Cabin in the Sky

 

Louis Armstrong and his horn

John “Bubbles” Sublett

Minnelli with Billy Rowe, Lena Horne, and Melvyn Douglas

Ethel Waters, Duke Ellington, and Vincente Minnelli

Ethel Waters, Eddie “Rochester” Anderson, and Lena Horne

CABIN IN THE SKY            B-                                                                                                 USA  (98 mi)  1943  d: Vincente Minnelli

How in the world am I gonna reform if I don’t remember what a mess I was in when I was dead?                —Little Joe (Eddie “Rochester” Anderson)

A good and evil fantasy, described by some as a faux naïf parable, a variation on the Faustian myth that actually showcases the minions of the Devil and the Lord pitted against one another in this all-black musical, the first film directed by Vincente Minnelli after a string of successes on Broadway as director and production designer, working in collaboration with MGM musical producer Arthur Freed, yet it’s part of a historic group of six feature films produced by major Hollywood studios during the heyday of classic cinema between 1929 and 1954 that feature all-black casts, from HEARTS OF DIXIE (1929), Hallelujah (1929), THE GREEN PASTURES (1936), Stormy Weather (1943), and Carmen Jones (1954).  These musicals provided more opportunities for black performers than were allowed in other mainstream films, beginning when sound was introduced into motion pictures and ending the year the Supreme Court desegregated American schools, paving the way for a civil rights movement that would have a changing impact on media.  All were written, produced, and directed by whites, each one symptomatic of a segregated society, with all but one (Green Pastures) being a musical, reinforcing the stereotype that blacks are happy and fun-loving, with a propensity for natural rhythm, where jazz music, an original American artform emerging from black traditions, becomes associated with vice or fallen values.  Adapting Lynn Root’s short story Little Joe, this was initially a Broadway musical released in 1940 which ran for 156 performances before going on a national tour, music by Vernon Duke, lyrics by John Latouche, with the entire production staged by George Balanchine, where the undisputed star of the show is the indomitable Ethel Waters, who is a powerhouse as Petunia Jackson, the God-fearing and morally righteous wife of small-time gambler and carouser Little Joe Jackson (Eddie “Rochester” Anderson), a kind-hearted but morally ambivalent man who’s very soul she’s out to save.  After being shot in a dispute over a dice game (described as “calamity cubes”), Little Joe dies and is bound for Hell, much to the delight of Lucifer Jr. (Rex Ingram, who doubles as his gambling buddy Lucius), but is saved by the answered prayers from Petunia, pitting the forces of the Devil and those of the Lord against one another, where he is given a 6-month reprieve from death to prove himself worthy of Heaven or suffer eternal damnation afterwards, without any remembrance of this night.  Waters and Ingram are the only holdovers from the musical, with notable appearances by both Duke Ellington and Louis Armstrong, though Armstrong’s scenes have been cut beyond recognition, making only a brief appearance as one of the Devil’s emissaries as they enlist the aid of Georgia Brown (Lena Horne), where his only solo number was part of a Lena Horne bubble-bath sequence singing “Ain’t It the Truth” that was cut, Lena Horne Stereo - Ain't It the Truth - Cabin in the Sky 1943 YouTube (2:32), as a beautiful black woman singing in a bath was deemed lewd and lascivious, beyond the bounds of moral decency in 1943, yet it seems incomprehensible today how such a jazz pioneer and trumpet legend like Armstrong could be reduced to such an insignificant role.  Horne replaced Katherine Dunham from the musical, a rare combination of youth, talent, and beauty, playing the Devil’s temptress, an extension of the seductress role of Nina Mae McKinney in King Vidor’s Hallelujah (1929), where Dunham’s choreography is also missing.  While it’s easy to appreciate what Horne in her youthful prime brings to the film in an all-too brief appearance, one misses the theatricality that Dunham and her exquisite dancers might have brought, as her modernist aesthetic truly elevates Stormy Weather.  Ellington, on the other hand, resplendent in his white suit, is in full force leading his orchestra in the most charismatic musical number, as the allure of Things Ain’t What They Used to Be evolves into Goin’ Up, Cabin in the Sky - Duke Ellington in Jim Henry's Paradise (HD) YouTube (3:42), with a call-and-response from Lawrence Brown’s trombone laying down a musical sermon, where despite the air of urban stylization, a jazz joint is unfortunately viewed as a den of vice, much like rock ‘n’ roll would be decades later, but it’s a shame these two jazz legends didn’t see more screen time. 

