Movie-watching in Pandemia, Part 1: Catching up on classics

Happy new year! Has it really been almost a year since my last post? In some ways it feels longer, and in others it’s hard to believe so much time has passed - one of the more insidious side effects of the COVID-19 pandemic.

Throughout 2020, my love of movies both helped and frustrated me. Helped in that there were always plenty of movies to watch at home that could take my mind off the grim reality of living in the United States of Pandemia. Frustrated in that until 2020, going to the movies (in theaters) was one of my primary activities and my preferred way of seeing them, but because of the pandemic I haven’t been to a theater since last March. (I recognize I’m in an extremely privileged position to complain about this, especially since it doesn’t directly affect my health or livelihood.)

However, one of the few silver linings to being cut off from theaters is that it’s left me a lot more time to watch movies at home—something I was very bad about doing before. In particular, it’s allowed me to make a small dent in the long list of older films I’ve been meaning to see for years, if not decades. What I opted to watch from this list, and when, was fairly random, driven largely by what was available through my streaming services and what came up next in my Netflix DVD queue. (Yes, the Netflix DVD program still exists, and their catalog still beats all the streaming services combined when it comes to the classics.) There were no patterns of note, though I did end up seeing quite a few seminal ’80s movies – movies that someone of my generation would really be expected to have seen but I had not – and, randomly, a good number of movies featuring Cary Grant and Keanu Reeves (not together, obviously).

Here is the full list of non-2020 movies I watched in 2020 – generally in order of the movies’ original release dates, not the order I watched them – and some quick thoughts on each one.

Bringing Up Baby (1938)

Lively and cleverly constructed, and Cary Grant is undeniably adorable, but boy, is Katherine Hepburn’s character annoying. (For whatever reason, Hepburn’s always left me a bit cold – I think I like the idea of her better than the reality.) Best in show: definitely Nissa, the scene-stealing trained leopard who plays both the good, tame “Baby” and her snarling, lethal doppelganger equally convincingly. Available on HBO Max.

His Girl Friday (1940)

Maybe screwball comedy just isn’t my thing? (Admittedly, the only other one I’d seen before this and Bringing Up Baby was It Happened One Night, which didn’t leave much of an impact when I saw it many years ago – but aren’t those three supposed to be the crown jewels of the genre?) This one left me frankly exhausted, and it didn’t help that Cary Grant’s character, for all Cary Grant’s charm, is kind of a manipulative dick. I did like Rosalind Russell as the titular girl Friday, though. Available on Amazon Prime Video.

Stray Dog (1949)

One of Kurosawa’s early collaborations with Toshiro Mifune, worth watching for its fascinating sketch of post-WWII Japan and an uncharacteristically understated performance by a very young Mifune. More thoughts here. Available on the Criterion Channel.

Tokyo Story (1953)

First and to date only Ozu film I’ve seen, though also his most acclaimed. And for good reason – it’s a quiet but subtly poignant character study of an older Japanese couple who pay a disappointing visit to their now-grown children in Tokyo and find themselves bonding most with their widowed daughter-in-law, who understands what it’s like to be lonely and marginalized. I’d say the film is very Japanese, which it is, but did you know it was based on a now mostly-obscure but even sadder American film called Make Way for Tomorrow? Tokyo Story evokes a softer sorrow, but one that lingers like a lovely, melancholy chord. Available on HBO Max.

All That Heaven Allows (1955)

Until this year, I’d never seen any Douglas Sirk films despite being a huge fan of Todd Haynes’ Far From Heaven—which, along with Carol, do a beautiful job tapping into the racial and queer tensions lurking beneath Sirk’s glossy ’50s surfaces. It was fascinating to watch the original template (well, one of them—Sirk’s Imitation of Life, which I still need to see, also partly inspired Far From Heaven) and appreciate the depth of Haynes’ homage. Jane Wyman delivers a nicely understated performance as the widowed protagonist, while Rock Hudson is at his dreamiest as the soulful younger man she strikes sparks with— although it was impossible for me to watch him and not imagine his character secretly banging his good-looking male friend on the side. I imagine Todd Haynes felt the same.

