Lolita (1962)

Starring: James Mason, Shelly Winters, Sue Lyon, Peter Sellers, Garry Cockrell.

Director: Stanley Kubrick.

There are few movies that are capable of making me truly uncomfortable, and "Lolita" is without a doubt one of those films.  For anyone not familiar with the plot: Humbert Humbert (played here by James Mason, who is admittedly excellent while being very repellent) is seeking a room for rent.  He comes across the home of Charlotte Haze, who is immediately interested in him.  He is irritated and disinterested with Charlotte...until he sees her Teenage Daughter Lolita sunning in the back yard...and immediately moves in, marries Charlotte, and ultimately engages in a sexual relationship with Lolita until she eventually leaves him.  It's creepy.

Beyond the unpleasant nature of the story, Kubrick's film is rather well done for the most part, even thought it's structured a little uneven and kind of drags for large portions of narrative.  The first act is undoubtedly the strongest, while the whole affair is primarily rooted in fantasy and voyeurism: the way the scenes are staged and cut accentuates the tension and is very creepy without getting too gross.  After that, things kind of unravel.

The film's greatest strength is the energetic performance by Shelly Winters as Charlotte, who gives such a manic, desperate performance that is manages to venture into territories of sadness, comedy and even a little scary.  Every scene she has with Mason is a work of art, especially their post-wedding sequence, where she bounces from emotion to emotion with such frenzy that it's startling.  The character is easily the only truly sympathetic one in the entire thing, too, which helps considerably but also harms the film as a whole: once she's gone, so does our attention span.

Speaking of Mason: he's fantastic in this.  Truly.  But the character of Humbert is so utterly loathsome at every turn that it's easy to look past his performance choices, which are truly glorious.  Sue Lyon is a difficult nut to crack, though: she's very good for the most part, presenting Lolita with a sense of childishness, with some levels of sensuality, but she never really quite finds the right balance and feels far too passive in events, especially for a Kubrick film.  

Rounding out the cast is an obnoxious Peter Sellers, whose zany shtick always start interesting and amusing but quickly starts to grate on the nerves.  A little pulling back on his part would have gone a long way, since he's best when he's quietly observing events throughout the fringes of the film.

Much like "Spartacus" and "The Killing," "Lolita" is a movie of moments.  Certain scenes, like when Charlotte is teaching Humbert how to dance, or early on when Humbert is confronting Sellers (featuring one of the most beautifully handled murders I've seen on film-that bit with the painting is gorgeous), are showcases of how good Kubrick is in staging and presenting a scene.  Unfortunately, he can't work the same magic in most of the scenes between Lolita and Humbert, which is problematic because it makes up seventy-five percent of the film.

Final Thoughts: It's a difficult watch, but sporadically brilliant and beautiful.  Other times, it repells, annoys, and even occasionally bores.

Final rating: Three Stars.

Spartacus (1960)

Starring: Kirk Douglas, Laurence Olivier, Jean Simmons, Charles Laughton, Peter Ustinov, John Gavin, Nina Foch.

Director: Stanley Kubrick.

I really don't know how I feel about "Spartacus."  I mean, it's obviously a great film, I'm just not sure how much I really liked it, really....it's odd.  At over three hours, it does tend to challenge the attention span, even though it is an visually rich and emotionally charged as any great epic can be.  In the end, I feel like there was undeniably great moments in the middle of a somewhat tedious but beautiful overall narrative.  In some ways, the scope of the story made this an inevitable outcome, however, so it's hard to judge the film for that weakness...or any weakness, for that matter.  No matter what weird moments rubbed me the wrong way, I couldn't really fault it: it's just such an aggressively large epic in all respects.  

Despite its running time and undeniably massive scope, "Spartacus" again runs on a sense of simplicity that is drawn out in complicated ways.  Like most of Kubrick's work, it tends to be a contradiction. Like "Paths of Glory," there isn't any debate on moral highground: we know slavery is bad, the status-quo allows for slavery, ergo the status-quo is bad.  Spartacus himself is not morally ambiguous: we're on his side.  We know he's the hero.  Yet, despite being a simple good vs evil story, it's highly complex, mostly due to the machinations of the Roman senate, and the power struggles that occur within (these power struggle scenes are kind of the hardest to sit still for: they're very well staged and acted, it just gets...long).

