Cover of The Illusionist [Blu-ray]

I got bored with Steven Millhauser’s short story, “Eisenheim the Illusionist,” and so stopped reading it.  I’m glad it was transferred to the screen, however, for there is much to love in this curious movie.  Norton’s Eisenheim works as a mind-boggling illusionist in 19th-century Vienna and is in love with Sophie von Teschen (Jessica Biel), the aristocratic inamorata of a callous prince (Rufus Sewell).  Illusions are everywhere in the film, all performed by Eisenheim—unless the illusions are real.  Burger keeps us guessing.  What the whole of Vienna believes to be reality, in fact, turns out to be a happy falsehood.

The film uses a couple of the iris-outs so appreciated by director Francois Truffaut, and indeed The Illusionist greatly resembles Truffaut’s period pieces, e.g. The Story of Adele H., though without the customary charm.  Cinematographer Dick Pope’s lighting cannot be improved on; truly the film has a look.  Prague nicely stands in for Vienna, and the costumes of Ngila Dickson are unpretentiously agreeable.  Philip Glass’s score is respectable if sometimes shopworn.

The film is entertaining as well as marred by plenty of flaws.  For one thing, it’s a bit plebeian, and for another, I wish Jessica Biel’s acting had more sparkle, more imagination, for all her good looks.

Larry Peerce’s Goodbye Columbus (1969) is a Hollywood movie for adults since the Philip Roth story from which it derives is a novella for adults.  It is well known that it has to do with the attitude of rich American Jews toward low-income Jews (and vice versa), but when Peerce isn’t proving what a romantic he is, he is imposing on us some ugly, very raffish, and insulting satire.  Romantic?  Yes, in the scenes where Neil and Brenda, falling in love, are together, and these can be pleasant.  Richard Benjamin and Ali MacGraw enact the lovers with savvy and heart.  But Goodbye Columbus is pushy and fails to adequately convey the ultimate meaning of Roth’s story (in the diaphragm sequence).  It is, I think, worth seeing but just barely.

Goodbye, Columbus (film) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Except for its specious final minutes, 1946’s The Blue Dahlia, written by Raymond Chandler, is a smashing crime picture.  A horrid, unfaithful woman (Doris Dowling) whom no man truly loves is murdered, and Johnny Morrison (Alan Ladd), her husband and an ex-military officer, tries to find the killer.  He himself is a suspect, but so is the smooth club owner Eddie Harwood (Howard Da Silva)—the “lover” of Dowling and the husband of a character played by Veronica Lake (my gosh, he’s cheating on Veronica Lake!?)—and the irritable, mentally unbalanced veteran, Buzz (William Bendix).

With his foursquare direction, George Marshall and his cast have delivered a sober, classy but not too classy melodrama.  Chandler’s fine dialogue means little in the mouth of Alan Ladd, dull and Shane-like as he is, but it means a lot coming from the memorable Da Silva, Dowling, Will Wright, et al.  Lake, who is serviceable, is perfect-looking; Bendix, who is unhandsome, is scary.  Have fun.

Bed and Board (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Francois Truffaut made Bed and Board (Domicile Conjugal, 1970) to show us his autobiographical character, Antoine Doinel—a former juvenile delinquent—as a married man with a child.  Casually he tosses in the revelation that Antoine (Jean-Pierre Leaud) is often selfish, and drama would be absent from the film had he not had Antoine cheat on his wife (Claude Jade) with a Japanese woman.

Less successful than Truffaut’s other Antoine Doinel pictures, Bed is nevertheless pleasurable with its slight goofiness and, well, essentially meaningless high spirits.  It is usually the equivalent of a Paul McCartney love song, except that it’s pretty risqué.  The Story of Adele H. it ain’t.

(In French with English subtitles)

The nineteenth century in Stanley and Livingstone (1939) is much like the twentieth century in that the work that men do takes them far from home and into remote areas, and the men aren’t even soldiers.  One of them, Dr. Livingstone (Sir Cedric Hardwicke), is a missionary who might have died in Africa, but didn’t.  Henry Stanley (Spencer Tracy) is a newspaper man assigned to hunt down Livingstone if rumors of his death are false.

What would be corny in movies today, such as some stuff involving Walter Brennan, was not considered corny in 1939, although there is not that much corniness at all in this absorbing Henry King film.  Much of it is quite mature (there is intelligent talk) and well-meaning, with some captivating, Kenya-provided safari footage.  Even the less than believable hot pursuit of Stanley and his helpers, who have virtually no arms, by many hostile natives is something to see.  As for the acting, a lot of grounded work gets done.  Spencer Tracy is just Spencer Tracy—but this works.  Hardwicke is truly fine as a man of God, while Brennan, Charles Coburn, Nancy Kelly and others are exactly right.  Congrats all around.