Parts 2 and 3 of the Apu Trilogy: Aparajito (The Unvanquished) (1956) and Apur Sansar (World of Apu) (1959)

A long time ago I saw Pathar Panchali, the first installment of Satyajit Ray’s classic Apu trilogy, with my parents, who impressed on me that these were some of the greatest films ever made. Alas, I found the first film depressing and opted not to watch the rest. Well, better late than never—and perhaps better later, now that I’m old enough to appreciate the poetic B&W cinematography and deep emotional currents underlying the coming-of-age of a bright but poor Bengali boy. To me the trilogy is fundamentally a tale of love (of all kinds—parental, familial, romantic), its betrayal and abandonment, and, ultimately, redemption. Both Aparajito and Apur Sansar left me in tears (the good kind), although Aparajito struck deepest with Karuna Banerjee’s sublime and heartbreaking performance as Apu’s mother. (Between this film, Tokyo Story, and All That Heaven Allows, which all involve ungrateful children treating their parents like crap, I spent a fair portion of this year wallowing in filial guilt.) Available on the Criterion Channel.

Charade (1963)

Not sure how I’d never seen Charade before, given how many Audrey Hepburn films I watched growing up with my parents. Aptly described as “the best Hitchcock movie Hitchcock never made,” it’s quite delightful, despite the number of questions it left me regarding Hepburn’s character’s marriage and the odd strategic choices of Cary Grant’s and Walter Matthau’s characters. (Side note: I guess this was my year to catch up on Cary Grant classics, even though that wasn’t my conscious intention.) Plus it gave us this scene. Available on Amazon Prime Video.

Close Encounters of the Third Kind (1977)

Gotta admit this was a bit of a letdown for me—not sure why, as I’m a big Spielberg fan and this was right in what I call his “wonder wheelhouse.” But its most iconic moments are still killer, like the scene where the aliens infiltrate Melinda Dillon’s house and abduct her kid, the recurring image of the mountain, and the final meet-and-greet scene. I think I might have had a more visceral response to the overall film if I’d seen it in a theater.

Days of Heaven (1978)

Spellbindingly gorgeous, as Malick’s films always are, with visuals that reminded me at times of Andrew Wyeth and at others of Edward Hopper. The setting dwarfs the human characters and the (soap) operatic drama of their love triangle, but that doesn’t detract from – and in some ways adds to – the film’s power. Here’s another one I wish I could have seen on a big screen, but it still works on a small one. Bonus: Always good to be reminded that before he was a silver fox, Richard Gere was once a young hottie, as was Sam Shepard.

She’s Gotta Have It (1986)

Spike Lee’s debut film, about an independent young woman who can’t/won’t choose between three lovers, is charming, in some ways progressive but in some ways problematic, like so much of Lee’s treatment of female characters in his movies. Still, its pros outweigh its cons, and it’s an engaging love letter to New York (Brooklyn in particular) – the first of many. Available on Netflix.

Blue Velvet (1986)

Weird and unsettling, which is de rigueur for David Lynch, but unexpectedly coherent compared to some of his subsequent work. (I still prefer the twistiness of Mulholland Drive, though.) Dennis Hopper makes a memorably menacing villain and cuts probably the most vivid figure in the movie, while Kyle Maclachlan and Laura Dern are strangely touching (and so young!) as the innocents. Isabella Rossellini is haunting in a role that could have been (and has been criticized as) exploitative, but I don’t think it is. Watching this also reminded me that I really need to get around to seeing Twin Peaks at some point. Available on Hulu.

RoboCop (1987)

I’d heard this movie was disturbingly violent, which it is (especially the extended director’s cut), though in retrospect I don’t think it could have disturbed me any more than its cinematic cousin, the first Terminator, did. I also didn’t realize what a hoot it would be (I’m still laughing at “Nukem – get them before they get you!”), but what else would you expect from that sly mofo Paul Verhoeven? More thoughts here. Available on Amazon Prime Video.

