For a long period of time, I always thought about reviewing all the Best Picture films. At first, I attempted to do so by writing individual reviews, but I found them a little too time-consuming. I know I don't post as often as I used to due to a busy life and more review time on the podcast I guest appear in, Unger the Radar, but I want to post more frequently. As an attempt to at least have a small series going, I plan to do a personal ranking of the Best Picture films from each year of the Oscars. There's no telling if this will be a consistent series, but at least it'll give me something to do when I struggle to think of what to review or even rank, especially when some writing projects I'm working on have been taking longer. It doesn't hurt to try new things, which is part of why I do this blog, so let's see how this series goes. And fair warning, there will be SPOILERS!
Ranking Outstanding Picture (Best Picture)...
Yes, I'm combining two categories into one list, rather than doing them individually or disregarding the other. Since it was the first Oscars ceremony, there were to be a few elements and categories that would be obsolete in years to come. One of them would be having two different categories for Best Pictures. The reason for them was to spotlight two different types of films. Outstanding Picture was to award the big, successful commercial films, whereas Unique and Artistic Picture was to honor films for their innovation. An idea that sounds neat, but since there was no number one winner as both categories were treated as equal achievers, it left a lot of confusion. They then wisely combined them into one category for the second ceremony. So, if the Oscars consider these two separate categories as both the best films of the year, I shall treat them with the same regard.
Number 6: The Racket
I reviewed The Racket in 2013 when I was thinking about reviewing as many Best Picture films as possible. I remember the film as entertaining for its rivalry between the police officer James "Mac" McQuigg and the mob boss Nick Scarsi, but I haven't thought much of it since, nor have I rewatched it. And yet, when I occasionally think back to the film, I can still picture Scarsi's cocky smile throughout, with the perfect "mug" to play this confident, tough crook. Aside from that, and that he considers women as "poisonous" to him, my memory of it began to fade. However, when knowing how much I loved seeing McQuigg and Scarsi taunt each other and outwit one another in this game of cat and mouse, I knew I would find myself as entertained as I did the first time, and I was. There's never a scene with these characters that I find boring, especially when they're sharing the same frame. While I did remember Scarsi more, I forgot how McQuigg can look just as smug and confident as his foe, despite having more of a struggle. As characters, there's not a whole lot to them, but their Elliot Ness and Al Capone type of rivalry, carried by these expressive actors, does leave a bigger impression.
Though certainly not the first Proto-Noir (also known as Silent-Noir), it's still neat to see most of the things we associate with the style, from both a character and visual standpoint, mixed so early. One element I forgot was how good the movie's overall look was. By the early 1930s, dark, gloomy, and smoky urban streets, industrial warehouses, and a neon-lit city were pretty common in gangster films. But to see this early noir aesthetic captured in a silent picture was not quite as often as the noir-style would be. I love looking at how detailed yet stylized the sets for the city, the warehouse, the shabby police station, and the club are. In my review, I expressed how disappointed I was that the film had "anti-climactic" action, but in actuality, it wasn't bad by the time it came out. And on top of it, there's more of it than I noticed. There's a gunfight on crowded city streets, an intense duel at a club, one of the characters getting cold-bloodedly shot in the back, and the final confrontation between Scarsi and McQuigg. I was expecting to see more deaths and violence, as I would see in something like Scarface (1932), Little Caesar (1931), or The Public Enemy (1931), but it was a decent amount. And there are still plenty of cool shots and character moments. There's a suspenseful low-angle image of Scarsi holding a gun under the table with his target sitting across from it. An X-ray perspective of the hidden guns the gangsters are concealing under their hats during a funeral service. And Scarsi lighting a match with McQuigg's gun (an image that'd be done with a badge in Scarface (1932) and The Untouchables (1987)).
Apart from being one of the first Best Picture nominees, the film offers a little more history. Both the film and the play it was based on received controversy for its portrayal of Chicago's Corrupt Police Force and City Government, along with characters resembling the infamous Al Capone and the Chicago Mayor William Hale 'Big Bill' Thompson. For its critical depiction of Chicago's politics, both versions were banned from the city. Looking back at my old review, for the film coming across as controversial regarding the subject, another reason I found the violence so lackluster at the time was that I expected the film to be a little more robust, which was just not as disturbing as gangster films that came out a few years later. Seeing the film at all is also a miracle, considering it was lost for some time. The only copy found was in Howard Hughes' film collection after his death. The film was then restored and preserved by the University of Nevada, Las Vegas film department, and was later publicly re-released on TCM as part of a Howard Hughes festival on November 19th, 2004. Now, just because a film was lost, had controversy, or was one of the first to be nominated for Best Picture doesn't automatically make it a great movie. Even though it's in many ways better than I remembered it, compared to the nominees and winners of both categories, this is the film I find the least fascinating from the bunch. It's not at all bad, because the two lead performances, the action, the proto-noir style, and the commentary on Chicago's corruption are handled well. And as a gangster and film noir fan, I do appreciate the many things it has to offer, which makes me wish it were higher on the list. But in the end, it is the most ordinary entry in the catalog that practically gives me most of what I expect, with a little something extra than I remember, but still not enough.
