Poets' Favorite Movies
R. S. Gwynn
I’ve listed
this baker’s dozen in alphabetical order, and it’s certainly an
incomplete list of my favorites (Chinatown? Citizen Kane? The
Godfather? The African Queen? Casablanca? The Dogs of War? Grand
Illusion? Duck Soup?). But these are a few guilty pleasures that
I’ve seen multiple times and can rarely pass up when they show up on TV.
Animal
House (John
Landis, 1978)
My wife and I were visiting her folks, and I had to drag her into her
hometown theater to see this, which she decided must be “dumb” on the
basis of the ad. We quickly realized that it was a time capsule of our
college years and haven’t stopped laughing since. You can add to that
the fact that I have been told that I resemble the late John Vernon
(Dean Wormer).
Day for
Night (Francois Truffaut, 1973)
The early Truffaut films are probably better, but I love the sense of
community and ensemble acting in this one, especially Bissett, Aumont,
and Leaud. That spectacular tracking shot in the snow and the music
(Vivaldi?) knock me out every time.
The Guns of
Navarone (J. Lee Thompson, 1961)
I saw this three nights in a row on its first release and recently
bought the widescreen DVD. The best of what used to be called “high
adventure.”
In a Lonely
Place (Nicholas Ray, 1950)
Gloria Grahame was terrific in almost every film she made (The Bad
and the Beautiful was one), and I think Bogart was at his best in
this one. It has great ensemble acting and, given Dix Steele’s
hamartia, a true film-noir tragedy. It has one of the most downbeat
endings of any 50s film I can think of.
Monty
Python and the Holy Grail
(Terry Gilliam and Terry Jones, 1975)
My sons and I have seen this so many times that we can recite the
dialogue back and forth. And I’ve recently discovered that some of my
twenty-something students can do the same.
Plan 9 from
Outer Space (Edward D. Wood, Jr., 1959)
My best friend and I saw this on its first release and laughed over its
lines for years before Tim Burton helped a couple of younger generations
discover it.
Shampoo
(Hal Ashby, 1975)
If ever a movie captured time and place (1968 elections, Los Angeles)
this one did. Christie is stunning, but for me the picture is stolen by
Jack Warden. The scene where Beatty stuffs his blow-drier in his belt
and charges off on his motorcycle is a stroke of genius.
The
Searchers (John Ford, 1956)
No surprise here, for this shows up on everybody’s list. Wayne, of
course, is sublime, but Jeff Hunter does a great job too, as does the
ever-popular Vera Miles (think about how many TV shows and movies she
shows up in—Psycho, for instance). And I love Ken Curtis: “I’ll
thank you to take your hands off my fiancy.”
Topsy Turvy
(Mike Leigh, 1999)
Mike Leigh is my favorite contemporary writer-director, and the script
of this one is to die for. Wonderful performance and fascinating
Victoriana.
Vernon,
Florida (Errol Morris, 1982)
Morris can be uneven (I couldn’t sit through Mr. Death), but this
is a classic. Again, one with great quotable lines: “A man’s got three
brains.” Or was it four? “Therefore.” Etc.
Wild
Strawberries (Ingmar Bergman, 1957)
My favorite Bergman. It holds out the possibility of redemption in a way
that many of his films don’t.
Yankee
Doodle Dandy (Michael Curtis, 1942)
Sublimely corny. Cagney’s tap-dancing down those White House stairs is
wonderful. And the theater scenes are lit in a way that I’ve rarely
seen.
Young
Frankenstein (Mel Brooks, 1974)
I saw this at an unadvertised studio preview and haven’t stopped
laughing since. My wife and I watched it again the other night, shortly
before we heard of Peter Boyle’s death.
R. S. Gwynn was born in Eden, North
Carolina. He is the author of No Word of Farewell: Selected Poems
1970-2000 from Story Line Press, as well as four other collections
including The Narcissiad (1982) and The Drive-In
(1986). He is the editor of the Pocket Anthology series from Penguin
Academics/Longman and New Expansive Poetry from Story Line
Press. He is University Professor of English at Lamar University in
Texas.
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