Walter Matthau plays Willy Clark, a brash, disagreeable, loud, and scatterbrained old man struggling to keep his acting career going with the help of his put-upon agent and nephew Ben (played by Richard Benjamin). The stubborn Willy refuses to believe it’s time to retire, and when his old partner comes back into his life, he insists above any and all rational reason to be hostile towards him over bad blood.

Matthau delivers a remarkably entertaining and surprisingly nuanced performance as the misanthropic Willy. He puts his whole voice and body into his character’s screaming rants, and he reserves himself in his more quiet, nostalgic moments to where it’s like he’s playing two different characters. He is the embodiment of the rambunctious grandfather that wears you out but still stays endearing at the end of the day when everyone is cooled off.

Alongside Matthau is George Burns as Al Lewis, the almost polar opposite of Willy Clark. Al is slow, quiet, and soft spoken with his gravelly voice. Instead of fighting for his acting career, he enjoys his retirement with his daughter’s family in a New Jersey suburb while his partner still resides in the hustle and bustle of New York City. While he wants peace with his old partner, his patience for Willy’s irrational behavior only goes so far. And his impatience is potent, especially when Willy keeps pushing him.

The interactions between Burns and Matthau are the lifeblood of the film. They have such excellent chemistry from their yelling spats to their calm, civil moments of catching up after so much lost time. Underneath Willy’s righteous indignant anger and underneath Al’s annoyance and frustration is a deep respect for one another. They show the multiple dimensions of their relationship very well, a credit to both their acting and the screenplay they’re given.

The screenplay was written by writer Neil Simon, who wrote The Odd Couple, both the movie and television show in the late sixties and early seventies. Simon just gets the interactions and nature of the relationships between grumpy old men with heavily conflicting personalities and just dealing with each other.

And that’s really the heart and soul of this screenplay, the importance of working together in the absence of pride and how a friendship or partnership can exist between two people in spite of their flaws. It’s an age old lesson presented in a rather unique and simple way.

Speaking of simple, this movie is unlike the other movies I’ve reviewed for this column. Neil Simon also wrote The Sunshine Boys as a stage play, and that fact is evident in the film. The way the film is blocked and the way the sets are presented gives the film the simple intimacy of a stage play put to film. There is no real spectacle in this film, and it doesn’t really need it either. The performances of Matthau and Burns are certainly worth the price of admission.

And now some supplementary content.

For more Walter Matthau, check out Grumpy Old Men and The Odd Couple.

For more George Burns, check out The George Burns and Gracie Allen Show.

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The story, adapted from a Pierre Boulle novel of the same name, follows a Japanese prisoner of war camp as it struggles to build a railroad bridge over a neighboring bridge. The camp has enlisted the labor of a captured British colonel and his men to put the bridge together, leading to a war of will between the British colonel and the Japanese colonel in charge of the camp. Meanwhile, the Allies plan a sabotage effort on the bridge with the help of a reluctant American who escaped from the camp when the British arrived.

The real star of the show is Alec Guinness, who plays the proud Colonel Nicholson, the kind of leader that every man aspires to be. He is level-headed, unflinching in the face of great odds, and cares for his men in an almost fatherly fashion. He lives and breathes British ideals of respect, code, and order, shown by his ownership of a copy of the Geneva Convention. He goes to great lengths in order to ensure the dignity of not only himself and his officers, but the soldiers under his command as well. This objective of his compels him to see the bridge complete to showcase the pride he has in his men and as a result himself.

As fun as it is to have a character with the virtues of Colonel Nicholson to cheer for, the film shows the audience the cautionary side of stubbornness and hubris that comes with such a larger than life character. As he gets his way, his confidence and pride in his men turn to arrogance and this comes to a head in the film’s climax.

In addition, the storyline of Colonel Saito, played by Sessue Hawakawa, plays out in a rewarding fashion as he goes from the foil to Nicholson to something more as the audience starts to see his point of view. On the outside he is a rigid military commander but on the inside he is a frustrated administrator tired of that white whale of a bridge and ever fearful of the consequences of failure. The moment that Nicholson and Saito share together towards the end of the film ties together the humanity in their stories in a mature, thoughtful way.