The film was released during the war years when both Waters and Anderson were acclaimed radio stars, earning a modest profit due to distributions in the South, which typically refused to screen blacks in motion pictures in anything other than subservient roles to whites, but this film was widely shown on U.S. Army bases, where Lena Horne became a huge favorite among black troops.  The shortcoming of the film is the Hollywood depiction of black folklore, feeling overly simplified, creating a storybook feel, where it’s rare to see the minions of the Lord and the Devil onscreen, but they are the overriding thrust of the picture, with each side hoping to win the battle for the lost soul, yet here they feel more like dream caricatures than actual living characters, which is how they appear to the viewing audience, as they are something Joe dreams, with the Devil’s men in black, seen carrying pitchforks with little horns sticking out of their heads, while the Lord’s team is impeccably dressed in white, where the entire film is a fantasy morality tale pitting faith and devotion against the vices of sin.  The dreamy settings, however, add to a poverty aesthetic, where Joe’s dream of riches contrast with Petunia’s dream of Heaven, coming together at the end with a kind of surreal artificiality, creating an imaginary view of the afterlife.  Adding to the film’s luster, however, is the sophistication and refinement of Minnelli’s direction, which had resources that were simply not available in other all-black pictures, while his background was more attuned to contemporary New York than the Old South, so many of the plantation stereotypes prevalent in other pictures are absent, so there are no watermelon or pickininny references, and very few examples of that outdated Negro dialect.  The featured couple, however, live an unpretentious life of simplicity, far outside the corrupting reach of modernity, but there’s something off-putting about Joe’s passivity, so easily giving in to temptation, which is extremely rare for a lead protagonist, yet one amusing aspect is that even when Joe tries to do something good, like buying a washing machine for Petunia so she’ll spend less back-breaking work, it just sits on the back porch like an eyesore, completely unusable, as it runs on electricity, something they don’t have.  The impoverished couple in their modest home are a stark contrast to the artificiality of Club Paradise, with liquor and gambling and dancing, which also stands in stark contrast to the somber interior of the community church, where Kenneth Spencer, with his deep sonorous voice, plays the dual role of Reverend Green, the local pastor, but also appears as The General, the leader of God’s brigade against the Devil.  The other sharp contrast is the chic sophistication of the sleek, snappily dressed Georgia Brown, who is drawn to the fast life of easy money and having nice things, against the burdensome life of Petunia, the Mammyfied wife typically wearing a bandanna who spends too much time toiling in domestic work to be able to appreciate any of those things.  When the couple does have a moment together, it’s in their unadorned, ramshackle cabin, where the “spirit” can take them places they can otherwise not go, best expressed by this equally unadorned musical sequence, mostly taking place in the family kitchen, where tap dancer Bill Bailey (older brother to Pearl Bailey) epitomizes their dreams, Bill Bailey: "Taking A Chance On Love" (Cabin In The Sky YouTube (4:42).  Unlike the gospel music from King Vidor’s Hallelujah (1929), this is secular music, with the only religious song heard at the beginning in a small town church service, yet we quickly realize that the local pastor is also the lead servant of the Lord, who is greatly valued once Joe’s life is returned to Petunia, so she sings her appreciation, Cabin In The Sky (1943) -- (Movie Clip) A Thing Called Joe YouTube (3:36). 

