Whatever Works

Written at the time of the film's release...

"And Sometimes, Finally, a Cliche is the Best Way to Make a Point"
or
"Mommy, That Man is Talking to Himself" ("Come Along, Justin")

Boris Yellnikov (Larry David) is a genius. A misanthropic genius, to be sure, but a genius; he's only too happy to tell you that he almost won a Nobel Prize for his work in quantum mechanics, specializing in string theory. He's also only too happy to tell you that you're sub-normal, a microbe!, an inchworm!, a potzer!, a troglodyte!, a mouth-breather!—and in fact, at a couple points during the film he turns to the audience and turns on them...us...to tell us what he thinks of us. A lot of movies choose to insult its audience these days (sometimes directly, sometimes by what the makers think they can get away with), but Yellnikov has the courtesy of treating anyone who chooses to listen to him the same disparaging way. >He has a lot of views about quantum theory, the Heisenberg Principle, but never mentions the Konigsbergian Bubble Theory, in which the world is essentially a sub-set of forty individuals restricted to a single geographical point, 15 of whom have speaking parts.

Whatever Works is a return to Woody Allen's World, and its story of a young girl turning the heart of a beast is familiar ground, coming across as a "Woody's Greatest Hits" film—you'll find bits of Annie Hall, Manhattan, and particularly Hannah and Her Sisters—with its scenes of turmoil in the marriage between intellectual Frederick (Max von Sydow) and sensitive former-student Lee (Barbara Hershey). And Whatever...'s Melodie St. Ann Celestine (Evan Rachel Wood) is the latest in a long string of naive young waifs portrayed by Diane Keaton, Mariel Hemingway, Mia Farrow, Mira Sorvino, Samantha Morton, Juliette Lewis, and Scarlett Johansson. One could make some excuse about Allen returning to themes he explored earlier in order to form a more perfect coalescence of his ethos and it would be as pretentious as it sounds. Allen says that Whatever Works is an early screenplay he wrote in the 70's with the intention of it starring Zero Mostel. When Mostel died, Allen shelved it. So, the truth is Allen has been cherry-picking from this script for years to make some of his earlier, better pictures.

Although this is one stretch of New York City pavement worn a bit thin, there is something unique about it. One thing you can count on in Allen's movies is his autobiographical characters, the passive aggressive smart-asses played by Allen or a surrogate (past stand-in Woody's have been Mia Farrow, Mary Beth Hurt, Kenneth Branagh, John Cusack and Edward Norton). But Yelnikoff isn't passive at all, and David plays him as he does much of his work...at 110%. This should get tiring, but it doesn't, and that's a very tricky thing to pull off. Mostel could do it, with his razor's edge timing and comic flailing, but David doesn't have his gifts as an actor. David merely sends off "vibes" that he could actually be this self-absorbed (he did co-create "Seinfeld," after all), and as with George Costanza, the entertainment value is in watching the train wreck. He's the reason to see Whatever Works (and his character is of the opinion that's the main motivation of the audience).

So, if you're going to go, go already, but understand that you'll see a lot of the same themes that have come before: of the chameleon nature of personality due to environment, of universal impermanence and the embracing of it, that it's a long, long way from May to December, and that it's not such a stretch for a physicist to move on from string theory, and pursue post-doctorate work on the ties that bind.

Our Hospitality (1923)

Our Hospitality (Buster Keaton and Jack Blystone, 1923)
"Once upon a time in certain sections of the United States there were feuds that lasted from generation to generation. Men of one family grew up killing men of another family for no other reason except that their fathers had done so."

It's 1810 and the bitter feud between the Canfield's and the McKay's has been going on for some time. One night, Jim Canfield goes to the house of John McKay to kill him, but the confrontation leaves both men dead: McKay's wife takes his infant son away from the city of Rockville to New York to raise him in peace; Canfield's brother Joe (Joe Roberts) vows vengeance for his sibling's death. Trouble is there are no more Canfield's on which to take that revenge. Yet.

Twenty years later, young Willie McKay (Keaton) receives a cable from Rockville to claim his late father's property. Willie decides to go back to Rockville on a rudimentary proto-train that has none of the considerations of grading, geography or, for that matter, comfort. The bumping and jostling makes it very difficult to wear a top hat.

This was Keaton's second feature film (and his first with a feature-length story) and it does have some pacing issues, as well as a prologue that is dark in photography and subject matter, making one wonder if it's actually a comedy. Keaton's humor could be dark—darker than most of the silent comedians—but his humor usually centers on the absurd, and murderous multi-generational family feuds is the height of absurdity. Still, its murderous conclusion, ending with the death of one Canfield and one McKay, isn't funny. It's tragedy. But, out of that tragedy comes danger and threat, and a comedian can do a lot with that.