Number 5: Wings
I didn't wish to place what many consider the first Best Picture winner (and only fully silent movie to win the award) so low on this list. Not necessarily because it was the first film to win the honor, but more for everything it accomplishes from historical and technical perspectives. Made from Paramount, which was the number one major studio of the time out of the five, including MGM, Fox, Warner Bros., and RKO, studio head Jesse L. Lasky approached the State Army and Navy Department requesting funding to achieve the film's epic scale, realism, and triumphant portrayal of World War I (known at the time as The Great War). At the time, the US Army was looking to capitalize on its grand, powerful image. With the war still fresh in people's minds, they saw the movie as an opportunity to promote its importance and past achievements to secure further funding and recruitment. Lasky gained $16 million from the department and the army's participation in the filming of the movie by supplying the studio with 5,000 troops, five tanks, and all of the army's pursuit planes, which numbered over 100. The money unquestionably shows in the final product, with its use of military equipment, impressive sets (they built a French village consisting of 35 buildings), ahead-of-its-time camera tricks (famously the "push shot" with the camera passing over tables between two patrons at a nightclub), and stunning war sequences.
The trench warfare scenes capture the tragedy of war in a stylized documentary-like fashion, with some horrific imagery (the most disturbing is when a soldier discovers a resting soldier is actually dead) and neat tracking shots, low-angle shots, and close-ups. But the film's real spectacle comes from the aerial combat sequences. When I first saw these scenes, I was blown away by how massive they looked, finding myself caught up in the excitement and tension of fighting in the air as I felt the weight of it. They were among the most realistic flight scenes I have ever seen in a film, especially for the silent era of movies. Watching these scenes again after so long, they're still as breathtaking as I recall, and when researching how they were achieved, I was twice as impressed as I ever have been. When I saw close-ups of the actors piloting the planes, I thought they were among the most realistic back-projection shots I have ever seen. I mean, what director would actually have their stars pilot an aircraft? Well, apparently, William A. Wellman would. Sometimes the things that look fake to us are actually the realest things we never imagined, which is what I definitely took away after learning that this was the first film with actors filmed flying in the air. To prepare the actors to pilot the planes, they were sent to a flying school for nine months. As the actors operated the plane on-screen, a safety pilot off camera in another section of the plane would take control if anything went wrong or to allow the actor to act. To shoot these close-ups of the actors piloting and capturing the outstanding aerial shots of the planes performing marvelous stunts, cameras were typically strapped to the planes. In fact, earlier in the film, to give the audience an idea of what it will be like to fly through the air, Wellman would strap a camera to a swing that two of the characters ride, while another character creeps up behind them like an enemy plane. It's one of my favorite technical previews and foreshadowings I've ever seen in a movie. Further adding to the grandeur of these aerial scenes is the way they captured the gigantic size and shapes of the clouds the planes flew over. Wellman would wait for extended periods, even weeks, for clouds to appear in the sky during shooting. His rationale was that the clouds would give the audience a visual sense of speed, perspective, direction, and movement; without them, they would look like flies in clear skies. Despite all the waiting and pressure from the studio, his reasoning, informed by his experience as a former pilot, worked to the film's advantage. And placing the cherry on top of these dogfights is the additional use of color for the gunfire and the explosions to create a stronger sense of distress. I could only imagine how much of a cinematic marvel this film was to see in theaters at the time, especially when given a Roadshow Picture treatment with a live orchestra, which was even offered outside the big cities.
I do more than appreciate what this accomplishes; however, what prevents me from ranking this film higher on the list is the story. Wings is by no means a boring movie to watch, as it has near constant excitement, some fun humor, and likable performances. Still, as entertained as I was, I wish I could say that I care about the characters' relationships as much as the film wants me to. I buy the main characters, Jack and David, as friends, but their love-triangle rivalry with a woman named Sylvia before their friendship gets very little focus, to the point where they could've just started as friends. A young Gary Cooper plays a pilot who befriends Jack and David but gets killed off in the same scene we meet him, making it hard for me to sigh for this loss since I barely knew him. But I guess I'm in the minority of feeling nothing for him, since his short appearance helped establish him as a star. And the romance between Mary and Jack feels so shoehorned in that it comes across as an afterthought. As a matter of fact, the actress playing Mary was the number-one star at the time, Clara Bow, who was the film's only big name (and this was before Cooper's fame). The film builds Bow up as the star in the promotional material, has her take part in the war effort (which was a big deal at the time), gives her someone to fall in love with, and yet she has hardly anything notable to do except look like eye candy. The film goes as far as briefly showing her breasts in one scene, but don't think she's the only nude actor in the film, as naked men are undergoing physical exams, which was quite unexpected at the time. I'm not saying that Bow is emotionless in personality, as she does have an innocent, lovable presence. But instead of really showing her service in the war or developing a deeper connection with Jack, we have her spend a good portion of the film dealing with a drunk Jack who's obsessed with the film's bubble effects rather than with her. And that scene is exactly how I would summarize the film: a special-effects movie! Wellman was so preoccupied with making the film look as epic as it appears that everything with story and characters feels secondary. I wouldn't say it's as offensive, bland, and annoying as an aerial war film like Michael Bay's Pearl Harbor, but it's not that different in intention either. When you have a 2-hour and 24-minute movie that spends the majority of the time showing off its war action, special effects, and filming techniques instead of building the relationship of the characters, while still a magnificent, highly engaging extravaganza, it leaves a bit of an empty space inside of me after it ends.