It’s perhaps unsurprising that this film is the lowest-budgeted musical in the entire collection of Arthur Freed films, though he apparently fought for more funding but didn’t receive it, but they did invest in star performers, and a team of talented screenwriters, allowing Minnelli to produce a visually innovative work that showcases the talents of the performers.  They changed the score substantially from the Broadway musical version, as only three of the songs in the movie are from the original score, adding several new songs, including a Duke Ellington original, adding greater sophistication and jazz authenticity, while there are far fewer dance numbers, which have been scaled back significantly, particularly in Joe’s character.  There is one amusing change in the title song, as the original Broadway lyrics were, “We will be oh so gay/Eat fried chicken every day/As the angels go sailing by,” but the fried chicken reference was changed to “All we do is sing and pray.”  But the film’s biggest detraction is the story itself, a naïve and childlike portrait of damnation that unravels like a storybook tale, where the overly pious Petunia has a special relationship with God, having a direct pipeline, actually getting tangible results from her heartfelt prayers that she can see and appreciate, unlike the rest of us, suggesting special powers from intense religious devotion.  The film turns into a Bible story playing out before our eyes, a fictionally constructed view of Hotel Hades where Lucifer Jr’s Idea Men work in the cozy comfort of an air-conditioned office, dressed in white bathrobes and smoking cigars, where he speaks to his father, aka Pappy, by phone, conjuring up a plot to entice Joe into their underworld of doom, Cabin In The Sky (1943) -- (Movie Clip) One Of Your Favorite ... YouTube (2:36), first giving him a winning sweepstakes ticket, then sending in Georgia Brown so he has someone to spend all that money on, Cabin In The Sky (1943) -- (Movie Clip) Honey In the Honeycomb YouTube (3:23), becoming a regular patron in Club Paradise, which is viewed as a den of iniquity.  In order to combat this slide into sin, Petunia has to mix company with those who would condemn him to Hell, first paying off Joe’s gambling debt by outsmarting the gamblers, as she switches the loaded dice on them before chasing them away with a broom (“Sometimes when you fight the Devil, you got to jab him with his own pitchfork.”), Cabin In The Sky (1943) -- (Movie Clip) Double Or Nothing YouTube (3:08).  Then she shows up at Club Paradise in a flashy dress and a no-nonsense attitude, no longer pious and modest, but takes to the place as if she owns it, pushing her husband aside, insulting both Joe and Georgia as she joins Domino Johnson (John “Bubbles” Sublett, also playing Sportin’ Life in the stage version of Porgy and Bess), the man who shot Joe, who makes his own flashy entrance after getting out of jail, CABIN IN THE SKY ('43): "Shine" - YouTube (2:53), before doing an enticing dance together, Cabin in the Sky 1943 Ethel Waters Eng13 - YouTube (4:58), where she even sings a reprise of Georgia’s “Honey in the Honeycomb.”  This added swagger comes as a surprise, leaving behind her persona as Petunia Jackson and performing as Ethel Waters, an older, darker-skinned woman who breaks out of the Mammy role stereotype, where some credit must be given to Minnelli to allow this, but it also suggests what a woman would do to get her man back on the right path.  When things grow out of control, however, as a fight develops between Joe and Domino, Petunia resorts to the old reliable, turning once again to God, praying frantically, “Send down your wrath and destroy this wicked place!”  Her prayer is granted as a tornado makes its way to the nightclub, destroying everything in its path, with Minnelli recycling the same tornado sequence from THE WIZARD OF OZ (1939), as both Joe and Petunia are mortally wounded by Domino’s gunshots, Cabin in the Sky (1943) Tornado Scene - YouTube (2:19).  Both husband and wife now face judgment before a stairway leading to heaven, a predecessor to Powell and Pressburger’s picture of the afterlife in STAIRWAY TO HEAVEN, aka: A MATTER OF LIFE AND DEATH (1946).  Through Petunia’s strong faith, however, and the lengths she is willing to take to both pray for and look after Joe, both are saved, where their entrance to Heaven is shown with a surreal flourish.  But as they ascend into the pearly gates, Joe wakes up from what was merely a dream, having recovered from the earlier gunshot, with viewers only then realizing that the majority of the movie takes place in Joe’s imagination, as the audience is left to contemplate the moral of the story.  The film was added to the National Film Registry in 2020. 

