Mountains of the Moon

Mountains of the Moon (Bob Rafelson, 1990) A recent book about the quest for the source of the Nile River, "River of the Gods" by Candice Millard tells of the epic journey of British explorers John Hanning Speke and Richard Francis Burton to solve that mystery. It was a quest as perilous and fascinating as that of Lewis and Clark, with two distinctly different personalities of men heading the expedition, which, after surviving travails and hardships on the journey, descended into bickering and enmity when they returned to what they supposed was "civilization."

 

Yeah, well, I've seen that movie. Bob Rafelson, he of Head and Five Easy Pieces, The King of Marvin Gardens, and The Postman Always Rings Twice, was as unlikely a person to tackle this international tale that rivaled fiction, but he managed to pull it off. Not only that, it's one of, if not his best movie. And no one went to see it. And I dare say, very few people know about it. Talk about trying to find something that's "lost."

Burton: "...tends to mingle."

In 1854, Speke (Iain Glen) arrives on the East African coast on leave from the Indian Army with the purpose of hunting big game, but as he is informed, the coast "is closed", and it's suggested that he hook up with Richard Francis Burton (Patrick Bergin, easily his best role and his survey party with the Royal Geographical Society, which has been given permission to go deep into Africa. The RGS has bankrolled Burton's journey in order to find "the true source of the Nile"—that river being so important to British trade, it's beginnings will assure King and Parliament that trade will continue to flow not risking any disruptions to the economy.

Speke: his character in one shot. It will provoke an attack on the camp.

Burton just wants to find it and he'll use any excuse: "Every westerner's curiosity has been met with torture, mutilation and death. The river is shrouded in mystery. Who will be the first to discover its source?" For Burton, embarking on such an exploration is just as challenging as mastering another language (he would eventually speak 29) or translating a text ("One Thousand and One Nights," the "Kama Sutra" and "The Perfumed Garden") and for him the journey is as important as the destination as he was always gathering and noting facts, which is why he became one of the few non-Muslims to visit Mecca.

But, if Burton is there to get the lay of the land and everything set upon it, Speke just wants to hunt it. Burton needs a game hunter to supply food en route and Speke is a crack shot—he's hired immediately—but the two men couldn't be more different. For Speke, the goal is the thing, always interested in the target; for Burton, it's the journey, the process, the evidence. Each man will be tested, physically (both suffering from injuries that are horrendous—Burton, his face pierced through both cheeks by a native lance and Speke stabbed multiple times during a native attack) and mentally on their way to find the Nile's source. And despite their differences, they will prove essential to each other. Indeed, one wonders if either of them could have survived without the other.

One sub-plot of the movie is treachery, which both men will find in Africa and in England, belying the British chauvinism towards the African nations when they are equally capable of such behavior themselves, something Burton, in his studies of other cultures and his lectures, is trying to impress on a reluctant class-based society. But, those treacheries, both in Africa and England, will create circumstances that will challenge another major theme—loyalty. 

Burton and Speke are bound to each other in mission and friendship, and neither one would weaken their mutual trust were it not for the machinations of others. For all the tragedy—and triumph—that the two discoverers will encounter on their journey, it is only the influence of others that manages to come between them, sewing discord, and ultimately ending their partnership.

If the movie has a failing, it is that it tends to favor Burton's point of view over Speke's to the latter's detriment. It's easy to see why, though: Burton is a renaissance man, far before his time, and outside the status quo of those of his countrymen. His life was a constant quest for knowledge of the Earth and its peoples and seeking means to communicate similarities than promoting the stereotype of "the other." The movie could have made something of Burton's ego and his way of intimidating others, but he is pretty much given the benefit of the doubt in the movie.

And Speke has the disadvantage of class—too much of it, perhaps. He didn't seek adventure or Burton's loftier schemes (although he inherited Burton's zeal), he sought sport, and circumstances just conspired that he would make history. Mountains of the Moon has Speke being fooled by the manipulations of others, and, once having discovered the subterfuge, only doubles-down on his claims lest he lose his newly-found reputation. It lays the blame for the two men's disputes entirely on him, when the truth is probably more nuanced.