Number 4: 7th Heaven
In the Outstanding Picture category, 7th Heaven is my favorite. Out of all the films nominated at the first Oscar ceremony, 7th Heaven received the most nominations, with five. The film walked away with three Oscars for Best Director (Frank Borzage), Best Actress (Janet Gaynor), and Best Writing (Adapted Screenplay). It was also the 13th-highest-grossing silent film at the time, which helped establish Fox as one of the five major studios. Given all the praise it received at the time and its historical significance, the film is rarely discussed as one of the silent greats. When I first reviewed it, I was gushing about how beautifully moving the film was. After a few rewatches over time, while I still love the film, I can see why some (especially modern audiences) would find it corny, a little too melodramatic, and even predictable. I can understand how some of the dialogue and actions, particularly on the subject of religion, can feel a little preachy and forced. And I've certainly heard others criticize the ending for its deus ex machina reveal and coming through as overly sentimental. And I agree, I think the ending would have benefited from a more ambiguous or hopeful note. But while I see and slightly agree with some of these perspectives, I'm hardly ever bothered by them. A major factor in why I'm not cringing, as others may, is the couple's expressive, lively performances. None of them seems dispassionate, and I don't find their expressions unnatural, as others might, given the film's emotional tone. I was surprised, upon multiple viewings, by how little screen time Chico and Diane have as a loving couple, and yet I'm still endeared by it because they're so cute together. And before they become lovers, it's entertaining to see these two characters with opposite perspectives on life and religion, and different skills, "temporarily" live together. Even apart, they still stand out as intriguing characters, both down on their luck as they survive in a tough world and with distinct, charismatic personalities. But, like in any good romance, seeing them together and helping motivate one another to evolve makes their progression and chemistry sweeter, and the romantic angle feels more valid. The rest of the characters do fulfill their purpose, but, frankly, aside from an older guy attached to his vehicle (which has little purpose), they aren't as memorable as they come across as stock. And that's not too much of a bad thing, since the film is clearly focused on making the couple as compelling as possible, even if the story can be easy to figure out at times. Admittedly, the religious aspect I find a tad corny in the dialogue department, but not to the point where I don't still buy the relationship and their views. I expressed how amazed I was that the film dared to talk about God and atheism. But what I'm more surprised with seeing is how they make an atheist character feel human, rather than a villain or a bully to others. Chico can be a bit of a jerk and vain about himself, but he's still a noble guy who would help a person in need and does not try to change his lover's beliefs. Chico will eventually restore his faith, which is probably why he's portrayed in a better light than most atheist characters, but it's still nice to see a more grounded portrayal. And when he does turn, it's genuinely an uplifting scene.
As Chico and Diane's romance and tender performances carry the film, what makes it look and feel bigger than your average romance is Frank Borzage's directing. The film's visual expressionistic portrayal of Paris in the early 1910s, before and during the war, offers plenty of personality, with its various angles, twisted objects, tight rooftops, and the constant contrast between light and shadows. The city's appearance resembles an expressionistic painting, creating a dream-like atmosphere fueled by emotion that adds to the anything-is-possible believability of the romance. And what gives these visuals and the city more of a personality are the symbols of heaven and hell. The film's hell are a dark and miserable places, like Chico working in the eerie dark sewers, or the old and rotting apartment where Diane lives with her abusive sister. The film's heaven is not too glamorous; it's Chico's apartment, simple but more welcoming than most places shown in the movie, serving as their sanctuary. And though not much to look at, it still offers an incredible view of the city and a gorgeous night sky. To reach this heaven, the characters must climb seven flights of stairs (with some great effects and shots), where their true heavenly prize is each other. The film's fantasy-like aesthetic comes to a halt when World War I enters the picture, creating a grittier, grounded presentation as the characters and city are consumed by this hell. Aside from the obvious models of vehicles blowing up, the war scenes still look as realistic as when I first saw them, if not as spectacular as Wings. And despite the wasteland-like setting with little to hope for, the spiritual optimism and love the characters carry for each other from such a great distance are the only light that shines metaphorically in these dreary scenes.
