When I saw Hercules (1983), which starred Lou Ferrigno as the Hellenic Beefcake, I remember suggesting to a friend who saw the movie with me.  I imagined what the screenwriters meeting must have been like — set in a bar in Rome, a bunch of Italian guys, drinking wine, and trying to recollect what they remembered of the Hercules story.  As they had been drinking, the memories were hazy at best, and often jumbled.  And so we got a movie in which Hercules’ chief foe is Daedalus (they share nothing in mythology), who serves the forces of science and chaos (I know — huh?), and who was imagined as a woman (the -us ending in Latin, and the -os ending in Greek is a sign that the person in question is a guy;  though Daedalus in this movie was hot, I’m not sure you can justify gender bending like that).  That movie, as bad as it was, and it was pretty awful, was often unintentionally funny.  There was a lot of laughter in the theatre, as people looked on in shocked astonishment at what they saw.

Well, if Hercules was written by a bunch of drunken Italians in a bar, the writing staff for Immortals has to have been on crack.  Jumbled as the storyline was in Hercules, it did bear some resemblance to the Greek myth on which it was based. Here the only thing that looked like it was based on the Theseus story was the battle with the Minotaur, especially as that was viewed in commemorative art at the end of the film, where the bas-relief pieces showing Theseus and the Minotaur were modeled on actual art showing that scene. 

Here’s what we know of Theseus in the Greek myths:  he was a minor hero until 5th c. Athens, which was fast becoming the great city of Greece, realized they had little mythological background.  And so, in 475 BCE, the Athenian general, Cimon, dug up the skeleton of a very large man (about 7 feet tall) on an island allied to Athens.  Claiming that he had found the remains of the hero, Theseus, he brought the remains back to Athens, and during the burst of artistic activity in Athens of the 5th c., a lot of stories were developed about Theseus, how he was born to an unwed mother in the Peloponnese, and set out for Athens in the north to find his father, armed with a sword his father had buried.  On the way he encountered 6 monsters or wild animals whom he had to defeat, making the roadways from Athens safe for travelers (if this sounds like the Labors of Hercules, it should — these stories were developed to make Theseus into Hercules Jr.  — one of the labors even involved Theseus defeating a monstrous opponent who wielded a great bronze club — Theseus, then, had a club, just like Hercules).  Once he got to Athens, he was almost poisoned by his evil stepmother, Medea, who knew who he was and didn’t want any challengers to the throne she saw as belonging to her sons with Aegeus.  At the last minute, Theseus was saved when Aegeus recognized the sword and dashed his son’s cup to the ground.  Theseus then went to deal with the Minotaur problem.  Athens was a client state of King Minos of Crete and was obliged to send 14 hostages every few years to Minos.  These hostages, 7 young men and young women, were sent as human sacrifices to the monstrous Minotaur.  Theseus, managing to get one of the spots in the next group, got to Crete where the king’s daughter, Ariadne, who fell in love with Theseus, helped him defeat the Minotaur. 

There were no other big adventures for Theseus — unless you include the ill-fated trip to the Underworld he took with his friend Pirithous — they had gone to kidnap Persephone, the queen of the Underworld, to be Pirithous’ bride, and his accompanying Hercules to fight the Amazons.  For the Athenians of the 5th c., he was considered to be the ideal ruler.  He was just and rational and ruled the Athenians well.  There were some problems in his personal life, and he did die in exile.  Homer, who in his Iliad and Odyssey mentions many of the heroes of the generation prior to the Trojan War, never mentions Theseus, though he does mention Pirithous, which supports the idea that in Homer’s day, Athens was no great town, and it had no great mythology — that all came later.

Well, this movie seems to have spent no time in actually researching the myths about Theseus.  There was some understanding that he fought a creature called the Minotaur, and that that fight took place in a place called the Labyrinth, but there was no care taken to learn the details of that battle and place.  Here, Theseus is a poor man (but with an excellent physique and teeth — not typical of the poor of the ancient world), the son of an unmarried woman, who is also a priestess of some sort at the local temple (called the Labyrinth).  They live in a town called Kolpos, which is cut out of a rock cliff, rather like some of the Native American towns in the American Southwest.  There is no indication of vegetation of any sort  — so where does the food come from?  The entire landscape of the film, aside from the brief shots of Mt. Olympus, look like the landscape of the moon (if the moon had seas) — it’s all barren, flat, plateaus, with cities either carved in the side of the hills, or at the foot of mountains.  I often tell my class, in discussing Greek and Roman outlooks on life, that location matters.  Italy is like Southern California, lush and bountiful, and the Romans are generally optimistic, where Greece is more like Utah, or some other rather barren location, and so the Greeks emphasize their toughness, and the precariousness of human existence.  But the setting of this film makes Utah look like California — no one could live in the places set out in this film. 