The Banshees of Inisherin

 

Writer/director Martin McDonagh

McDonagh with Brendan Gleeson

McDonagh with Colin Farrell (left) and Brendan Gleeson

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THE BANSHEES OF INISHERIN              B                                                                       Ireland  USA  Great Britain  (109 mi)  2022  d: Martin McDonagh

Banshees burrows into the stereotype of Irish people at pubs, guzzling pints to the tune of ebullient folk music, and moulds it into an emotionally resonant character study.  The starting point was to capture the sadness of a breakup, be it a love breakup or a friendship one.  Being on both sides of that is an equally horrible position.  To treat the sadness of both sides as truthfully as possible was the main thing I wanted to get right with this.                        —Writer/Director Martin McDonagh

Winner of Best Actor (Colin Farrell) and Best Screenplay when premiering at the Venice Film Festival, the film received a 15-minute standing ovation, and has received nothing but the highest accolades ever since, with many openly declaring this is the director’s best work, which may be an exaggerated overstatement.  Acclaimed Irish playwright Martin McDonagh reunites fellow Irish actors Colin Farrell and Brendan Gleeson for the first time since pairing together as criminal misfits in the subversively challenging dark comedy In Bruges (2008).  Many felt his follow up Seven Psychopaths (2012) got derailed by getting overly sidetracked in side stories, while Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri (2017) was a huge commercial success, earning more than ten times the cost of making the film, winning Academy Awards for Best Actress Frances McDormand and Best Supporting Actor Sam Rockwell, with McDonagh additionally writing 5 Tony Award nominated plays as well.  For the first time since Shakespeare, he managed the feat of having four different plays running in London at the same time.  Known for hilariously inventive dialogue that often covers for darker themes, this may be his most deeply despairing work, with themes of isolation and ostracization, plunging viewers into a sad tale about the end of a friendship, but it’s also a fight between men who are basically brothers, with ominous overtones on a grander scale, yet what distinguishes this film is its commitment to exploring the Irish identity and character more deeply than his other films, described in such a precise way in their dialect and way of life, filled with eccentric quirks and idiosyncrasies, set on the mythical island of Inisherin in Galway Bay off the western coast of Ireland, where in the background you can hear bombs going off on the Irish mainland, engulfed in the 1923 Irish Civil War - Irish War of Independence, with Irish nationalists fighting for a free state, a conflict that still hasn’t been resolved 100 years later.  Shooting initially began on the sparsely populated Inishmore, or Inis Mór, the largest of the Aran Islands before moving to Achill Island, the largest of the Irish isles and much closer to the mainland, establishing a community defined by its small town nosiness, where everyone knows everyone else and all their hidden secrets, as people are creatures of habit, going about their daily routines, where the women working in town need the latest gossip to spread, while those on the outskirts lead more remote lives, their thatched roof homes situated on cliffs overlooking the sea, creating a picturesque landscape in an idyllic setting, where the story plays out like a Grimm Brothers fairytale, with Carter Burwell’s accompanying musical score accentuating the heavenly tones of the celesta, Colm Takes the Reins - YouTube (2:20), suggesting this darkly allegorical Irish folklore tale is bordering on make-believe.  Yet what immediately stands out is a fractured reality, with lifelong best friend Colm (Gleeson), seemingly out of the blue, refusing to talk to Pádraic (Farrell), dispassionately informing him “I just don’t like you no more,” where the suddenness of this clean break is having a traumatic effect on Pádraic, making little sense to him, thinking there must be some explanation, as the two have routinely met at precisely 2 pm every day for a walk to the pub to share a pint, but now Colm is refusing to sit anywhere near him, avoiding him altogether, which eats at Pádraic, thinking it must have been something he said.  When Pádraic’s sister Siobhán (Kerry Condon) confronts Colm, trying to get to the bottom of what’s wrong, he simply acknowledges that he can’t stand his dullness.  “But he’s always been dull,” protests Siobhán, wondering “What’s changed?”  Apparently Colm has simply had enough of it and decided he no longer wants to share Pádraic’s company, preferring to leave his mark composing music for the violin while sharing time with his beloved border collie.       