I should note that, since the film came out the same year as the famous "Talkie" film The Jazz Singer (which was snubbed by the Oscars for its groundbreaking technology), 7th Heaven predates the use of sound in that film. Granted, The Jazz Singer was indeed a milestone in filmmaking for being the first feature-length film with synchronized music and lip-synched dialogue, but not the first to try it. Many that experimented with sound were short films or sequences in a film, whereas The Jazz Singer, though not having dialogue throughout, had more than a handful of scenes to present its effect in a full-length picture of its kind. In 7th Heaven's case, it was at first released as a traditional silent film on May 6th, 1927, but was rereleased the same year on September 10th, with the pioneering Movietone technology. The actors spoke no dialogue, but sound effects (like explosions, bells chiming, and soldiers' chatter) were added to heighten the drama and intensity, along with an orchestral score and the sung theme song Diane composed by Erno Rapee. With everything I praised that makes the movie such a moving experience, the addition of sound and Rapee's music cement the emotions together. The score never feels overreaching in its presentation of the film's drama and romance, naturally flowing with the overall style and performances. I particularly get chills whenever I hear those heavenly vocals sing the theme song during some of the film's most touching moments. The sound effects certainly enhance the intensity and drama intended, but what I'm most interested in regarding the film's sound is how its score creates diegetic music for scenes in which characters play instruments, whether it's a bugle horn or drums as the soldiers march. I always find it neat when a silent film that's supposed to play a non-diegetic score goes the extra mile to create music that the characters hear. Compared to the Best Picture winner, Wings is the more ambitious film that I find more inspiring in terms of its filmmaking, which is probably why it won the award. However, when regarding story, character, themes, and atmosphere, 7th Heaven is the better movie.
Number 3: Chang: A Drama of the Wilderness
From here on out, my choices will be from the Unique and Artistic Picture category, since I enjoyed them more than the films featured in the other category. Chang is the only documentary ever to receive an Oscar nomination for Best Picture, which I find a pity. Given that foreign and animated films have been nominated for the award (and even won in the former case), I don't understand why documentaries don't qualify, especially since there are so many great ones out there. The people responsible for the documentary are Merian C. Cooper and Ernest B. Schoedsack. If the names don't at all sound familiar, you definitely know them for their groundbreaking special effects movie, King Kong (1933). Before they created such an innovative movie that would become an iconic staple of film and filmmaking, they were best known as documentarians for their Natural Drama films. Following the unexpected success of their previous film, Grass: A Nation's Battle for Life, the head of Paramount Studios, Jesse L. Lansky, commissioned the team to work on their next picture. The film is about a native family living in the jungles of Siam (now Thailand) as they struggle against dangerous wild animals that threaten their livelihood. The head of the family Kru was, in actuality, a fisherman, hunter, trapper, evangelist, and carpenter. He once served as the team's guide and interpreter, which is why he's the subject, along with his children. Though the film functions as a documentary, it's as much of a documentary as Robert J. Flaherty's Nanook of the North (1922). Meaning that while the people are mostly real indigenous people and were shot in exotic locations, the events that happened to them are largely staged for dramatic and entertainment purposes. In Chang, Kru's wife isn't even his real wife; she was played by one of his friends.
One of the things that truly amazes me about the film is the amount of grit it took to capture all of this. Those who have seen the original King Kong will most likely remember (the best human character in the movie) the eccentric, enthusiastic, fearless, and adventurous Carl Denham. A character that would visit exotic, dangerous locations, improvising what he shoots, who will get extremely close to a lion to film him, and put people and animals at risk while having a rifle handy to get the perfect image, whether it's a Rhino charging at the cameraman or capturing a wild giant gorilla. Dunham's unethical filming methods and love of adventure were actually based on Ernest B. Schoedsack and especially Merian C. Cooper, making him a wild combination of the team. For this film, Schoedsack would do most of the filming while Cooper would cover him with a rifle and come up with some of the craziest ideas possible. These men actually lived in the jungle for more than one year to make the movie, as they had to sweat in the extreme heat, deal with wild animals, and cope with some of the vilest smells, making this production a complete hell to work in. A script was ready to "document" the family but had to resort to improvisation because the animals kept refusing to cooperate. Most of the filming was shot in the early mornings since the animals would not typically venture out later in the day due to the intense heat. And it didn't help that, due to the wet weather, the cameras often developed mildew from the intense humidity. The crew would also find themselves injured while living in the jungle (notably from a python), whereas Cooper was racked with malaria throughout the production. But even with so many setbacks, the team continued the project. Their motto for filming was to "keep it distant, difficult, and dangerous," and they certainly lived up to it. To get a close-up of an attacking tiger, Schoedsack would shoot it from atop a tree, with the tiger attempting to climb it to kill him. Another impressive shot is the close-range, low-angle shots of the stampeding elephants running towards the camera. The shot was achieved by having Schoedsack dig a hole in the ground and hide in it while filming. They even built a miniature village for the baby elephants to destroy for the sequence. But as daring, creative, and intriguing as all this is, it does pain me to know and see that there was definitely some animal cruelty involved, which makes watching this at times uncomfortable. For example, a baby elephant was separated from its mother and tied to the hut so the mother could rescue it. When they released her, like a "bat out of hell," she came charging to save her baby, while destroying the hut in the process, which is captured in the final film. The most horrific story, which even Cooper was ashamed of, was when he ran a camera test involving two children and a leopard. The idea was to shoot the kids running across the jungle, then release the leopard after they reached the safe point. Why Cooper didn't just shoot them separately and later edited them together, I wish I knew. I guess he was that crazy. Anyway, the native controlling the cage where the tiger was kept received no signal and released the animal earlier, causing it to charge at the kids. This made Cooper wound the animal by shooting it, and then all of a sudden, the leopard jumped right at him, causing him to kill it, and he would have died as the dead animal's paws landed by the side of Cooper's head.