But, there's a lot to admire, not only in performances—Fiona Shaw is amazing as Burton's wife-to-be, Isobel, and Bernard Hill has a lovely turn as the legendary Dr. Livingstone, and one corker of a scene where he and Burton compare wounds they'd received on their travels—but also on the technical side, as well. The whole thing was photographed by the now-renowned Roger Deakins, edited by the ubiquitous Thom Noble, sound design by David Lynch's sound-man Alan Splet, with a resounding score by Michael Small. That's a lot of talent behind the scenes, making what's up on the screen so impeccable.

I can't recommend this movie enough. It's a great adventure story like The Man Who Would Be King or even Lawrence of Arabia, made without compromise and in some startling locations. I've always found Rafelson a little indulgent as a filmmaker. Not here. This is an amazing tale, well told by some of the best artisans of the movie-making craft.

 

It may be difficult to find, but the journey will be worth it.

 

 

The real Burton and Speke
 

The Men (1950)

The Men (Fred Zinnemann, 1950) 

 

In all Wars, since the beginning of History, there have been men who fought twice. The first time they battled with club, sword or machine gun. The second time they had none of these weapons. Yet this by far, was the greatest battle. It was fought with abiding faith and raw courage and in the end, Victory was achieved. This is the story of such a group of men. To them this film is dedicated.

 

Soon after director Fred Zinnemann's contract with M-G-M was up—he was stuck directing things like My Brother Talks to Horses but ended his time there with a prestigious low-budget film, The Search—he began working independently for producer Stanley Kramer, a collaboration that culminated in the classic film High Noon. Two years before that western, Kramer, Zinnemann, and High Noon scenarist Carl Foreman made another socially-conscious film about the problems dealt with by injured war veterans who'd lost the use of their legs due to combat wounds.

That film, The Men, is largely set in the Birmingham Veterans Administration Hospital, where Foreman and and the film's star did their research for it, and employed many of the patients there as extras and for speaking parts.

 

That the star is Marlon Brando—in his film debut—makes the film notable, and a touchstone of sorts in terms of film and screen acting. Although Montgomery Clift—also, like Brando, a student of the "Actor's Studio"—had already brought that less theatrical approach to the screen in The Search and the yet-to-be released Red River, it was Brando who had lit the fire on stage in "A Streetcar Named Desire", making his brutish Stanley Kowalski something of a force of disreputable nature and creating a sensation in theatrical circles.

But, "theatrical circles" ain't "Mom and Pop Ticket-Buyer of Everytown U.S.A." And The Men was a fortuitous way for the unconventional actor to make his debut. Brando's portrayal of the embittered paraplegic soldier Ken Wilocek came with its own explanation for why the character would be not-traditionally sympathetic and Brando could avoid any exaggerated sentimentality playing the role.

But, Brando is a stark contrast to the more theatrical performances of Teresa Wright, Everett Sloane, Jack Webb (that's just "the facts") and Richard Erdman. (look real carefully and you'll even see "Star Trek"'s DeForest Kelley playing, naturally, a doctor*). It's unconventional, at least in Hollywood terms of 1950. Check out the review of his performance from Variety of that era: "Brando fails to deliver with the necessary sensitivity and inner warmth which would transform an adequate portrayal into an expert one. Slight speech impediment which sharply enhanced his Streetcar role jars here. His supposed college graduate depiction is consequently not completely convincing."

 

Ouch. But, then, Variety is a company-town rag which serves as "rah-rah" material for the status quo; it's never been one for spotting innovation.