Pádraic increasingly despairs from the arbitrariness of this decision, going through an existential malaise, while other community members attempt to get to the bottom of it as well, as this separation has island-wide repercussions, suggesting the stability of their relationship was the one good thing people could count on.  The priest (David Pearse), for example, with Colm sitting in confessional, asks why he broke up with Pádraic, with Colm inquiring if it’s a sin.  Maybe not, says the priest, but it’s certainly not very nice, kind, and compassionate either.  Colm continually has to justify himself to the other members of the community who openly resent the break in friendship, from the bartender to the postal clerk, but it doesn’t change his resolve, if anything it only reinforces it, clinging to his stubborn beliefs, with Pádraic beginning to feel offended, as he’s always been viewed as an easygoing and nice guy, not the kind to rub people the wrong way, so he’s continually befuddled by this thorough rejection, leaving him more than a little humiliated, though much of the real impact comes from what’s left unsaid, still lurking under the surface.  As if to reinforce this rebuke, McDonagh intersperses music by the great Irish tenor John McCormack, Christ Went up into the Hills Alone YouTube (2:55).  Pádraic becomes convinced Colm is depressed and needs his help, yet his clumsy interventions only make Colm resort to drastic, self-mutilating measures in order to convince him that he’s deadly serious, threatening to cut off a finger each time Pádraic speaks to him again, cutting off all contact once and for all, developing new friendships with local music students, spending his time playing the fiddle.  When a drunken Pádraic publicly confronts him in the pub, eloquently standing up for himself, then apologizing shortly afterwards for creating a scene, Colm cuts off one of his fingers and delivers it to Pádraic in a stern rebuke, which only compounds Pádraic’s abrupt isolation, seeking solace with a new drinking companion, the village idiot Dominic (Barry Keoghan), and his miniature donkey Jenny, who is welcomed inside their home, much to his sister’s distress.  Dominic is the son of the local police chief, Peadar (Gary Lydon), who sadistically abuses his own son, with suggestions it could be sexual as well, with incest a lurking suspicion, yet this is never explored, never really part of the overall storyline, but becomes part of a grander theme of fatalistic cruelty, all part of the human condition, adding a darker depth to the story, which some may find overly manipulative, particularly when Peadar slugs Pádraic in the face, knocking him senseless, thinking he is getting too close to Dominic, too close to his inner sanctum, forcing him to mind his own business, where he’s left crumpled on the ground.  In what may be the most quietly affecting scene, certainly the most devastating, Colm calmly helps Pádraic home, but they don’t say a word on their journey, with Pádraic reduced to uncontrolled outbursts of emotions.  Siobhán, a voracious reader and the only level-headed character showing any signs of integrity, is forced to navigate a path through a minefield of inflated male egos, clearly loving her brother and is even fond of Colm, but her patience has worn thin, calling the people living on the island “bitter and mental,” telling Colm, “One more silent man on Inisherin?  You’re all feckin’ boring with your piddling grievances,” leaving nothing but “bleakness and grudges and loneliness and spite.”  As the tensions worsen, the ghoulish local elder Mrs. McCormick (Sheila Flitton), dressed all in black, inhabits the spirit of the banshee in Irish folklore, frequently seen roaming the island, reminiscent of Bengt Ekerot’s embodiment of Death in Bergman’s The Seventh Seal (Det sjunde inseglet) (1957), warning Pádraic that death will come to the island soon, like a Macbethian curse, or a foreshadowing omen.   