Starring in the parallel story to Nicholson and Saito is Jack Hawkins as Major Warden and William Holden as the escaped prisoner named Shears. Major Warden is the gung-ho jolly good British commander in charge of the Allies’ mission to sabotage the Japanese railroad. He has enthusiasm, swagger, and drive to land a blow on the enemy, another avatar of platitudes befitting an idealized military commander of an idealized war.

His motivation is a sharp contrast to Shears’ reluctant along-for-the-ride demeanor. Shears has long since grown tired of the conflict and he appears as though he may be a reflection of Warden someday. The conclusion of their story and how it changes them leaves a long lasting mark.

In addition to top notch acting and writing, the film boasts beautiful camera work and a proper score to accompany.

Bridge on the River Kwai is the first of three cinematic epics wherein David Lean commands totally grand shots and some of the best cinematography to this day.  In particular, the shots of the great bridge over the rolling river with the lush hills and jungle in the background prove to be the most memorable treats to the eye.

The score is fairly good with the great epic swells as well as lighter marching tunes in fitting and even poignant places. The choice of music for the final scene of the film is more than a little unsettling given the events occurred.

Altogether, Bridge on the River Kwai is a totally remarkable film, and one of the very best set in the second world war. The film is quite long, sitting at almost three hours, but it is absolutely worth each and every second.

And of course, some supplementary content.

For more of David Lean’s work, check out Lawrence of Arabia and Doctor Zhivago. (Both movies have Alec Guinness in them too)

In addition to Lawrence of Arabia and Doctor Zhivago, if you want to see more Alec Guinness, you can watch a little known film called Star Wars.

For more Jack Hawkins, watch Ben-Hur and Zulu.

And lastly, the source material from Pierre Boulle. (He also wrote the book Planet of the Apes)

The post The Trunk Movie Club: Bridge on the River Kwai appeared first on KRUI Radio.

For folks unfamiliar with the story, the plot centers around Frederick Frankenstein, grandson of the infamous mad scientist, trying to escape his legacy by being a professor. However, he is called to his inherited castle, and inevitably begins his grandfather’s work again with the help of his assistants Igor and Inga. And once Frederick finally creates his monster, the story takes many unexpected twists and turns and keeps the audience guessing.

The cast is nothing short of stellar in this film. Gene Wilder plays the erudite, manic Frederick and he bounces between a man of dignity and grace to an utter lunatic as he slowly comes to embrace his legacy and destiny as a mad scientist. His madness is always entertaining on the screen.

Marty Feldman plays Igor, the strange, hunchbacked, googly eyed lab assistant. While his humor is more silly and of the wink-to-the-camera variety, he is the perfect companion to Wilder and delivers some of the funniest moments of the film.

Teri Garr plays Inga, the straight-woman to Wilder and Feldman’s lunacy. Her taking in of the absolute nonsense happening around her is just as important to the driving comedy of the film as Wilder and Feldman.

The supporting cast is superb as well with Cloris Leachman as the bizarre groundskeeper, Madeline Kahn hilariously sultry as ever as Frederick’s fiance Elizabeth, and Kenneth Mars as the wooden armed local police inspector. Each character brightens the comedy in their own way with no real weakness or dent in the armor.

This film was wonderfully written by Brooks and Wilder, with sharp dialogue and something funny in every corner. Every viewing of the movie gives you something new to notice and enjoy. The film does not beat the viewer over the head with ham-fisted jokes or pop culture references and ultimately treats the viewer with respect.

Young Frankenstein even captures the look of the monster movies of old, with the conscious decision to present the film in black and white with the gothic sets and a booming, sinister musical score that would be eerie and unsettling if they were not in the background of such a lighthearted comedy.

For over forty years, Young Frankenstein remains an absolute must watch for fans of Mel Brooks films, Gene Wilder’s works of acting, or even entertaining films in general. It’s still very accessible to a more recent audience, and is more satisfying than a good deal of recent comedy flicks. Young Frankenstein is worth everyone’s time and I cannot recommend it highly enough.

So when all is said and done, why not let the movie speak for itself?

