Countdown

 

Director Robert Altman

Altman on the set

Screenshot of James Caan and Joanna Moore

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

COUNTDOWN         B-                                                                                                                USA  (101 mi)  1968  d:  Robert Altman

An early, often forgotten film by Robert Altman, his first feature shot more than a decade after his earlier 1950’s ventures, the perpetually underseen Corn's-A-Poppin' (1955), a horribly bad film where Altman is only listed as a co-writer in the credits, a fictionalized look at juvenile delinquency in THE DELINQUENTS (1957) and the teen exploitation documentary THE JAMES DEAN STORY (1957), none of which show early signs of the director he was to become.  While working steadily in television for more than a decade, this film has bigger stars and more recognizable camera movement, yet it’s still more of a television drama than a Robert Altman movie, an adaptation of the 1964 Hank Searles book The Pilgrim Project, which is mostly a behind-the-scenes look at NASA in its infancy, which fully cooperated with the film, offering its facilities, including the Cape Canaveral missile launch location and the nearby, recently opened Kennedy Space Center.  Released 18-months before the first manned mission to the moon, this is a fictionalized, last-minute attempt to beat the Russians to the moon during the space race, known as the Pilgrim Project, accelerated into action after learning the Russians were on the verge of making a moon landing, where egos and petty jealousies come into play, yet in true Altman fashion he was fired before completing the film, as studio head Jack Warner looked at some of the footage and immediately demanded his dismissal claiming “That fool has actors talking at the same time.”  Of course, overlapping dialogue would become a standard trademark of any Robert Altman film, but early on the studio expressed little interest in this innovative filmmaking quirk.  Executive producer William Conrad, who actually hired Altman for the film, shot some new footage and provided a happier and more upbeat ending, as Altman’s original bleak ending had the astronaut lost on the moon, wandering in the wrong direction, ultimately doomed on a lifelessly deserted terrain.  Despite this interference, there are early signs of an Altman film, basically a blip on the radar, standing in stark contrast to Philip Kaufman’s large-scale historical drama THE RIGHT STUFF (1983), pitting two astronauts against one another (a prelude to seeing them work together in The Godfather (film series) 1972, 74,1990, also appearing in Coppola’s THE RAIN PEOPLE in 1969 and again as rivals in Sam Peckinpah’s THE KILLER ELITE in 1975), starring Robert Duvall as Chiz, an Air Force trained colonel who knows every aspect of the mission, groomed for the project early on, completing all the exercise missions, but he’s pulled out at the last minute because of his association with the military, which the top brass felt was a bad look for the first man on the moon, needing the optics of a civilian on a mission of peace, as they want no rumors of military intervention in outer space during the Cold War, when Americans were competing against the Russians.  In an early scene, where viewers aren’t sure what’s an exercise and what’s real, the mission is mysteriously aborted, leaving the crew totally befuddled, only to learn afterwards that there’s been a revision in the sped-up timetable and a change in assignment, Countdown (1968) -- (Movie Clip) Roger, Houston, Apollo 3 ... YouTube (2:27).  Plucked from the ranks is James Caan as Lee Stegler, an All-American guy who was a subordinate of Chiz, a member of his crew suddenly catapulting over him for the coveted mission, given just three weeks training before the launch, which doesn’t sit well with Chiz, who intends to undermine Lee, agreeing to train him, but drive him hard, proving he’s not ready, making the case that he’s the only one for the job.  Even during exercise missions there are plenty of distinctly different points of view, leading to disagreements and bureaucratic handwringing, causing unneeded tension, hardly the teamwork one might expect, yet the astronauts themselves are surprisingly clear about what they need to do, Countdown (1968) -- (Movie Clip) He Thinks He Can Fly - TCM YouTube (3:54).