First intended as a stage play, having already written plays for the two other Aran Islands off the Irish coast, The Cripple of Inishmaan and The Lieutenant of Inishmore, McDonagh quickly realized the story lends itself more to a film, with a comparable setup as In Bruges, two characters trapped in a seemingly idyllic place, written with the two actors in mind, both with proven chemistry, where one can imagine parallels in Vladimir and Estragon in Beckett’s Waiting for Godot, becoming a self-inflicted No Exit parody, where the humor is much more prevalent early in the film, with dripping sarcasm turning ugly, growing more somber and darkly disturbing, escalating into a blood feud that only confirms what we already know, never actually delving into what drives such atrocious human behavior, yet adding plenty of black humor that spices up a story about guilt, forgiveness, and personal purgatory.  Beautifully shot by Ben Davis, set against a magnificent coastal landscape, much like Ryan's Daughter (1970), with interiors warmed by candlelight, the drama is intensified by the constant repetition of the story, as the characters keep making the same mistakes and keep running into walls, where even the simplest things seem unattainable, evoking moods of loneliness, regret, and pathos, as expressed by Jessye Norman from Brahms Six Songs singing Brahms: Sechs Gesänge, Op. 7 - V. Die Trauernde (Volkslied) YouTube (1:33).  Pádraic’s wounded confusion grows in tandem with Colm’s gruff intransigence, with little of substance to show for himself in his life other than an escalating sense of despair, revealing a ghastly darker side, with ambitions and dreams of completing musical compositions that will outlive him, feeling his life is slipping away, where he’s now willing to nullify his lifelong friendship with Pádraic in the name of art and posterity, revealing the artistic ego at its most monstrous and selfishly all-consuming, where the self-inflicted act of losing his fingers drastically limits his ability to play the violin, becoming a macabre metaphor of grotesque human cruelty.  McDonagh’s incessant use of humor often obscures the pain lurking under the surface, becoming less about challenging the audience and more about camouflaging the operatic theatricality of the material, as underneath it all is a mocking tone of cruel absurdity.  The grotesque nature of self-mutilation speaks for itself, even mentioned as a sin by the priest, but Colm scoffs it off with a mocking aside, becoming purely metaphoric, never actually feeling real, yet this dark and mordant humor is no laughing matter.  What are we to make of this human depravity?  Perhaps best expressed by Siobhán, who has no use for it and would rather leave the island for a library job on the mainland than stay and endure any more nonsense.  Gently rebuffing Dominic’s romantic advances, she quickly and quietly informs her brother of her imminent departure, leaving him alone with his animals, the only family he has left, mentally exhausted and slowly beaten down by what’s happened, where his pain is written all over his face, abandoned by everyone, and he can’t for the life of him figure out why that happened.  A simple man who doesn’t expect much out of life, he feels wrongly cheated out of any peaceful existence, where living out his life in harmony with his surroundings is no longer an option, having been challenged, as if to a dual, where his moral standing in the community depends upon his response.  The inability of men to live in peaceful coexistence with sometimes difficult neighbors becomes a predominate theme, with hints of ignorance, vanity, and extreme stubbornness.  All of this can be read as an admittedly cruel parable of the pointlessness of war, living on a supposed paradise island sanctuary far from the seething hatred of the raging Civil War, yet the fatal cost of masculine reserve, as well as the unrelenting persistence of petty squabbles, can easily escalate and metastasize into larger battles that rage beyond Inisherin’s shores, where the sorrowful mezzo-soprano voice of Stefanie Irányi expresses the melancholic futility of loneliness and resignation, 6 Gesänge, Op. 7: No. 3, Anklänge YouTube (1:56).  Ultimately, this may be McDonagh’s least funny film, and also his most manipulative in order to achieve the desired dramatic effect, with suggestions that indifference, not malice, may be the most contemptible offense.