I've talked so much about the behind-the-scenes that I'm sure you're wondering what I think about the film without knowing its history. Well, the animal cruelty shown on screen is very tasteless and hard to watch, and for those who can't get past it or have lost interest in seeing it (no matter how old the film is), that is incredibly understandable. I sincerely wish this film wasn't a product of such horrible practices. Like many documentaries, especially of this kind at the time, the film looks realistic. Still, the staging of events is very obvious, making the events seem too good to be true for capturing reality. What really takes me out of the reality the documentary sets (other than the dreadful treatment of animals in some scenes) is how some of the animals get their own title cards, mainly the pet monkey who's making commentary on the events. This may be a silent film and would be more distracting in a talkie, but it's just as cringy and tacked-on as a desperate attempt to entertain audiences. The film is indeed flawed and has problematic elements that could make most of the previous films top it in my ranking. And as much as I despise some of the methods used to make it, I can't help but find myself more fascinated by the film than by the previous entries. Yes, the history behind it is a major part of it, but I can think of other films with an engaging history that are boring and offensive to watch (Trader Horn (1931), for example). At least with Chang, even without knowing what went on behind the scenes, I find the film itself entertaining and interesting in many ways. Compared to their previous Natural Drama Grass, I felt closer to the documentary's subjects, as I bought their family connection and struggle for survival. I'll even say the portrayal of an ingenious tribe is a little more dignified and less condescending than Nanook of the North. The main driving focus and investment lie in the action of how this family survives one challenge after another, which is nearly constant. How the jungle is captured still looks phenomenal, especially for the time. And without knowing how some of the shots of the animals were done, I'd still be amazed, wondering how they managed to get the shots they did. The greatest action scene in the movie is the elephant stampede, which still looks stellar today. When audiences saw the scene at its release, women shrieked, and men gasped in astonishment, fearing the animals were charging right at them, and gave a huge applause that lasted for many seconds. Aside from how it looks, there are two other special reasons for its reception. When shown at New York's Rivoli Theater on Broadway, the film had a musical setting, with 60 players in the orchestra pit and 60-foot thunder drums behind the curtains for the elephant stampede, creating thunderous sounds to heighten the drama. For the screen, a special process for the sequence was used, entitled Magnascope. Developed by Paramount Pictures, Maganascope was an early widescreen and magnification technology. During the film's climax, a projectionist would switch to a wide-angle lens, blowing up the 1.33:1 aspect-ratio picture to fill the entire theater screen, creating the illusion of elephants moving towards the audience. However, this process was only featured in large theaters. I can only imagine how exciting this process must have felt at the time. And to think this film was originally only going to be shown in Zoos so people can watch the animals react to themselves on-screen. As impressive as the previous few films on the list, and a little more emotionally compelling, Chang, though not for everyone, is the more distinctive film. The filming for Wings is just as ambitious, but its story is generic. 7th Heaven has a stronger story and is very stellar in many ways, but I can think of films like it that improve upon it. Chang is not the first of its kind, but it is a gripping experience to watch and becomes even more engaging when you know its historical context. And for both better and worse, we'll hardly see anything like it again. It's a film filled with realistic adventure, amazingly shot scenes drenched in action and atmosphere, an indigenous family I care about (though I wish there were a bit more to them), and is headed by two extraordinary explorers and filmmakers who push beyond their limits (and in some respects, should've held back in some places) to present such a grand experience. And if you want to know one of the best ways to watch the film, it is to play it as a double feature with the original King Kong. Since Carl Dunham is largely based on Cooper and Schoedsack, this would be a perfect film to watch with the mindset that this is a Dunham movie before witnessing him make his motion picture on Skull Island.