Loosely remade by Ron Howard in APOLLO 13 (1995) with a much larger budget, this fits the low budget B-movie profile, better than expected, with very little science fiction to speak of but plenty of realistic detail, less interested in heroism or an established plot, with no real good guys, just a bunch of ordinary working stiffs doing their jobs, yet lacking the personal intensity of an Altman movie, resembling the cheesy sets on the television series Star Trek (1966 – 69), yet this is a typical Hollywood studio film told in linear fashion, using a structure that Altman would largely rail against for the entirety of his career afterwards, with a swelling atonal orchestral score by Leonard Rosenman that offers a sense of spacious anxiety, Leonard Rosenman music score from Robert Altman's COUNTDOWN (1968) Main & End Titles. YouTube (2:55), mirroring the epic musical score from Stanley Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968) which was released just one month earlier, while the sets seen are replicas of actual NASA lunar modules used for exercise missions, where it’s hard to imagine being cramped into that tight space for days on end.  The script was written by Loring Mandel, a giant of “live” drama from the Golden Age of Television like Playhouse 90 or CBS Playhouse, anticipating the actual moon landing, though in much more desperate and alienating fashion, as Lee would be transported to the surface of the moon, where he would have three hour’s worth of oxygen to find a space station already on the surface, where once inside, he could safely live there for the next 10 months, or a year or so, until another mission could come to rescue him.  This astonishing isolation, being stranded on the moon, is actually the intended goal of the mission, the first dry run of the international space station which has been in existence since 1998, though orbiting around the earth.  This offers a completely different emotional edge to the experience, as neither astronaut has been trained to endure long periods of isolation. Altman shifts the focus to the astronaut’s wives, Barbara Baxley as Jean is the seemingly exiled wife of Chiz, rarely seen in each other’s company, while Joanna Moore as Mickey is the devoted wife of Lee (both blondes), often seen in social settings with a drink in their hands, but they are largely ignored and kept out of the official loop, literally kept in the dark, both seen here when they first inadvertently hear about the mission, still thinking Chiz will be the lone astronaut, Countdown (1968) -- (Movie Clip) An Emergency Backup To ...  YouTube (3:08).  Living in the shadows of their husbands, feeling obligated to support them, yet clearly they’re stressed out about all the things they aren’t being told about what could possibly go wrong, not the least of which is having a husband and father stranded on the moon indefinitely, while their shock and silence mirrors their husband’s overall sense of secrecy and extreme isolation.  There’s also a power play between a no-nonsense NASA administrator Ross (Steve Ihnat) and Navy doctor Gus (Charles Aidman), who voices his concerns for the health of the astronaut which, to put it bluntly, is never the primary focus of the operation, typically overlooked for the bigger picture, precariously cutting corners in a last minute high risk, high reward gamble in order to beat the Russians to the moon, with Ross quickly setting him straight about the mission’s expedited priorities, as you’re either all-in or out, Countdown - Steve Ihnat vs Charles Aidman YouTube (1:50).  