To pick up Young Frankenstein and give it a watch, check out your parents’ trunk of old movies, or perhaps Amazon.

Supplementary viewing:

For more of Mel Brooks and Gene Wilder working together, check out The Producers and Blazing Saddles.

And see for yourself the legendary movies that Young Frankenstein spoofs and homages: Frankenstein and Son of Frankenstein.

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And there it is. “It’s so artsy.” 

I appreciated the intention of the phrase, I really did. I know what people are trying to say, I get that it’s supposed to be a compliment, and I used to take it that way. But that was before I was assigned twenty-hour long assignments.

“Artsy” insinuates cute and fun and whimsical. It means meaningless, effortless (not in a good way) and not at all complex. No artist wants to go into the opening of their gallery exhibition and hear people say that their work is “artsy.” It’s insulting. It belittles the work that the artist has put into their work. I’ve never met another art major that enjoys the word artsy.

This is not to say that the word doesn’t have its place, because it does. I fully expect photos of latte art on Instagram to be called artsy. Photos of a person standing next to street art are artsy. There are things that are artsy, and that isn’t a bad thing. But when I see people telling someone that their photos of their aesthetically pleasing desk are the true definition of art and others going to the student exhibitions in Art Building West and only giving them “artsy” as feedback, it makes me angry. I know that I’m not the only person who thinks this way; I’ve never met an art major who likes the word.

I’m not saying this is a one-way street. There are plenty of pieces that I’ve seen in art museums as prominent as the Chicago Art Institute (highly recommended) that I’ve looked at for significant amounts of time and thought, “I don’t understand why this is hanging in an exhibit right now.” I obviously don’t rule the world, and I haven’t researched every artist and every piece they’ve ever created, but the issue still stands. Things that are just artsy are credited as artistic and there are true works of art that are underrated and called artsy. (I’m looking at you, people who only go to art museums to take cool selfies and then leave. I see you people everywhere.)

To put this in context, let’s look at a really important artist. Ai Weiwei for example. Weiwei does important political work. He takes risks as a performance artist, has been put under house arrest, and considers the meaning behind what he does. Recently, he is visiting refugee camps in and around Greece and is posting photos and videos on his Instagram account often. Weiwei is a humanitarian and an artist. He is a controversy around the world, especially to the Chinese government. He makes people feel something deeper than, “I like this, everything is good, I have no problem with this.” He bases his art off of something he cares about (politics) and creates something for people to look at and see and analyze and discuss. No one would call Ai Weiwei artsy because of the time and effort and esteem that he’s earned over his life as an artist.

Like I said, “artsy” isn’t something that needs to or should disappear. My entire Instagram profile (shameless plug) is full of “artsy” photos, and I love them. Artsy is what turns most people into artists. Andy Warhol sketched in his spare time before he became a famous pop artist. Those sketches didn’t have meaning but were ultimately what made Warhol into an artist who was pivotal in the evolution of modern art. Pablo Picasso did the same thing decades before Warhol did, and we now learn about him in elementary school. Artsy is important until it isn’t anymore and an artist find what they’re really doing. To me, that’s the difference between “artsy” and “artistic.” For a piece to be artistic the artist has to have found their voice and their purpose and use them to create a greater message. If that’s still being found, it’s an experiment. It’s artsy.

However, this is all an opinion. My two art pre-requisite courses and one Intermedia class don’t give me the license to tell anyone what is and is not art, and maybe that’s part of the issue. The working definition of art is accepted by very few people, including me. Art runs deeper than creativity. Even further in that, I don’t think that art should be defined. Why define something so limitless and flowing and ever-moving? As long as people are constantly flowing and moving with it, the definition doesn’t exactly matter.

The Looking Glass is a bimonthly column that aims to educate, analyze, and share different aspects and forms of art. It will focus on sharing and analyzing different artists, works of art, exhibitions, etc. Along with this, the column will ask questions and point out interesting controversies. Art is a constantly flowing and vast part of our society and our culture that we are all submerged in daily, and discussion about the medium is a critical part of a full understanding and open mind.

The post The Looking Glass: What “Artsy” Actually Means appeared first on KRUI Radio.