Maybe it's because I'm used to the Brando eccentricities and (for the most part) appreciate them, but I found his portrayal—"speech impediment" or not—the least affected of the major performances—and I'm a big fan of Wright (Shadow of a Doubt), Sloane (Citizen Kane), and, yes, even Webb (Dun-da-dun-dun). But, Brando feels real. Everybody else comes out and tells you how they feel and why; when Brando's Wilocek finally gets around to saying what he means (which happens rarely) you've already seen it in his face. And when he reacts to something, it's a bit like an explosion—it's fast and unexpected. His Wilocek takes knock after knock, tries and then wallows in self-pity. The cures that Sloane's doctor recommends—exercise, recreation—don't work for him. And the other patients' means of coping, be it drinking or gambling, or intellectualism or exercise are merely distractions from the obvious—they have lost their mobility, and to a large extent, their freedom. Wasn't freedom what they were told they were fighting for?

A piece of narration at the beginning is too blunt about it: "I was afraid I was going to die. Now I'm afraid I'm going to live." When he went to war, he was engaged to Wright's Ellen. But he comes back and he has no future—he can't walk her down the aisle and there's a question of whether he (or rather "they") can have kids (the film circles around that question during a hospital Q and A, no doubt due to Hays Code regulations). But, his injury has not only blown through his spinal chord but also his expectations of a "normal" life. He withdraws and, in a case of self-fulfilling prophesy, he rejects her, insisting that she stay away from the hospital, as he no longer is the man she fell in love with.

Sloane's doctor is a big believer in physical therapy as well as a tough-love version of psychotherapy. Initially hesitant to allow Ellen to visit, he relents and Wilocek, while at first reluctant to allow himself to hope, begins to soften. 

It sounds very "pat", like the path of a "very special" and "truly inspirational" story-line, but Kramer, Foreman and Brando don't allow it to go smoothly, with added complications and frailties among even the most optimistic and noble of the characters. It's tough on audiences, and Brando's insistence towards playing the part without inviting audience pity makes it a bit more sophisticated...and even a little rebellious from the "socially-conscious" norm. But, it's worth watching...if only to see a moment when Hollywood standards began to shift...and change forever.

Brando clowning on-set.

*  

Me and You and Everyone We Know

Miranda July has a new book out—I've been hearing a lot of interviews she's giving about it—and I remember seeing her directing debut and thinking it was kinda "meh"...however talented she is as a creative force.

Anyway, here's what I wrote at the time of the film's release...

Me and You and Everyone We Know (Miranda July, 2005)

Oddball movie about oddballs and the love-fantasy they all pursue, from childhood to old age. Lots of good moments, but the cartilage holding the thing together is a little thread-bare, although the good parts are good enough to make you forget what you're seeing isn't very good...like good performance art should. Ultimately, it's a movie that depends on the charity of the audience to give it the glow in memory that the actuality lacks.

Richard (John Hawkes) is a shoe salesman, recently separated, sharing custody of his two kids, who are growing up a little too fast. Christine (Miranda July) is a multi-hyphenate: performance artist/writer-film-maker/fantasist/assisted living chauffeur. She's trying to get a local art showcase to show her work while also juggling mooning over Richard and driving her "Eldercab." Everything revolves around these two characters in a goldfish bowl environment so tightly wound it would make Iñárritu slap his forehead in disbelief—everyone knows everyone else, even if they don't know it. And so much of the movie depends on code and secret messages that one suspects July is trying to create her own club-house with secret decoder rings.*

I'll avoid talking about the creepy aspects of the film, which involve underage kids and one pervy guy who talks (or writes and tapes to his window...without consequences, mind you) about what he'd like to do to two young women who hang out at the bus-stop in front of his house (which parallels an earlier incident in a chat-room), and when confronted with it, collapses beautifully in a puff of his own imagined machismo. One becomes used to the 90° turn that July uses to cap her various stories and soon they no longer surprise. You also can't imagine the stories going anywhere further than what she presents...everything just ends, another aspect of the limited life-in-a-nutshell world that she creates. It kept reminding me that these are "characters" and not people. Conceits, not lives.