Using Altman regular Michael Murphy as one of the crew, whose work with Altman goes back to a television episode of Combat (1962 – 67) in 1963, and Ted Knight, known for his role as a dim-witted and totally clueless news anchor with perfect enunciation on The Mary Tyler Moore Show (1970 – 77), plays a bloviating NASA public relations guy, yet what Altman gets right is the look of the late 50’s and early 60’s, particularly the men working for NASA, all in crew cuts, wearing those undistinguished Eisenhower era glasses that were so commonplace, but also the press corps, the vintage cars, the bars, and the social gatherings.  At one party filled with NASA personnel (actually shot at Altman’s own Mandeville Canyon residence in Brentwood), an out-of-place Bohemian folk musician (voice artist Robert Ridgely) is singing a song about folk hero John Henry, transporting him from the railroad to the moon, making up satiric spoof lyrics about how “the moon is gonna be the death of me, Lord, Lord,” Countdown (1968) -- (Movie Clip) The Man In The Moon Is A Girl YouTube (3:20).  This is in such bad taste, especially with the astronauts and their wives present, that it feels like it had to be an Altman touch, as the man had a thing for bad jokes, much like incorporating a song entitled “Suicide is Painless” during an irreverent Last Supper homage in MASH (1970), MASH Funeral Scene 1080p YouTube (2:25).  The moon flight has Lee in the capsule while Chiz guides him from the Houston Command Center, staying in radio contact, continually providing instructions, while the wives watch from a glass-enclosed room in the back, seeing and hearing everything.  What’s surprising is that Lee gets rattled by unexpected circumstances, encountering a power drain malfunction that causes him to lose his composure, showing visible fear at having to shut down much of his power, not trusting that it will be there when he needs it, but conditions eventually stabilize.  Radio contact is sporadic as he nears the moon, so part of each message is missing, yet Chiz is adamant about aborting the landing should he be unable to make eye contact with the space module with a flashing beacon, as there is still an opportunity for a safe return to earth.  Never really seeing it on the approach, Lee refuses to see failure as an option and lands on the surface anyway, losing all radio contact, shot in the Mojave Desert to simulate the surface of the moon.  He has only a brief window to find it, and instead, in a chilling Altman twist, discovers gruesome evidence of a failed Russian landing that is a sobering reminder of just what can go wrong.  An inveterate gambler, Altman devises a scheme of chance that sends him in the wrong direction, as viewed from a pulled back vantage point from the module, like a Hitchcockian device, ending in downbeat fashion, but that’s not what we see, just the opposite, curiously expressed through a long and wordless sequence, which does really feel like an exploration, but lacks any sense of outer space curiosity, showing no signs of awe or wonder.  Unlike the actual moon, with little gravitational pull, where a moon walk consists of giant skips and bounces, this is more straightforward where a walk is a walk, yet the region is entirely lifeless and desolate, exhausting the entirety of his oxygen supply, relying upon a miracle, which, of course, happens in the movies.  Every expedition needs a little luck.  Still, even if successful, he’s stranded up there for months on end, yet food, air supply, and radio contact will allow him to maintain human contact.  It’s a very eerie and unsettling conclusion, where a scene involving the American and Russian flags might seem surprisingly civil, as there’s little patriotic fervor, but James Caan does an excellent job as the man on the moon, where all earthly relations and connections will just have to wait until the scientists figure out how to get him back.  It’s a bit surreal, evolving slowly in extreme quiet, allowing the potentially dire implications to play out.  

Edge of the City

 
 

Director Martin Ritt

EDGE OF THE CITY       B             

USA  (85 mi)  1957  d:  Martin Ritt

Ritt’s biography claimed that he had acted in a hundred and fifty television productions and directed a hundred more before he ever directed a movie, now known for making films with a social conscience, featuring characters who are underdogs, victims of racism or sexism or workers exploited by capitalism, all coming from diverse backgrounds, quietly struggling to overcome their unfortunate circumstances.  Curious about exploring the American landscape, one uncommon aspect of his films invites viewers to identify with the growing awareness of his central characters, often making it difficult and challenging, yet this collaborative experience can be inspiring.  Often labeled a political filmmaker, Ritt would dismiss that, expressing a primary concern for providing authenticity in capturing how people truly live, showing great empathy for minorities or the disenfranchised, celebrating the multiplicity of America.  Ritt got his start working with the Federal Theatre Project, a New Deal theater company that provided jobs for struggling artists during the Great Depression.  Often linked with filmmaker and theater director Elia Kazan, both children of immigrants coming from impoverished neighborhoods in New York, working together in the New York-based Group Theatre, which shaped their personal philosophy as well as their working method, both pioneers of the American acting technique taught by Konstantin Stanislavski, otherwise known as method acting, bringing a more naturalistic style to the screen, with Ritt directing 13 different actors in Oscar-nominated performances, including three that won Academy Awards, Patricia Neal and Melvyn Douglas in Hud (1963), though it’s Paul Newman’s blustery performance that we remember, while Sally Field memorably won for NORMA RAE (1979).  Despite being from New York, Ritt was one of the most sensitive chroniclers of the American South.  As early as 1938, the House Un-American Activities Committee was investigating the Federal Theater Project, believing it was overrun with communists because their productions actively promoted racial integration (yes, that is correct, it must be the communists behind any idea of racial integration), with suggestions they also perpetuated an anti-capitalist agenda, cancelling all funding for the project in 1939.  Ritt’s affiliation with the Federal Theater would profoundly affect his career, as he was blacklisted by the television industry in 1952 during the heyday of McCarthyism, though never named by any of the testifying witnesses, but his name was mentioned in a right-wing newsletter called Counterattack, a publication formed by three former FBI agents, alleging that Ritt helped Communist Party-affiliated union locals in New York stage their annual holiday show, also claiming he raised money for the Russian war relief in a Madison Square Garden theatrical production, while a Syracuse grocer accused Ritt of donating money to Communist China in 1951.  Unable to work in the television industry, Ritt earned a living as an acting instructor at the Actors Studio cofounded by Kazan for a period of five years. 