And what’s with the whole skepticism of the gods?  Just like Clash of the Titans that came out a few years ago, the main male characters are all skeptical of the existence of gods.  One of the characters, a thief, Stavros, explains his disbelief in the gods as stemming from his youth.  He prayed for a pony but didn’t get one.  Finally, he figured only by stealing one would he get one, and so he did steal a horse, and set out on his life of thievery.  Later, when he actually sees some gods, Stavros finally comes to believe, even concluding that the horses the gods give him and Theseus are the answer to his childhood prayer.  Theseus too is skeptical of the gods — noting that his mother was a faithful woman, but was still killed, he figures the gods do not exist, or, if they do, they do nothing and are useless. 

And, it is with good reason that these Greeks might be skeptical.  Zeus, at one point, lays out his terms to the gods — none of the gods are to get involved in human affairs.  When asked about human belief in the gods by Athena, Zeus responds that the reason for his policy is that he wants to have faith in humans to solve their own troubles.  I like the sentiment, but it still seemed not well thought out. 

Instead of the usual story about Theseus, this film involves Theseus having to take arms against the murderous King Hyperion, who wants a magical bow with which he can conquer the world (mad-scientist laugh optional).  Of course, Theseus finds the bow, but almost immediately loses it so that Hyperion gets it.  Rule No. 1 for heroes — keep track of your stuff!  And Hyperion uses the bow to release the Titans who are all imprisoned in a cube in Mt. Tartarus (I know Tartarus isn’t a mountain, nor is anyone imprisoned in a cube in Greek myth), which brings the gods finally to get involved.  And the battle scenes with the gods are pretty stunning visually — but still rather conventional.  I thought for a moment I was looking at the video game Mortal Kombat and was expecting the words “Finish Him!” to appear on the screen when one of the gods was about to be killed by the Titans (yes the gods can die here — what’s the whole “immortal” thing, if the gods are going to die?).  This final battle scene began in a human settlement at the foot of the mountain that looked like Helms Deep in The Two Towers — I was wondering if Peter Jackson has sicked his attorneys on the makers of this turkey…

Roger Ebert in his review of this film for the Chicago Sun-Times said that this was the best looking really bad film he’d seen.  I can second that — lots of time and effort went into CGI, matte painting and set design.  That time could have gone into the script, or into getting the actors to be able to deliver lines in such a way that we care about them.  Unfortunately, the makers of this film figured that all the eye candy would be enough to distract us from the lack of plot and dialog.  More unfortunately, they were wrong.

One last point — I know it’s petty of me to make this comment, but I can’t help it — thanks to the good Sisters at St. Peter’s School, in Dorchester, MA.  The film opens with some women dressed in red gowns.  They are virgin priestesses who have prophetic powers.  They live in a building called the Sibelline Monastery.  First — there were no monasteries in Greece or Italy until Christianity took hold;  second, the monastery looks like a medieval monastery might look;  third, the prophetess known as the Sibyl (“y” not “e”) is mainly associated with Italy and not Greece, and so you have a group of women living in a religious community (not in the ancient Greek world), in a monastery that looks like a medieval construction, and with their very name misspelled.  And that’s how the movie began.  When I saw that at the start of the film, I mouthed “Oh, my God” to myself, and knew I was in for some tough times, tough times which were not alleviated by laughter as in Lou Ferrigno’s Hercules.  I’m not a praying man, but if I were, I’d pray most fervently, “No sequel, please!”

Hanna is a young teen-ager who has been raised in the wilds of Finland by her father in isolation because the CIA is after them.  Her father had been trying to get away with Hanna’s mom when she was killed.  He escaped with Hanna and raised her in isolation to take care of herself under all circumstances.  Determined to rejoin human society, Hanna turns on the beacon which will alert the CIA to their presence in Finland.  She and her father split up and agree to meet in Berlin.  Captured, Hanna finds out that she has been genetically manipulated to have heightened senses, but reduced emotional reaction, so that she could become something of a super-soldier, one of many to come. 