Number 2: The Crowd
I was uncertain about ranking King Vidor's The Crowd as high as I did. I remember it as a stronger film than the previous entries, but I recall the others more. I think of the amazing airplane shots in Wings more than the visuals in this movie. Chang's gritty yet obviously staged events in a documentary style are more intriguing to me than what I remember of The Crowd's aesthetic. The characters, relations, and story in 7th Heaven stand out more than when I recollect to the characters and story here. Even the rivalry in The Racket still sticks in mind just by their expressions alone. The Crowd when I think back just had one or two memorable shots and a few moments, as I rarely recall the events of the story. When I rewatched The Crowd, the film started as good as I remembered, but I questioned why I wanted to place it so high. It looked nice and had a simple yet effective setup about a man who wants to achieve the American dream, but I was still wondering where the heart of the film's brilliance lies. I was especially having a hard time believing that the film's couple, Bert and Mary, would instantly decide to wed the same night they met, in this stylized but still practical movie about life. As I let the film play on, I found myself relating to it more than ever. When it ended, I was surprised that it held up better than I thought, and as I let it sit with me, it became more profound than I remembered the first time. I appreciated how the film's plot is very loose and unpredictable. I knew Bert would have trouble chasing the American dream, but I could not predict the outcome or where things were headed most of the time. The romance began like a fairy tale, and I thought it would be glamorous for most of the movie, with some dramatic scenes to keep it from feeling shallow. Instead, they spend most of the film struggling to maintain it after the honeymoon, amid their financial problems and constant bickering. You would think that in a film about urban poverty, the romance would be so close to perfect as a way to help the characters cope with it, and that part is true in some respects, but it's certainly not as fantasized as one would believe.
The lead character, Bert, is not your traditional protagonist. He is not portrayed as a hero, nor does he offer complexities as a character. He is the average white-collar worker with big dreams, only to be trapped in his daily job, waiting for his "ship to come." He makes a livable wage but is miserable and replaceable at his job, making him only a cog in the corporate machine, as he lives a limited life outside of work. He thinks he'll make it big but has few to no plans beyond surviving. When he finally makes more money, thinking he's now on top, a tragedy suddenly occurs, bringing him to his breaking point. Before reality shatters him, he mocks a person dressed as a clown working on the streets, thinking he'll never be in this position, when later he'll give up his dignity and apply talents he considers useless to make ends meet. The film is hardly optimistic with its common middle-class daily struggles; it's typically very pessimistic and depressing, observing how many Americans are just part of a crowd working for corporate America under the illusion that they'll someday stand out when they catch the American dream. This gritty and somber depiction of reality became an issue with MGM. Vidor, having financial success with some of his earlier films (including The Big Parade (1925)), was able to convince the studio production chief Irving Thalberg that telling this story was a risk worth taking. Thalberg believed in a studio making a film now and then "for prestige, not profits," which wasn't hard to convince him, as the head of the studio, Louis B. Mayer. Mayer hated the film for its depressing content (and for a scene with a toilet, which, on-screen, was considered obscene at the time). He demanded that a new ending be shot with a happier outcome, forcing Vidor to shoot nine different endings before settling on the one used in the final film. Thalberg, who was on board with the project, remained concerned about its reception, prompting him to hold the film for a year before MGM released it. Although it was made before the Great Depression, audiences typically went to the movies to escape their everyday problems rather than to watch an unapologetically anti-glamorous film about them. Furthermore, the film features no major stars, as Vidor wanted to cast unknowns, fearing a big-name star would distract from the film's authentic presentation of the everyman. The film's star, James Murray, was only an extra whom Vidor met by chance on the studio lot (even though he had appeared in and starred in a few films prior, most of which were lost). With Eleanor Boardman as Mary's wife, she had more films under her belt and was a minor MGM contract actress and Vidor's first wife. Both deliver a powerful, raw performance, making these characters relatable, believable, defenseless, and at times tender, while looking like the average couple we see in our daily lives.