Again, the story is simple: Spartacus is a slave.  He gets sold into being a Gladiator.  He meets a girl.  The girl is taken away, Spartacus begins a revolt, forms an army, and picks a fight with the dickish Crassus, who seeks to rule Rome.  As in a lot of Kubrick films, though, the good guy can't catch a break and ultimately is defeated, but his spirit remains unbroken.  That's ostensibly "Spartacus" in a nutshell.  

Once again, Kirk Douglas is back and gives an excellent performance, though it's not quite as compelling as his performance of Colonel Dax, probably because Spartacus and his story doesn't quite resonate the way Dax and his struggles did.  Douglas provides a lot of scowls and growls, and a great amount of physicality that is undeniably arresting, but I never felt like he fully engages the audience as a full-fledged character.  In many ways I believe this to be an intentional device on the part of Kubrick and Douglas, though: the inspiration and motivation for the character seems to be derived from the myths of the Greeks and Romans, whose heroes were always somewhat "more than human" and difficult to engage with.  Spartacus, like those mythical heroes, stands apart as an "other," his greatness being both a blessing and a curse.  He leads, but he is apart.  Only his relationship with Varinia provides any real humanity for the character: she brings out the best in him, as Jean Simmons brings the best out of Douglas (except maybe for the combat sequences, where Douglas shows a sense of savagery in every frame: Spartacus is a undeniably a violent man who wishes he wasn't, which is the most fascinating part of him) in their scenes.  

Perhaps somewhat underrated, particularly in comparison, is the excellent but thankless job Laurence Olivier performs in this film: one of my absolute favorite scenes comes from Olivier, who sleepwalks through his role as Roman Senator Crassus, the key antagonist.  Olivier is, like Spartacus, unconflicted.  Crassus is assuredly the hero in his own mind, something of a rarity for cinema in 1960: he doesn't twirl any mustaches, he simply believes he is right.  He thinks Slavery is good for Rome, which he probably isn't entirely since it was a Slave economy, even if it is obviously the outcome of a corrupt and morally bereft society.  Crassus is an interesting contrast to the General in "Paths of Glory," actually: Crassus doesn't have as much of a sense of ironic self-delusion, even though he tends to represent the same thing, that of the innate immorality of class systems. If nothing else, Crassus's society tends to back his play: from the perspective of Rome, Spartacus is certainly the villain, a changing of the ways of Rome.  The film makes great contrast of these stances, actually, never more specific as the film cuts between the speeches of the two respective leaders: Crassus gets hoots and hollars and parades from his people as he speaks of his plan to finally destroy Spartacus, as Spartacus (seemingly not entirely convinced he'll win the battle, which is an interesting performance choice) is listened to with quiet intensity.  The ending is a foregone conclusion: both armies seem to know what's going to happen and while one has the moral highground, it does not have the sanction of the masses.

The most interesting scene from Olivier, though, is one I alluded to above.  Crassus, now in possession of a male slave, takes a bath and orders this new slave to towel him off and provide him with a robe.  Centered in the frame within a great hall, we watch as Crassus speaks in a roundabout way about his bi-sexuality.  It's such a beautiful and fascinating scene, riveting in its use of double entendre, and even in it's lighting: Crassus and his slave seem to be entirely alone in the world, surrounded by light and shadow that seems to be at war with itself.  Gorgeous scene.

Final Thoughts: "Spartacus" is an extraordinary epic that unfortunately can't entirely justify its running time, even though at times its pure sense of spectacle and grandeur is almost unlike anything else in film (and almost certainly was unlike anything else in 1960).  Perhaps the coolest thing about watching the film in 2016 is seeing all the films it obviously influenced: after seeing what crowds of thousands of extras really looks like, it makes the CGI masses of films like "The Lord of the Rings" look crass.

Final rating: Three and a half stars.

Paths of Glory (1957)

Starring: Kirk Douglas, Ralph Meeker, Adolphe Menjou, George Macready, Wayne Morris, Richard Anderson, Timothy Carey, Joe Turkel, Susanne Christian.

Director: Stanley Kubrick.