The film is great to watch, but you really can’t start to think of it logically.  Why does Erik have the tracer that can be turned on?  He doesn’t want to return to civilization, so why keep the box?  And we don’t know what happens to the family that befriends Hanna — are they killed?  We don’t know.  And is there more to her genetic makeup?  There is a sense that her genetic mutation will take its toll on her — but we don’t know whether that is the case or not.  She pretty much Googles her genetic question — and I don’t know how much information that Wikipedia has about secret CIA genetic experiments — maybe we’ll find out if there are more Wikileaks. 

Performances by everyone are quite good, and the editing is quite good.  The music, which has a minimal techno-pop quality is also quite engaging.

This is the 2nd of only 3 Nick Carter films made with Walter Pidgeon as the detective.  I’m not sure why Walter Pidgeon, a British actor, was chosen to play a rough and ready American detective, but he is quite enjoyable to watch.  Carter is a strange detective in that he doesn’t seem to want to work, but simply to take it easy.  In this film, he has to be cajoled into taking the case by his follower, Bartholomew, perhaps the strangest detective side-kick in film history.  A man who raises bees for a living, Bartholomew always has a few on him (in his pocket) which he can use as a means to freaking out the criminal opposition, who are ready for guns, but  not bees.  In this film, Nick is on vacation and doesn’t want to be bothered, but eventually allows himself to be pulled in to stop a scheme where ships are destroyed to collect on the insurance.  It’s a good thing Bartholomew is on the job or Nick might not make it to the third and final film. 

Great drama this is not, but it is a pleasant way to spend a little more than an hour.

A rather uneven film overall.  Marilyn Monroe plays a woman with a history of mental illness who is now working (or starting to work) as a hotel babysitter — apparently in the 1950s there were no background checks at all.  She catches the eye of pilot, Jed Towers (Widmark), a pilot who has just been dumped by  his girl, the lounge singer played by Anne Bancroft.  As things start to go wrong in her babysitting assignment (she is attracted to pretty things such as the couple whose kid she’s watching have), she begins to break down.  Dumb luck and some attention on the part of the pilot save the day by the end, and even save Nell from committing suicide.  It is nice to see Monroe acting, rather than just being used as eye candy.  I know, in those eye candy films she was acting too, and had a nice comedic flair, but this was before she became typecast in such roles.  It was also at the beginning of her career as a star — this was the 2nd film where her name was before the title.  Widmark plays a less creepy version of the guy he always plays.  It is interesting to see Anne Bancroft in her first role.  But the premise of the film depends too  much on chance, and the sudden shift of Widmark’s character from unfeeling cad (that’s the reason for Bancroft dumping him) to a guy who feels sorry for crazy Marilyn (and then gets Bancroft back) — I just don’t buy it.

That story struck a nerve with me, especially as a person at All Souls.  I joined the church here on All Souls Day the year I moved to town.  I took it as a good sign that I signed the book on All Souls Day (November 2) which had special connections for me as a student at St. Peter’s School (Catholic) in Dorchester, MA.  In Catholic circles, Nov. 1 is All Saints Day, a day in which all of the saints (and we are all potentially saints) are celebrated.  The church calendar does not allow for all saints to have a feast day that makes it into the missals, or the church calendars.  And so, on All Saints’ we celebrate all those saints who are not as familiar as the big names.  Of course, All Saints’ Day on Nov. 1 was originally meant to counter the pagan festival of Samhain (aka Hallowe’en), just as May 1 (May Day) became the Feast of St. Joseph the Worker (i.e. Catholic workers v. Communist workers).  And in Catholic schools, at least when I grew up, we got All Saints Day off  — it was a Holy Day of Obligation and we were freed from school but had to attend Mass.  The day we came back was All Souls Day (Nov. 2), and I remember one of the nuns — I think it was Sr. Paschal (6th grade) who discussed this day with us.  On All Souls Day we were to pray for the souls of those who had died, but who may still be in Purgatory.  There was no praying for people who went to Hell, as that sentence was irrevocable.  And I thought it ironic that we got a day off in celebration of those who had made it to heaven, but the feast of those “left behind” in some way got second billing and went largely unnoticed because we were in school and focused on our studies, which most often were in matters of this world, and not matters celestial.  I was a strange kid — my favorite sacrament was not Communion, but Confession — I was big on atonement and making up!  I was sad when Extreme Unction (the blessing of someone on the point of death) had its name changed so it seemed less extreme.  And so, I thought a lot about those poor souls who didn’t have people on their side (other than their loved ones, and I imagined there were many who had few loved ones to have their back) much more than I thought about the saints who made it.  And so, the Buddhist’s response to “You’re going to Hell” rang true for me, and reminded me of All Souls Day and All Souls Church.