Keaton makes the most of it. And as it is set in the past with limited means of carrying out any murderous activities, the attempts can be rather tortured and frustratingly inept. And the comedy is built around Willie McKay's return to Rockville, where, first, he becomes quite infatuated with the elder Canfield's only daughter (played by Keaton's wife Natalie Talmadge*) and he makes himself attractively useful. Then, when he gets there, he saunters around town, coming into contact with Canfield sons—who have no idea that he is one of the hated McKay's.

For awhile, Keaton's McKay can walk around town without fear, but soon, he is recognized and the Canfield males take turns trying to shoot him with single-shot pistols, which need to be loaded before they can be shot again, and their range is limited, as shown in a sequence where McKay is shot at repeatedly, but nothing comes close, and McKay can only wonder what it might be that is hitting a nearby tree trunk.

But, the central absurdity is the core at the majority of the movie. Virginia Canfield invites Willie to dinner at her house to meet her family—she has no idea that he's a McKay. This complicates things. The Canfields are nothing if not traditional. Though they are surprised—and slightly appalled—to be hosting the young McKay for dinner, they would not think of trying to kill him while he is in their house. That's no way to treat a guest. However, should he step out of the house, he is an easy—and handy—target. This conceit inspires McKay to draw out his stay under the Canfield roof for as long as possible and avoid crossing the Canfield threshold. Despite this, there are many opportunities, either planned or accidental, to get McKay out of the house.

The other source of comedy is that Virginia, smitten with McKay, has no idea that her family wants to murder him, and all the males under the Canfield roof are united in the common deceit of who he really is. And when McKay does escape under disguise from the Canfields there begins a wild chase with a lot of stunts that involve sheer cliffs, dangerous rapids, and a precipitous water-fall, which becomes the setting for one of the best-timed and most dangerous stunts Keaton ever pulled off. 

The transition from short to feature did nothing except show more Keaton—the gags and sequences are just as fast, just as dense, and just as entertaining. But, Keaton found that he could sustain a feature with a layered story-line, while maintaining his flexible every-man character, despite where he placed him. 

Out Hospitality also has bit of the inspiration for Keaton's eventual masterpiece, The General. Buster Keaton, the director, was just getting started.

* Our Hospitality, centered around family, is a bit of a family affair. Not only is Keaton's wife featured as the romantic interest, but his father, Joe, plays the train engineer. And who plays Keaton's character as a baby? Buster and Natalie's son, Buster Jr.

The 7 Faces of Dr. Lao

The 7 Faces of Dr. Lao (George Pal, 1964) One of those movies I wanted to see as a kid, but never got the chance. An ersatz Western directed by film-fantasist George Pal (The War of the Worlds, The Time Machine) with a screenplay by the mordantly sunny Charles Beaumont, responsible for many of the best mind-twisting "Twilight Zone" episodes. Dr. Lao is the "Mysterious Stranger" who comes into the troubled town of Abalone with a circus that exposes truth, shines a light on hypocrisy, and turns lives around. One might be a bit off-put by Lao's initial pigeon-English, but it's as ephemeral as everything else about Dr. Lao, for he's not any nationality (As the locals say: "He looks like a 'Jap' to me" "Naw, he's more Chinese" "How d'you know that?" "'Cause I'm not stupid!"), sticks to no dialect or any sex, for that matter—if he's made of matter, at all! One should be more concerned with the idea that a "Good Man" will un-starch the collar of the Local school-marm, except that this transformation (by the Circus' "Pan") leaving Barbara Eden sweating and panting is bravurely provocative for a G-rated kid's film. That's something Disney wouldn't try! 

Everything turns nicely-nicely at the end, but there is trauma along the way to balance it. Tony Randall plays Lao beneath all sorts of William Tuttle (another "TZ" alum) make-up that doesn't hamper the elasticity of his performance, and as a kind of bow/acknowledgement he appears in the circus audience gravely shaking his head.

But back to Beaumont. Check out this thesis speech delivered in low reverent tones by Randall:

"The whole world is a circus, if you know how to look at it. The way the sun goes down when you're tired, and comes up when you want to be on the move. That's real magic. The way a leaf grows. The song of the birds. The way the desert looks at night with the Moon embracing it. Oh, my boy. That's circus enough for anyone. Every time you watch a rainbow and feel wonder in your heart. Every time you pick up a handful of dust, and see not the dust, but a mystery--a marvel, there in your hand. Every time you stop and think "I'm alive, and being alive is fantastic!" Every time such a thing happens, you're a part of the Circus of Dr. Lao."

That is heavy stuff, delivered in an intoxicating rhythm and smoothness of tone--it's joy mounting as the commonness of the examples increases, getting down to the dirt. That's a great speech. And as Beaumont could be dark in tone, his words could excite and throw apart any veil of despair. But even if that speech gets a little heavy, Beaumont has the cure. "I don't understand," the child answers. Lao grabs the top of his head and leaps over it. "Neither do I!" he exults, and begins a high-kicking dance. Life is too wonderful to spend your time saying how wonderful it is. Use it. Dance!