"Paths of Glory" is an extraordinary film.  I can honestly say, with little hyperbole, that I can't remember when I was an engrossed with and moved by a film the way I was the other day when watching "Paths of Glory" for the first time. It's the best kind of simple morality tale: the film knows exactly what the audience will relate to, and focuses on playing to those relations in a way that leaves no room for further discussion.  We know that a grave injustice is being carried out, and watch sorrowfully as the frustrated characters struggle in vain to correct said injustice, pained by the obvious corruptions we are seeing.  It's as emotional as a film can get without sinking into sentimentality. 

The story: in the early days of World War I, The French are in the middle of a losing war with Germany.  A blindly ambitious and duplicitous General is given an opportunity: take a nearly impregnable German outpost called The Ant-Hill, and received a promotion.  Talking all the while about his love for his men and his insistence at being a "real solider," the General relays his orders to harried Colonel Dax (Kirk Douglas, giving an extraordinary performance).  Dax knows the mission will fail, but follows his orders.  The mission is a disaster: pinned down by enemy artillery, half the men are killed or forced to retreat, while others never leave the trenches at all.  Incensed, the General orders the execution of several of the men for cowardice ("to boost morale").  Horrified, Dax manages to talk the brass into reducing the number to three men, and takes along the job of defending them in their court-marshall, only to find that the absurd class-system that is the officer/soldier divide only creates yet another Ant-Hill that is insurmountable. 

The film is essentially divided into two parts, incredibly specific in creating a stark contrast between those parts.  The first half is a war film: The General walks clean and well-dressed through the miserable trenches, talking to exhausted and injured soldiers doing their best to keep it together.  The second half is a court room drama: dirty, accused soldiers walk grimly through beautiful, spacious rooms of palatial mansions.  It's fairly simple in this respect, but undeniably effective.

Of course, as alluded to above, there is very little room for subtlety in "Paths of Glory."  It's a very direct film in most regards: the class divide is all but specifically mentioned in dialogue, the sets meant to evoke irony, and it's generally outrageous in its depictions of absurd self-indulgence and self-delusion. Even when everything is said and done and some small measure of comeuppance is delivered to the antagonistic General, nothing is really learned at all ("Of course, lay everything on the head of the only fully innocent man here!" The General ironically laments), nothing will change and everything will go on as it always has: the Officers will be almost entirely without reproach, and no justice will ever be provided to the little guy.  

The key to whole thing is, of course, the phenomenal performance by Kirk Douglas as Colonel Dax.  A man of reason and honor, he represents the audience nicely on multiple levels: not only does he walk the middle ground between Officer and Soldier, he walks the middle ground between the high ground and the low ground.  In some ways, Dax represents the moral superiority the audience has as an uninvolved spectator: as outside observers, we're able to pass judgement on any and all characters however we see fit.  Dax, too, is somewhat outside.  Dax is in no danger, he has nothing to lose in the affair: his men will die, and that will anger and sadden him, but Dax is pretty much going to be fine.  So, too, will we.  It's an interesting presentation, and probably one of the main inspirations for the court-room drama template that would become a huge part of cinema later.

Despite its sobering qualities, the film is not without its sense of hope, however.  There are some rather uplifting moments.  When Dax is first told about the desire to kill some of his men, he immediately volunteers to be executed in their place(a request that is denied, of course, but offered nonetheless).  Then there is also the character of Corporal Paris (an amazing Ralph Meeker), who meets his fate with all the stages of grief, but then with admirable dignity and bravery.  The character and performance are extraordinary, and a true inspiration.  Finally, there is a scene of absolute beauty to close out the film, an amazingly moving sequence that might actually restore some of your faith in humanity: A broken Dax witnesses his Men acting like savages when a young German woman (Susanne Christian, doing a whole lot with only a few minutes of screen time) is put on a stage before them.  Crying, the Woman begins to entertain the men with a German song.  As Dax watches, the Men become slowly more and more moved by the song, humming along with tears in their eyes.  Realizing that maybe humanity isn't just a lot of savages, Dax rejects an order to bring the men right back to the front line: "Give them a few more minutes," Dax says, before entering his office to prepare.  It's an astonishingly beautiful scene.

Final Thoughts: While it's frustrating, it's frustrating for all the right reasons.  Excellent performances all around, and a deeply engrossing visual style (here we begin to have long tracking shots down corridors, small bits of senses of humor, and other Kubrick staples).  A masterfully done film.

