Guy and Madeline on a Park Bench

 

Writer/director Damien Chazelle

Chazelle with musical composer Justin Hurwitz

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

GUY AND MADELINE ON A PARK BENCH                 B-                                                     USA  (82 mi)  2009  d: Damien Chazelle

I believe the musical is so well suited to expressing romance because songs begin and end and are completely separate from the larger movie world.  It is this kind of momentary perfection of existence that the characters are able to reach, but they always know that it is inherently an illusion.  So for me, there is something very beautiful but yet very sad about the great musicals, but that’s part of the point.                                                                                                   —Damien Chazelle interview, November 13, 2010, Black Sheep Reviews [Joseph Belanger] 

This rather raw and crudely edited early student film remains largely unseen, made on a shoestring budget, Chazelle’s senior thesis project was made with classmate Justin Hurwitz at Harvard, written, directed, shot, co-edited and co-produced by Chazelle, a song-and-dance social realist musical with vérité roots in the French New Wave, shot in various Boston locations in gritty handheld black and white on 16mm, featuring original songs by Hurwitz recorded by the 90-piece Bratislava Symphony Orchestra, Guy and Madeline on a Park Bench (Original Movie Score), scoring all his later films as well.  Much like the Léos Carax film Boy Meets Girl (1984), this is a modern take on the irrepressibility of romanticism that so often leads to the impossibility of love, with diverse cinematic references that are all over the map, exhibiting more of an experimental style, capturing the spirit of the stripped down, free-form style of John Cassavetes’ Shadows (1959), exploring similar themes of interracial romance half a century later, yet the kicker comes when a character breaks out into song in the most unexpected places.  A much more sophisticated version of this stylistic technique is Christophe Honoré’s DANS PARIS (2006), the first of his films where out of the blue one of his characters will break into song, complimented by original music written by Alex Beaupain, followed by several more musicals, including LOVE SONGS (2007), exploring the dynamics of a three-way relationship, La Belle Personne (The Beautiful Person) (2008), exuding in the pent-up passion of a Sirkian youth melodrama, and Beloved (Les Bien-Aimés) (2011), a real treat being able to see Catherine Deneuve work with her daughter Chiara Mastroianni.  Honoré’s films tend to leave audiences sharply divided, and his use of songs as an extension of the narrative is no exception, as he doesn’t accompany songs with traditional dance numbers, or a lively choreographed sequence, but instead delves into the downbeat psychological mindset of the character, often submerged in anguish, lost love, or grief, where musical numbers are used in the exact opposite manner of one’s usual association, which is happy and upbeat, such as Jacques Demy’s The Umbrellas of Cherbourg (Les Parapluies de Cherbourg) (1964), which just happens to be Chazelle’s all-time favorite film (Damien Chazelle names his favourite film of all time), as the entitled characters in this movie are borrowed from that film.  Demy is a great admirer of the Golden Age of MGM Hollywood musicals, where his films are basically a love letter to the Hollywood movies of the 40’s and 50’s, incorporating the dreamy music of Michel Legrand and bleak elements of poetic realism into his bursting kaleidoscope of colors that vibrantly come alive onscreen through movement and dance.  Demy is famous for making the black and white Lola (1961) with Anouk Aimée, described by Demy as a “musical without music,” stripped down to only one musical number, while also making the colorful musical explosion, The Young Girls of Rochefort (Les demoiselles de Rochefort) (1967), featuring the adorable sisters, blond Catherine Deneuve and her red-haired older sister Françoise Dorléac, where the line between euphoria and melancholia is a thin one, subject to change by random encounters or a sudden change of heart, where missed connections are built into the storyline, like ships passing in the night, calling into question certain aspects of fate.  Introducing a lost love theme that Chazelle would revisit in his later works, this film explores the protagonist’s inability to balance his musical aspirations with his love life, the same subject of 2016 Top Ten List #10 La La Land, while at the same time musical passages initially heard here would magically reappear in that film. 

Chazelle was born in Rhode Island to a French father and Canadian mother, both college professors, spending part of his childhood in Paris, with dual French-American citizenship, where his first love was becoming a jazz drummer, actually making an appearance in the film instructing the female lead protagonist on the correct way to hold drumsticks, Damien Chazelle Cameo in Guy and Madeline on a Park Bench (HD) YouTube (1:23).  While the comparison to Cassavetes might seem apt, the difference is how essential building character was for Cassavetes, even with non-professionals, as his love and admiration for the craft of acting was an essential component of his naturalistic film aesthetic.  That’s largely what’s missing here, as viewers never really establish an emotional bond or connection to what we’re seeing onscreen, as the characters appear more haphazard or random, disassociated from any central dramatic emphasis.  This is a crucial distinction, something rectified in his breakout hit Whiplash (2014), which was all about establishing character, featuring an exceptional performance from journeyman J.K. Simmons, who simply inhabits the role, rising to public prominence immediately afterwards, where now he’s one of the more recognizable faces in the industry.  But this low fidelity film is comprised with non-professionals, starring Jason Palmer as Guy, a real-life jazz trumpeter who tours, records, and teaches at the Berklee College of Music, and Desirée J. Garcia as Madeline in her one and only screen appearance, simultaneously writing her doctoral thesis on musicals before publishing a book in 2014, The Migration of Musical Film: From Ethnic Margins to American Mainstream, and then in 2021, The Movie Musical (Quick Takes: Movies and Popular Culture), currently a film professor at Dartmouth.  In the first few minutes they are seen together on a park bench before he casually gets up and walks away, without any explanation, as the initial spark has gone out of their relationship and an ennui has set in, as neither one seems to really care anymore, spending most of the film in the company of others in what is essentially a breakup movie.  As they drift apart, we see their separate lives, as Guy plays in a small jazz combo in a dingy basement club setting, feeling very claustrophobic, allowing the music to fill the constricted space which almost feels suffocating, yet there’s also the social release of mingling with friends and well-wishers, as the camera lingers over clusters of loud conversations, never really getting the gist of what anyone is saying, yet the energy fills the air, having an alienating effect on viewers, who feel like perennial outsiders, never actually invited in.  Madeline, on the other hand, feels lost as she wanders alone through the park, like a stranger in a strange land, where she can sit and read, or simply watch others passing by, yet what’s emphasized is that she has no real connection to anything around her, as she’s simply a passenger in an unwritten story.  Alienated and isolated in the midst of a beautiful summer day, audiences are floored when she spontaneously breaks out into song, a clearly dubbed voice blending into the passing crowd near the Old North Church, downbeat and sad, a cheerless comment on her directionless life, yet the theatrical stylization mixes together an unadorned realism with a dreamy façade of artifice, Guy and Madeline on a Park Bench - Before there was La La Land... (Clip) YouTube (2:10).  Leaving Guy behind, she briefly moves in with an older French jazz singer, Bernard Chazelle (singing in French), giving the filmmaker a unique opportunity to direct his own father.  What’s missing in this film is an actual script, feeling more like a series of random vignettes drowning in existential angst, as much of this is told aimlessly, yet the abrupt shifts of a constantly changing point of view never seem to have any real focus, leaving viewers adrift, though perhaps that is the intention.

