyard Kipling, and we can therefore expect a bit of raving imperialism which can't fail to be transferred to any adaptation.

Secondly, let's consider that there are two stupid answers to the question: "yes" and "no". These answers betray the mindset that thinks there are only two types of people in the world- outright Nazis and people "without a racist bone on their bodies". That's what's implied by any question that asks us to rule on whether something is either racist or "not racist" whereas, in fact, 99.99% of us fall between these poles. Personally, I'm a Guardian-reading liberal type who abhors racism, but I wouldn't dream of claiming that I "haven't got a racist none in my body". How could I possibly know that? There could be all sorts of unexamined racist assumptions hidden somewhere in my subconscious. They're unexamined. That's the point.

So let's just briefly note that the original source text, given the author, the subject matter and the setting, can hardly fail to display both racist attitudes and a voyeuristic othering of people from other cultures. Let's also briefly note that, being integral to the plot, these things are inevitably transferred to this film adaptation. Also, 1975 is an age ago in terms of attitudes to race- a film like this would never be made today- and both India and Kafiristan are presented as an exotic "other", not on their own terms. But let us also remember the context. Past attitudes are what they are. This film was less racist in the context of 1975 than it would be if made today.

So let's talk about things that are more interesting. Such a show unusual it is for John Ford to direct a film like this, how amazing the location filming looks, or how Sean Connery's Scottish accent jars somewhat with dialogue clearly written with a voice from south of the border in mind.

Also interesting is that Kafiristan was a real place, called this by its Muslim neighbours as it was the only pagan part of Afghanistan, and thus mysterious and unique, at the time Kipling wrote his original story. Sadly, though, it was converted en masse during the 1890s and is now called Nuristan. Isn't the onward march of conformity a depressing thing?

But what of the film? Well, it's superb: gripping, great to look at and full of incident and deeply charismatic performances, not least from its stars Sean Connery and Michael Caine but also from Saeed Jaffrey, whose superb comic timing helps to partly hide the vaguely racist undertones of the character he's playing.

The emphasis on freemasonry is... odd, and doesn't give us an entirely sympathetic portrayal of Kipling. Interesting. But this is ultimately a classic tragedy, where Danny is brought down utterly by his hubris and Peachy brought down low by his own relative hubris. As a tale, and as a film, it is superb.