Broadcast News (1987)

They don’t make ’em like this anymore. A romantic comedy with well-drawn, believable characters? That also manages to be an astute satire of news media and its inevitable decline & absorption into the business of infotainment? Holly Hunter, Albert Brooks, and William Hurt do excellent work as the three equally sympathetic and flawed legs of the film’s romantic triangle, with Hurt doing the heaviest lifting as the guy the audience, like Hunter’s character, can’t help being drawn to even though he embodies everything we’re supposed to resist and resent. (Albert Brooks gets the best lines, though.)

Coming to America (1988)

I think I may be the only ’80s/’90s kid who never saw this growing up. (I’ve also never seen any of the Beverly Hills Cop movies.) Seeing it for the first time in 2020 – just in time for the sequel, apparently – was a bit surreal. The parts in Africa made me think about Afrofuturism and Black Panther. The parts in New York, on the other hand, scream “’80s! ’80s! ’80s!” to the rafters. However, the core story is surprisingly sweet, as is Eddie Murphy’s performance as the ever-positive, ever-romantic Prince Akeem. Available on HBO Max.

Die Hard (1988)

Now I know what all those Christmas Die Hard memes mean. Ho ho ho. I didn’t realize that in addition to being Alan Rickman’s first movie, this was also Bruce Willis’ first action movie—talk about auspicious debuts! Overall, the movie holds up. Stylistically, especially in the action sequences, it reminded me a bit of Speed, and no wonder, given that Jan de Bont was the DP. Available on HBO Max.

Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure (1989)
Bill & Ted’s Bogus Journey (1991)

Another trip back in time for this late Gen Xer, prompted by the release of the third Bill & Ted movie. Seen back to back, the first two perfectly embody the cultural shift from the ’80s to the ’90s.

Goodfellas (1990)

Ok, I see what the fuss is about. Brilliantly directed and brilliantly shot, Scorsese’s most iconic Mob movie crackles with subversive energy. It’s also interesting to see this one after having seen The Wolf of Wall Street and The Irishman and observe how Scorsese’s approach to similar themes has evolved. However, as with WWS and frankly most of Scorsese’s films, I feel like it slightly outstays its welcome. Yes, we get the addictive pull of the criminal lifestyle, and the compounding complications, but at a certain point I just get tired of watching assholes be assholes.

My Own Private Idaho (1991)

A strange, dreamlike Gus Van Sant concoction, more of a mood piece or meditation than a drama, although it’s ostensibly a contemporary riff on Shakespeare’s Henry IV mashed up with an intimate look at the drifting, rootless lives of male street-hustlers. The two parts don’t always jell, but what does hold the film together is River Phoenix’s intense yet delicate performance as the hustler with unrequited feelings for Keanu Reeves’ Prince Hal character. (Reeves is fine, good even, but Phoenix easily upstages him.)

Boogie Nights (1997)

It’s hard to believe Paul Thomas Anderson was only in his 20s when he wrote and directed this sprawling yet impressively assured tale of the rise and fall of a particular corner of the porn industry and one particularly well-endowed star (Mark Wahlberg, in the role that would establish his credibility as an actor). Boogie Nights is a great period piece (of the 1970s and early ’80s) and an engaging family saga – the “family” being the collection of misfits working for or with Burt Reynolds’ porn director. Anderson depicts them all with warmth, gentle humor, and compassion; it helps that he assembled a crackerjack cast including, besides Wahlberg and Reynolds, Julianne Moore, John C. Reilly, Don Cheadle, William H. Macy, and Phillip Seymour Hoffman. As a narrative, the film’s a bit loose and shambling, and could probably have stood some harder editing, but by the end you feel like you really know and care about these characters and what happens to them. Available on Hulu.

Part 2 to come: Favorite movies I watched in 2020 that were actually released (on streaming) in 2020