In the 50’s when Hollywood was converting to color films in an attempt to distinguish itself from television, Ritt continued to make films in black and white, including this film and Paris Blues (1961), extending even into the mid 60’s.  By the time Ritt got his start directing films, the industry itself was losing money, some of it due to television, but more significantly, one thinks, is the impact of the Hollywood blacklist removing such substantial talent from the overall talent pool while fueling suspicions that Hollywood was under siege from subversive elements, not exactly a walking advertisement for family entertainment.  Perhaps because of this, a door opened for Ritt, who was the recommendation of producer Walter Susskind, as the film is a Robert Alan Aurthur adaptation of a live Philco Television Playhouse drama in 1955 entitled A Man Is Ten Feet Tall, which also starred Poitier in the same role, who was himself facing scrutiny from HUAC, forcing him to sign a document repudiating certain “undesirables,” namely black actors Canada Lee and Paul Robeson (who had already been blacklisted) if he wished to continue working in the industry.  It was only the intervention of both Susskind and Aurthur that spared him the indignity.  So the film is a milestone, an early example of social consciousness.  Both Ritt and Kazan were masters of location shooting and both were considered superior teachers of actors, known for drawing out exceptional performances, where they also integrated local inhabitants into the scenes, adding to the overall sense of realism and authenticity in their work.  This film combines the talents of two legends in the business, Sidney Poitier and John Cassavetes, though neither was accomplished at the time, coming early in their careers, where it’s a treat to see them work together “before” they became who we know them to be.  While Poitier made a great impact in his first film, the incendiary Joseph L. Mankiewicz drama No Way Out (1950), one of the first films to deal honestly and realistically with racism in America, here he’s much more authentic and believable, seen doing dance steps in his living room, adding more swagger to his character than we usually see, embracing life for all that it offers, while this was only the second feature film to star Cassavetes, working mostly in television dramas before that, a method actor who was already conducting his own acting workshops, viewed as deeply troubled and conflicted throughout, carrying an unseen burden on his shoulders.  Unfortunately, the storyline so closely resembles Kazan’s On the Waterfront (1954), examining the lives of blue collar dockworkers on the corrupt New York City waterfront, it all but dwarfs this smaller feature, towering over it in cultural impact, sweeping most of the major Academy Awards, leaving this in its shadow.  While it’s not nearly as powerful, or influential, it is an early example of an interracial friendship onscreen and a sophisticated exposé of racism, with the focus on Axel North (an edgy Cassavetes), a lone drifter looking for a job, immediately exploited by his hard-edged supervisor Charlie Malik (Jack Warden) who extorts part of his salary while mocking and criticizing everything he does.  In contrast, Tommy Tyler (Poitier), the only black supervisor, is much more likable, taking him under his wing and showing him the ropes, though it’s easy to see why, as Malik keeps all the workers for himself, creating a situation where Tyler supervises nearly no one.  We quickly realize why, as Malik is a vile racist who feels threatened by Tyler’s presence on the docks.  A black supervisor was extremely rare in that day and age with openly racist working conditions, where blacks were explicitly barred from most unions, or required to pay kickbacks to get in, with whites controlling both access to operating equipment and the more skilled positions well into the 70’s until court rulings on the 1964 Civil Rights Act legislation forced the unions to open up (Black longshoremen and the fight for equality in an 'anti-racist ...).