Roger Ebert inexplicably called this the fifth best film of the decade.** As they say in Adaptation.: "You are what you love, not what loves you." Me and You and Everyone We Know didn't give me much love. And Ebert must have had a good week that week.

 

* "Macaroni" and ))<>((: would that the messages actually be profound.

 

** Well, technically, not inexplicably, but what he found charming, I found a bit...annoying.  Different strokes.

Don't Make a Scene: The Last Picture Show

The Story: This is the second "Don't Make a Scene" from The Last Picture Show. There will be at least one more, but it won't be for awhile yet. Too much to do.

And it's one of those "Classic Scene" features from Premiere Magazine, and, coincidentally, it's a call-back to the first scene we did from it many, many years ago.

 

It will be the last time we see Texas tease Jacy Farrow, who has been the fulcrum around whom all the younger men in The Last Picture Show prance and stumble like broken horses, but she is not the focus of the scene. She exits here and we never see her again.

No, it's the first extended interaction between Jacy's mother, Lois, and the movie's protagonist, Sonny, both of whom play important parts in the lives of everyone else in the movie. They have little in common except for Jacy, who, both (at the moment) are disappointed with.

But, they have a closer bond, one that neither knows about until this scene—a close relationship with the recently-passed Sam the Lion, who runs the diner, poolhall and movie the-a-ter downtown. The city of Anarene is nothing to get nostalgic about. But, Sam was, being in the heart of the city and, seemingly, the heart of the city, as well.

Tim Bottoms has to play the scene drunk, which he does without losing the sensitivity that the scene requires. But, it's the mercurial Oscar nominated performance of Ellen Burstyn, enacting the many aspects of grief sometimes within frames of each other that's amazing to watch. Burstyn's Lois is a casualty of the loneliness and nothingness in Anarene, once wild, now broken, and wondering what the hell happened to her life and trying to eke something good out of it while she is still capable. But, everyone there is trying to do that.

By this time in the movie, there's been so many people from Anarene, Texas sleeping together that when this scene came up, audiences laughed for the one exercise of restraint in the movie. 

It's a laugh that's well-earned.

The Set-up: Jacy Farrow (Cybill Shepherd) is the prettiest girl in Anarene, Texas and daughter of the head of Farrow oil. Who wouldn't want her? She was going steady with Duane (Jeff Bridges) all through High School, but they broke up when he couldn't perform in a motel room—her not wanting to go to college a virgin and all. Then, Duane's best friend Sonny (Timothy Bottoms)—who *psst* has been sleeping with the football coach's 40 year old wife, Ruth Popper (Cloris Leachman)—and him fought over Jacy, blinding Sonny in one eye. That's made gossipy news all over town, which pleases Jacy as she set her sights on Sonny when she heard about his affair with Ruth. She proposes going out of state and getting married to really get tongues wagging, but...one little detail...she left a note for Mom (Ellen Burstyn) and Dad so they wouldn't worry.

 

Now, the talk will be of their having the shortest marriage in Anarene history...which is saying something. 

Action!

Jacy looks back. 

Gene leads her to the Cadillac, spins off with her. 

Sonny stands watching her go off. 

Lois comes over, taps his arm. 

LOIS Not much of a wedding night. 

SONNY Nope, not much of one. 

She brings out a little flask. 

LOIS (drinks) Here. Have a little bourbon--It'll pick you up.

LOIS Take all of it. I'm gonna drive. 

Sonny sips from it several times. 

Lois grins. They walk back toward the car. 

LOIS You won't believe me, Sonny, but you're lucky we got you clear of her quick as we did...

LOIS you'd've been a lot better off stayin' with Ruth Popper. 

SONNY Does everybody know about that? 

LOIS 'Course. 

LOIS Sounded like a good thing to me, Kiddo--you shouldn't've let Jacy turn your head. 

SONNY She's prettier. I guess I shouldn't've though.(pause) 

SONNY Guess I treated her terrible. 