And the point about remembering the forgotten seems especially appropriate in a denomination, one strand of which believed and preached Universal Salvation (everyone’s going to Heaven, eventually — there is no Hell, as a loving God could do no such thing) and the other continues to question categories and categorization.  The name All Souls suggests that we are open to all, and I hope that is true.  Being open to all is not easy.  I’ve spent my life working with the general public, and that means I often have to work with people who try my patience a lot.  When I’m at my best, and sometimes I’m there, I get past my “Oh, no, please don’t come over here and ask me a question!” to realize that it is probably pretty tough for this person to have to come and ask a question.  And sometimes I have to deal with people who have some compulsion where they need to ask the same questions over and over.  So every day we’ll get the same questions.  This sometimes frustrates my co-workers, and sometimes frustrates me, but I think that how tough it must be for that person who has such a compulsion.  Again, when I’m at my best (and I am not always so) it feels good to go through the same old dance, yet again with such people. 

So, in honor of Rev. Brooks, the story she told, and the importance All Souls has had for me, I hope that we, at All Souls, can go through the dance yet again with our partners, stay open to the stories we each have to tell, and make this place as All Soulsy as it can be.  For us, perhaps, All Saints makes no sense (well, it still does for me), but being one with the world, and in the world, one with the myriad souls here and now — perhaps that is “paradise enow.”

This is a B film, but fun to watch.  It reunites Jim Bannon and George Macready who appeared together in the first I Love a Mystery film.  Bannon, here playing a reporter, does a good job as an investigator, while Macready does a good job of playing someone so tightly wound you know he’s going to snap.  The premise here is that Macready plays a man who was wrongly convicted of killing his sweetie, and who gets a reprieve at the last minute from his own execution, but never fully recovers, finally committing suicide.  The jury feels sick about the verdict that drove Macready to the nuthouse, and they are now dying one by one.  Bannon proceeds to investigate and his budding romance with Alice Hill, who had been on that jury, spurs him to even greater efforts.  Of course, his investigation is hampered by the fact that he and some of the other figures are idiots, which gives the killer a chance to take action.  Still, it’s enjoyable.

***SPOILER ALERT ***

I have to say, I liked the look of this film, but it’s a plot so convoluted I’m not sure it could ever come off.  The film starts on the wedding day of Ellen Ewing to David McLean, but someone does something they never do (except in movies) == he speaks up rather than holding his peace.  He claims that Ellen is already married to some ne’er-do-well jazz musician (I know, aren’t they all).  She denies it, but all the evidence (the signed register in the county courthouse, various items of Ellen’s that show up in the possession of people to whom she, as a happy bride, happened to give them).  When the jazz musician winds up dead from gunshot, and the gun at the foot of Ellen, she must stand trial for murder.  She is badgered by the District Attorney, Eric Lowell, who had been a beau of hers — he seems motivated by a desire to show that he can beat up his former sweetie, thereby showing that he has no special interest in the case (even so — it is clear that he should disqualify himself from the prosecution).  Breaking down on the stand, her attorney changes her plea from not guilty to not guilty due to insanity, a plea the judge is happy to take.  This means she’s on her way to the nuthouse, and nuthouses are never good in films — they are all a variation of the Snake Pit — a place where madness is only worsened, and never cured.  While she is there, David seeks to find the truth to spring her, but he finds some information perhaps too late.

So much of this film seems to depend on every thing going through without a hitch, but there are so many variables, it is only good fortune (not great planning) that things go the way they do (both for and against Ellen).  As the whole plot depends on everything coming off without a hitch, and for some of it coming off without the authorities noticing, it fails to convince. 