I still love the visuals in the previous entries more, but Vidor's direction is much more impressive and thematic than I would have given it credit for originally. Some images are iconic, such as the impressionistic tracking shot of the skyscraper that transports the viewer up the building, through a window, and into a large room filled with hundreds of workers sitting at desks in an overhead shot that makes their positions appear crisscrossed. It's really one of the greatest tracking shots in film history, with the building effects achieved by placing a miniature on the stage and a still photograph behind the window. There's also the famous sequence of a hysterical and grief-stricken Bert in the middle of a sea of a rushing, faceless, noisy crowd as he runs in the opposite direction of the herd by trying to silence them out of respect for his recently deceased daughter, but fails. And of course, there is the famous final shot of the camera pulling back from Bert's family as they laugh at a vaudeville show, then disappearing into the crowd of laughing faces. But then there are some impressive images I forgot about until I rewatched this movie, including a forced-perspective shot of a stairwell that makes it appear claustrophobic and somber when a character dies in an earlier scene. The reveal of the white, plain, and sanitized hospital room where the faces of the bedridden patients are hidden. The superimposed images appearing on John's forehead when he goes mad at work. And the capturing of romantic locations, whether it is the festive nightlife at Coney Island, or a full panoramic shot of the majestic Niagara Falls. Even before that famous transition involving the skyscraper, there's a short City Symphony sequence capturing people in crowds or in vehicles, always in a hurry, as this smoky, gigantic industrial city reduces them to moving parts of a machine. I really couldn't believe how much I overlooked how poetically rich and stellar the film's visuals are. Vidor's use of hidden cameras on the streets of New York, combined with expressionistic imagery through the studio sets, camera angles, and low-key lighting to visualize and critique the struggles of living in corporate America, is truly a sight to see! And as harshly downbeat and critical as the film is, it does not shame the person caught in the crowd, but rather the capitalist system that people are forced to be part of. Just because Bert won't be able to escape the crowd and not achieve his dreams does not mean he's a loser. He still has a loving family who may not be perfect but make his life worth living because of how happy they make him and each other. The film is a bittersweet, timeless tale about finding what you value in life during tough, tragic, or lonesome times, whether through your loved ones, your small accomplishments, or escapist activities, carried by marvelous visuals and stellar performances. The film became a surprising critical and box office success. But even with the praise and money it received, Mayer still detested the film, going so far as to tell board members not to vote for it for the first Academy Awards. While not winning the award, the film is still considered one of the greatest films of all time that has inspired successful filmmakers, including Billy Wilder (notably for the office scenes in his film The Apartment (1960)), Orson Welles, Italian neorealists Vittorio De Sica & Cesare Zavattini, and French New Wave director Jean-Luc Godard.
Number 1: Sunrise: A Song of Two Humans
I may have grown to appreciate and even relate to The Crowd more, but that does not mean it tops Sunrise: A Song of Two Humans as my favorite from the first Oscar Best Picture categories. While disappointed that 7th Heaven didn't win Outstanding Picture, I was very happy that Sunrise won the Oscar for Best Unique and Artistic Picture. The only downside is that since Sunrise won in the second Best Picture category, many people (including the Academy later on) consider Wings as the first official Best Picture winner, rather than both. Regardless of not getting as much attention Best Picture-wise, the film itself is still heavily regarded as one of the greatest silent films of all time. The picture is created by famous German expressionist director F.W. Murnau, who has directed silent classics including The Last Laugh (1924), Faust (1926), and one of the most iconic horror films of all time, Nosferatu: A Symphony of Horror (1922). Sunrise serves as his first American film that was a critical success but failed at the box office, which I found shocking. When I first discovered that the director of Nosferatu was the master behind the camera, I was surprised, but also, in many respects, it made sense. A huge part of the reason why it made sense is how the film partly functions as a psychological horror film. For a film that I thought was going to be a straightforward romance movie, Murnau does not hold back with giving it some creepy imagery and intense suspense. Most of that comes in the first act, where a poor farmer who has lost interest in his wife, is having an affair with a woman from the city who is seduced into contemplating murdering his wife so that he can sell the farm and run away with her to the city. Most of the imagery in the first half takes place in a moonlit murky swamp and dimly lit old cottages (at one point appearing slanted at the city Vamp's place), creating a foreboding atmosphere drenched in dread, poverty, and fear. The Vamp looks and acts as her title suggests, a modern vampire-like siren dressed in black who drains away the man's soul and senses through her kisses as a vampire would take gratuitous pleasure sucking a person's blood. The farmer's pale appearance and intense, dead eyes after making love look as if he became a blood-drained slave of a vampire, or a zombie. When about to drown his wife, he appears as a deranged giant hulking monster, with an urge to kill face and his hunched posture as he towers over his helpless wife. As monstrous and bewitched as he looks and behaves, he still struggles with his corruption from the Vamp, always torn between killing his wife or sparing her. He has visions of the temptress clouding his mind, is drowned in guilt, and retaliates through violence when first hearing about the idea. The build-up and suspense during this first act are some of Murnau's finest! And even after the farmer decides not to kill her, because of his fear of abandonment and regrets, like Jekyll and Hyde, he'll turn into the savage monster he behaved as earlier to people that threaten his unity with his wife. He'll go as far as to nearly murder the woman who drove him into madness.