Final Rating: Four-and-a-half Stars.

The Killing (1956)

Starring: Sterling Hayden, Coleen Gray, Vince Edwards, Jay C.Flippen, Ted de Corsia, Marie Windsor, Elisha Cook.

Director: Stanley Kubrick.

"The Killing" is very much about irony, as well as cause and effect.  The story is fairly simple: a group of Men conspire to rob a horse race, making out with Two Million Dollars if successful.  The plan mostly goes off without a hitch, but soon the robbers find themselves unprepared for the little things that pop up in the aftermath.  Beyond that basic concept, the story wraps itself around smaller narratives surrounding the individual characters and their own stakes in the score, and their specific weaknesses.

This multi-narrative structure is easily "The Killings" best feature.  In many ways, it's considerably ahead of its time in terms of structure and presentation, though it has its drawbacks (cinema hadn't figured out how to handle multi-narrative yet, so a grating and matter-of-fact voiceover is utilized to keep track of all the action), but the way Kubrick keeps the story grounded while maintaining layers if pretty remarkable: never does the film spiral out of control or become confusing, even if the action does.  However, as is the wont of multi-narrative films, not all narratives are created equal: some of these guys are not as nearly as interesting as the others.

For instance, ringleader Johnny Clay (Sterling Hayden) probably gets the most screen time, and while his manipulation of events specifically drives the action, the guy just isn't super interesting.  In many ways, he's a Mary Sue: we meet him being fawned over by his Girlfriend (who constantly goes on and on about how she "isn't pretty or smart" and that Johnny is everything to her-and we'll talk about that), the other men instantly respect and admire him, and in the end he isn't foiled by any specific character flaw, simply due to crazy random happenstance.

By contrast, the hapless and easily-manipulated George (Elisha Cook Jr) is a wonderfully drawn character: desperate to please his bored and disinterested Wife Sherry (Marie Windsor, who gives a wonderfully malevolent and sleazy performance), he quickly finds himself twisted up in any number of dilemmas.  As Sherry masterfully wraps him around her finger, George finds himself more and more paranoid and desperate, ultimately driving the films explosive and shocking climax.

While Sherry is a well acted role, however, she and her only other Female co-star, the aforementioned Girlfriend of Johnny, illustrates a key difficulty in watching this film in 2016: attitudes towards Women have changed a lot.  Johnny's Girlfriend constantly berates herself and is basically just another bag for Johnny to carry.  Sherry is the plot contrivance that ruins everything: her greed is what ultimately causes the tragic climax to carry itself out, and it's fairly clear that George is her victim, not a victim of himself.  While you could make an argument for "well, 1959 was a different time," it doesn't change the fact that this sort of misogyny stands out today.  However, there is a scene that deals with racism in a particularly heartfelt way: gunman Nicky Arcane is tasked with shooting one of the horses in the race in order to kick off the robbery.  The only complication is an increasingly friendly black parking attendant who, moved by Nicky's initial kindness and respect, ultimately is forced into a confrontation when a clearly conflicted Nicky must resort to racial slurs in order to make his timetable.  It's a heartbreaking scene of commiseration between two men who shouldn't(by the '59 standards, anyway) have anything in common but do, and find that common ground shattered by circumstance (which is, of course, the point of "The Killing").

In terms of style, we don't seem to get much of what would become a lot of Kubrick's specific motifs, except perhaps for the almost simplistic presentation of morality that Kubrick tends towards in his later films.  The overall point of the film is irony: the plan works fine (other than Sherry, an unforeseen complication), but they can't account for parking attendants, strong gusts of wind, and other circumstances that couldn't be predicted.  Perhaps of all of Kubrick's films, it's the most centered on content instead of style.  But, again, it was his first feature, so style probably wasn't something he was focused on just yet.

Final Thoughts: It's a mixed bag.  The characters range from interesting to bland, but the story is balanced nicely (even if it does require an annoying voiceover to keep it structured properly).  There are some great scenes contained in what is otherwise not the most riveting of films: the pressurized conversations between George and Sherry, Nicky dealing with the Parking Attendant, even kind-hearted brute Maurice's chaotic but strangely serene combat with a gaggle of police, are all beautiful moments of cinematic expression.  But then there are other moments that just sort of fall flat.

Final rating: Three Stars.  Strong first outing.