And there are lots of films like this, most famously Gaslight — so there isn’t really a strong reason to see Claudette Colbert and Robert Ryan walk down the same path as Ingrid Bergman and Joseph Cotten.  And Claudette is too old as a bride.  It’s nice to see Ryan play someone who isn’t mean or crazy.

This is the sequel to the hugely popular Topper (1937).  This film, which starts soon after the first one ended, has Topper in a divorce trial, in which he tries to explain that he was haunted by the ghosts of the Kirbies, and that is the reason for his peculiar behavior.  Of course, explaining about ghosts makes him seem only crazier, though the judge does not accept the grounds for divorce.  As a result, Ms. Topper heads to Europe with a friend with the idea of getting a divorce there (how does that work, I wonder?) — can you get a divorce in Europe that would be recognized here?  Of course, these days, there’d be no trouble getting one here.  At any rate, this is all an excuse for Topper to get in more trouble, this time on the French Riviera, where Ms. Topper’s friend is trying to get a gigolo to take up with her to furnish grounds for divorce.  On this trip goes Marion Kirby, played again by Constance Bennett.  Cary Grant, who played George Kirby, did not reprise the role, so we have a strange premise — that somehow the Topper divorce case is an indication that Marion failed in her good deed, and so she has to make the matter right before she can ascend to heaven and rejoin George, who was apparently successful.  Another thing that is strange about this film is that when Topper tells his story in court, we have a recap from the other film (one which carried an acknowledgement of Cary Grant’s willingness to let the footage be used in this film). 

I have to say I find Roland Young a bit hard to take in this role — he makes Billie Burke seem subtle in her performance.

Martin Blair was a successful songwriter whose wife (his muse) has left him.  When the film begins, he hopes to see her, though they have been separated for quite some time.  She jilts him again, and he goes on a drunken tear.  And then she ends up dead.  His chief rival is a man, Kirk Bennett, who comes to see her, and finds her dead.  He hears someone else moving about in the apartment but does not see him, and finds himself charged with murder.  Bennett’s wife convinces Blair, who had seen another man entering the apartment building as he left, to help her clear her husband.  Blair falls in love with Catherine, but the man he thought had killed his wife proves to have an alibi.  Just before Bennett is to be executed, Blair discovers the truth — will he be able to convince the authorities in time?

This film noir is well made, but I couldn’t get past Dan Duryea, who looks like an adult Henry Aldrich, or like a fair-haired Shemp — I couldn’t see why any woman would be interested in him, and found that I didn’t care much what happened to him.  Julie Vincent is more interesting as Catherine, but there is something about her performance that seems even cooler than Veronica Lake — talk about a riddle wrapped up in an enigma.  The final segments of the film are quite interesting, but I couldn’t help feeling that we were making time before that. 

And who is the B lack Angel?  Is it Blair’s wife?  Is it Bennett?  Just don’t know.

After WWII, the devastated country of Italy gave birth to a new film movement, Neorealism.  This was out of necessity.  There were no sets to be had, and little film to be had, and professional actors not as readily available.  So directors like da Sica and Fellini made films about the Italian countryside, often featuring regular folks playing regular folks.  These films are often shot in real locations because of the lack of sets and designers.  These films were a breath of fresh air, and sparked many directors in the US to do films in a naturalistic way.  Henry Hathaway was part of this movement in the US, and this film, based on a real case that happened in Chicago (the crime in the 30s, and the newspaper investigation in the 40s), is shot in Chicago, using real locations, and often using real policeman, real prison guards, and real Chicagoans as extras and small part players. 

The story is not 100% accurate — the Chicago Times editor who oversaw the investigation was a woman (not Lee J. Cobb), and Jimmy Stewart’s character is a composite figure, combining the idealistic reporter and the world weary copywriter.  The names of the main figures also have been changed.  And the film has to follow some of the conventions of film noir (figures coming out of shadows), and of the newspaper films of the 30s — wisecracking reporter and world-weary, cigar-chomping editor.  Still, this is an attempt to make a film that has a newsreel feel to it, not easily done in the days before hand-held cameras.

One thing in the film that blew me away — Leonarde Keeler, one of the guys who invented the polygraph, appears as himself administering and explaining the polygraph.