Perhaps the biggest surprise is the introduction of a new character whose name is not even in the title yet she dominates a majority of the screen time, Elena (Sandha Khin), initially seen watching a juggler performance, actually trying to pick him up afterwards, curiously providing her own name before correcting it.  She feels more like the emotional center of the picture, exhibiting far greater range of expression, where her outgoing nature is really on display when she’s seen meeting Guy purely by chance on a jam-packed commuter train, both standing, holding the grab handles, eventually coming right next to one another, as they do this mysteriously erotic, wordless dance of starting apart, inching ever closer, seeing only the movement of their feet as they begin to face each other, slowly making eye contact and brushing against each other before finally touching affectionately, ending up sleeping together in Guy’s apartment.  While her bubbly personality gives this film a jolt of adrenaline, the same thing happens in this relationship as well, quickly growing sick of each other, as she fails to comprehend his self-absorbed passion and obsessive devotion to music, as that’s time he’s not spending with her, while he never mentions her to his friends and fails to introduce her to his visiting family, played, surprisingly enough, by the actor’s real family, so there’s an emotional disconnect, despite such a dramatically visualized effort to emphasize a near idyllic initial attraction.  It’s a strange shift of fate, which they never really discuss, as this is a film that eliminates any hint of intimate conversation, where the social awkwardness resembles the mumblecore films of Andrew Bujalski, who similarly came out of the Harvard Film School which features a very documentary-heavy program, becoming a choreographed ballet of shifting emotions, copying the template of Demy, yet the emotional indifference exhibited here is in stark contrast to the vivacious energy and elegant luster of Demy’s films, where each of the characters are more closely defined, and the spaces in-between shine with a poetic realism.  As Elena drifts apart, she’s once again alone in the city, seen in combatant situations with rudely overzealous young men on the street making obnoxious come-ons, where a strange older man named Frank (Frank Garvin) tries a less obvious technique, yet it’s a come-on just the same, simply presented in a more politely palatable manner, with rather amusing results.  Much of the film features street scenes, including street vendors, performance artists, and children playing in fountains, where there’s an interactive quality with the city of Boston, showcasing several of their parks and monuments, with the characters drifting around Copley, the Back Bay, and South End, yet one overriding feature throughout this film is a heavy reliance upon extreme close-ups, where an intimacy is achieved through the camera’s love affair with facial portraiture, while also exploring an interesting social dynamic, as Palmer is black, Khin is Asian, and Garcia is Hispanic.  The real showstopper, however, is a Godard-inspired musical number paying reverence to the iconic café dance, Bande à Part - Madison Cafe Dance Scene - Jean-Luc Godard YouTube (3:50), by Anna Karina in Band of Outsiders (Bande à Part) (1964), as Madeline is stuck in a monotonous waitressing routine at a mostly empty fish shack, taking orders from some clueless manager, yet suddenly she breaks out in another song, The Boy in the Park YouTube (4:55), adding an inexplicable tap-dancing routine (Boston tap legend Julia Boynton from the Harvard Dance Program was a dance consultant), joined by the rest of the wait staff, becoming an idealized vision of the kind of unbridled freedom she never has, all playing out in her mind, expressed with the kind of infectious joy missing from the rest of the picture, which may be what Chazelle imagined before shooting the film.  It leads to a very clever ending, which recalls the pitch perfect finale of Richard Linklater’s Before Sunset (2004), as the couple reunites again under fortuitous circumstances, where in a single take the young director captures the beauty of wordless expression, exactly what this film has been searching for, while also discovering a new meaning in their lives.     

Postscript

According to the Trivia section of IMDb, Guy and Madeline on a Park Bench (2009) - Trivia, shortly after completing this film, a friend suggested Chazelle watch the Barry Jenkins film Medicine for Melancholy (2008), another contemporary black and white indie film, while around the same time a friend of Barry Jenkins told him to watch this film shortly after completion of his film.  Both directors were up for numerous Academy Awards in 2017 for their critically acclaimed films, Chazelle’s film 2016 Top Ten List #10 La La Land won Best Director, the youngest recipient to ever win at the age of 32, while the Barry Jenkins film 2016 Top Ten List #1 Moonlight won Best Film.  Neither was aware of these earlier recommendations until they spoke after the Oscar gala ceremony, discovering they were inextricably linked. 

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.