Right from the outset the film features a dissonant musical score by Leonard Rosenman that can be jarring, taking viewers on an emotional rollercoaster more suggestive of a thriller, accentuating boldly dynamic highs and lows that have a way of waking up viewers who aren’t paying attention, ratcheting up the decibels, while highlighting all the emotional turmoil underneath this unorthodox journey.  With screen titles by Saul Bass, much of the film presents the everyday realities of the two men, with Tyler much more open and easy-going with an engaging personality, who’s maturity suggests he’s more comfortable in his skin, while Axel is a tough nut to crack, alienated and overly defensive, hiding secrets from everyone, calling home to his parents in Gary, Indiana, but then refuses to utter a word.  While there’s a damaged element to his character, Axel accepts Tyler’s open invitations to his home, meeting his wife Lucy (Ruby Dee) and infant son, and tough as nails mother-in-law (Estelle Hemsley), while Tyler also encourages him to get closer to Ellen (Kathleen Maguire), a white teacher who supervises after school children’s activities, including Tyler’s son.  These dinners together suggest an ease about everyday life where race simply doesn’t matter, instead a budding friendship paves the way for deeper concerns.  While Tyler enjoys playing matchmaker, Axel is more disgruntled, revealing the source of his inner anxiety over drinks at a bar, suggesting the only person he ever loved was his older brother, who did everything better than he did, immensely popular and easy to praise, where even a kid brother was in awe, but everything changed after a road accident left his brother killed with Axel at the wheel, forever feeling guilty afterwards, losing his father’s respect, where nothing he ever does is good enough.  As it turns out, he enlisted into the Army, but deserted after he was relentlessly hounded by a Sergeant, where he’s been on the run ever since.  But rather than turn away in horror, Axel is embraced by this black family, standing in for the brother he lost, making him feel accepted.  Tyler urges Axel to stand up to Malik and his bullying tactics, suggesting there are men and there are lower forms, where he can’t let the lower forms push him into being anything less than the man he inherently is, and if he can do that he will be “ten feet tall.”  The relationship between Poitier and Ruby Dee is especially good (appearing in five films together), where their marriage is a happy one, as there’s extraordinary closeness between them, recurring again a few years later when they work together in A RAISIN IN THE SUN (1961).  Despite their best efforts, Axel remains all mixed up inside, fearful of being exposed, where there are underlying implications that he’s a closeted homosexual, but none of that materializes onscreen, instead his treatment on the docks resembles his Army experience, as Malik continually rides Axel, knowing he is on the lam, taking full advantage of his powerlessness, treating him with contempt, warning him to stay away from Tyler, basically getting under his last nerve.  Taunted into a fight, using bailing hooks as weapons, Tyler quickly intervenes and puts an end to this nonsense, protecting his friend, but that doesn’t stop Malik who then comes after him instead, breaking out into a battle royale, with the other workers holding back Axel, all watching with particular interest, filmed as if it’s wild animals in a caged match.  The senseless cruelty of it all is hard to miss, especially in contrast with Tyler’s decency, but the vitriol of hatred drives the viciousness of the battle, leading to tragic ends, which feels foreshadowed and preordained, yet leaves viewers emotionally devastated nonetheless.  The tragedy is extended over a lengthy duration, never more poignant than Ruby Dee’s defiant realization of just what occurred, becoming overly theatrical, perhaps, by the end, but essential and necessary, striking a raw nerve.  In keeping with that display of racial animus, theaters in the American South refused to screen this film due to the presence of a black lead actor, though a decade later, with Poitier playing a softspoken and “perfect Negro” in GUESS WHO’S COMING TO DINNER (1967), bringing with him a litany of extraordinary professional achievements while displaying reassuring qualities that the white South could accept and embrace.  Unfortunately, this regional dynamic created during the Confederacy still has overriding political issues with racial division at the heart of it.