LOIS I guess you did. 

They get in the car. 

150-151 OMITTED 150-151 152 

EXT. OKLAHOMA ROAD #3 - NIGHT 

They drive by. Thunder is heard.

INT. JACY'S CAR (OKLAHOMA ROAD #3) - NIGHT  

Lois frowns at the sky as Sonny sips; she turns on radio. 

LOIS That'll be a big help if you mean to live your life in Anarene. 

SONNY I don't. 

LOIS (shakes her head) Strange to have a daughter who wouldn't go through with her wedding night. When I was her age I'd go through with just 'bout any old night. 

SONNY (sips bourbon) I guess I can't get in the Army now-- not with this eye.

EXT. RED RIVER BRIDGE - NIGHT 

Moonlight on the water; they drive into Texas again.

EXT. POOLHALL- NIGHT 

The car pulls up in front. 

SONNY Sure wasn't outta Texas very long. 

LOIS Well, Oklahoma's not much of an improvement. 

SONNY (sips bourbon, pauses) 

SONNY 'Snot the same now. 

SONNY Nothing's really been right since Sam the Lion died.

LOIS (stares; sadly) No.

LOIS (stares; sadly) No, it hasn't. 

LOIS (eyes water slightly) Oh God...

LOIS I get sad when I think of Sam for long. 

LOIS Did you know he had beautiful hands? 

SONNY I guess you liked him, didn't you? 

SONNY I guess everybody did. 

LOIS Well, I tell ya, it was different with me, Sonny -- 

LOIS I loved him. 

LOIS He loved me, too. 

Surprised, Sonny looks at her and it dawns on him. 

SONNY Are you -- are you the one he used to take swimming? 

SONNY Out at the tank? 

LOIS (looks at him; smiles) He told you about that, huh? 

LOIS Oh yeah, I was the one. (pauses) 

LOIS Oooh...

LOIS I guess if it wasn't for Sam, I'd (sniffs) just about have missed it --  

LOIS whatever it is. 

LOIS I'd have been one of those Amity types that think bridge is the best thing life has to offer. 

LOIS He's the only man I ever met who knew what I was worth. Ol' Sam the Lion.

LOIS Sam the lion. Ya know, nobody knows where he got that name. I gave it to him -- one night. 

LOIS Just came to me. 

LOIS He was so pleased. 

LOIS I was twenty-two years old then -- can you imagine? 

Looks at Sonny briefly, holding back her tears; a few spill over. 

LOIS (continuing) I'll tell you something, Sonny. 

LOIS It's terrible only to find one man your whole life that knows what you're worth. 

LOIS It's just terrible--I wouldn't be tellin' you if it wasn't. 

LOIS I've looked, too--

LOIS you wouldn't believe how I've looked. When Sam... was sixty-five years old he could jus' walk into a room where I was and do more for me... (pause) Nobody was like him. (falls silent) 

SONNY (hesitantly) Now I know why Sam liked you. 

LOIS Loved me! 

SONNY Loved you, I mean. 

LOIS Aw, do you? (looks at him, gently puts hand on his cheek) 

LOIS Well, I can kinda see what he saw in you too. 

She looks forward again, 

then back at him a moment, 

with a reckless smile.

He looks back, curiously. 

Finally: 

LOIS Nope. I'll just go on home. 

LOIS Go on. Get out.

SONNY Think I could ...

SONNY Think I could learn to drink? 

Throws back his head and swallows, 

then coughs and sputters. 

Lois is amused. He hands her back the flask. 

LOIS You might. 

LOIS Better keep on practicing. 

She drives away. 

He goes into the poolhall. 

 

The Last Picture Show

 

Words by Larry McMurtry and Peter Bogdanovich

 

Pictures by Robert Surtees and Peter Bogdanovich

 

The Last Picture Show is available on DVD and Blu-Ray from Columbia Tristar Home Video as well as 4k UHD from The Criterion Collection.