Until the film's riveting third act involving the couple's separation during a storm, the film's second act takes place in the city with the couple rekindling their love after the incident. This is usually the point where people are either still on board with the film or find it boring and unrealistic. I can understand why someone would be disinterested in the film at that point. After a grim and excitingly suspenseful first act, having the film then be about two people going on a date in the city does not sound as engaging as the film we started with. And although the film takes its time for the wife to forgive her husband, some contemporary viewers have a hard time buying that she'd stay with him, especially since the man still acts violently in a few scenes toward other people. I never had a problem with the second act. A significant reason is how the film's story is played out more as a fable fueled by emotions instead of logic. You may have noticed that I haven't referred to a single character by name because the film doesn't give them a one. The reason is to help the film connect universally with audiences by having them identify with the characters and story. To cautiously warn them how desperate people in bad times can easily be corrupted by harmful, selfish desires and fears. To remind them how important it is to keep your vows to the person you love and work at it, even when things are not what they used to be, and that forgiveness is almost hopeless. George O'Brien and Janet Gaynor's chemistry and performances help sell the film's emotional appeal. As O'Brien can easily be intimidatingly frightful and full of sorrow, he has a magnetic charm when pulling off his gentler scenes. The same can be said about Gaynor as the wife. Even though audiences at the time were distracted by the blonde wig she wears throughout the film, because they were more familiar with her long dark hair, she still delivers a lovable performance as this seemingly plain farmer's wife, whose true beauty becomes appreciated as the film progresses. The sincere purity that Gaynor's shows as this caring wife makes the idea of murdering her (let alone leaving her) obscener, as she is always loyal and never acts nastily to her husband before the attempt. To witness this sweet character coping with a traumatizing ordeal, while the husband is suffering with pain and regrets for what he nearly does, is heartbreaking to watch. So, seeing them dating for a good portion of the runtime becomes a relief and heartwarming experience to see them happy again. I genuinely love watching these two fool around and happily explore the city together, whether it involves taking a romantic picture, reconnecting as they watch a wedding at church, or enjoying the nightlife dancing, dining, and playing games at an amusement park. And just as if this couple can't get any more adorable, they partake in a few comical situations such as thinking they broke a statue or chasing after one of the cutest pigs I've ever seen.
Another thing that keeps the second act from feeling like a bore to me is the visuals. From beginning to end, despite working for an American studio, Murnau still showcases his expressionistic style to give this film a fantasy-like appeal. Although gothic imagery appears in the first and sometimes third act of the film, resembling paintings or a horror film from Germany, the film shares more in common with the German subgenre "Street Film." "Street Films" were known for blending a gritty story, usually set in an urban setting, with an expressionistic style that features a weak, relatable protagonist trying to overcome the city, which this film contains. Believe it or not, the city scenes were not filmed on location. Instead, they were filmed on a large and expensive set, typically full of little people as pedestrians, where some shots would show a model of the city with either a painted background or combined projected images. Some of my favorite imagery is the postcard turning into a live train station (that uses models and projections), the man's visions of the city, and the amusement park set that has functioning rides appearing as tight and expressionistic as the carnival in The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (1920). And Murnau knows how to direct these sets to feel overwhelmingly gigantic, atmospheric, and poetically symbolic, with expressive lighting and impressive dolly shots and crane shots. At certain points, Murnau uses long takes to create the experience of entering a dream or someone's psyche. The best example is when the camera follows the man walking through foggy marshes, then suddenly places the viewer in his point of view in the same shot, moving forward to see the ghostly-like Vamp, only for him to step into the shot and embrace her. Murnau also loves to use superimposed images, whether through montage of the city or the nightmares in the man's mind. And given this is one of the earliest films to use back projection, Murnau combines the effect with superimposition as the couple walks through busy city streets (with cars passing behind them), then finds themselves in a dreamy, wide-open countryside, and back in reality with cars honking at them. The effect may seem dated now, but it was very impressive for its time. For such a visually strong film, given the simplicity of the story, Murnau uses title cards sparingly, showing up even less as the film moves on, but sometimes making them visually interesting, particularly when words melt when the plot to drown the wife is uttered. Murnau does not dwell long on flashbacks either, as many of them are brief and have little to no edits, and yet you can still strongly feel the emotions in these short scenes. As important as visuals are, sound is also key to the movie's success. Like 7th Heaven, this film also predates The Jazz Singer, which even uses the Fox Movietone sound-on-film system with sounds of people yelling and chattering; cars honking; and pigs squealing (that certainly helped tremendously for why I adore the pigs in this film). The sound effects do the same amount of justice in heightening the mood as 7th Heaven did, as well as the score, which even functions as sound effects itself (notably the French horns when the man calls out for his lost wife). What Murnau did when making his first American movie was use all the tricks he applied in his successful works. It has the monstrous performances and eerie atmosphere of Nosferatu in earlier scenes, the urban setting and lack of title cards as seen in The Last Laugh, and a tale involving romance told on an epic scale of emotions like Faust, while still bringing something fresh and new to American audiences through story, performances, and film techniques. Like The Crowd or a classic Fable, the story is as timeless, while its filmmaking inspired directors such as John Ford, Orson Welles, and even Alfred Hitchcock, and is still incredible to look at today, as the film currently stands as an entertaining experience by combining genres of romance, comedy, urban fantasy, psychological horror and melodrama.
