Cineversary podcast celebrates 50th birthdays of Young Frankenstein & Texas Chain Saw Massacre

Gregory Mank and Kim Newman

In Cineversary podcast episode #75, host ⁠Erik Martin⁠ celebrates the golden birthdays of two classics for the Halloween season. First, he’s joined by author and classic horror historian ⁠Gregory Mank ⁠to commemorate the 50th anniversary of Mel Brooks’ ⁠Young Frankenstein⁠; and then he teams up with horror film scholar and author ⁠Kim Newman⁠ to honor the 50th anniversary of ⁠The Texas Chain Saw Massacre⁠, directed by Tobe Hooper. Erik and his guests provide plenty of discussion treats, with no tricks, examining why these two films are worthy of kudos five decades onward, how they’ve stood the test of time, and more.

To listen to this episode, click here or click the "play" button on the embedded streaming player below. Or, you can stream, download, or subscribe to Cineversary wherever you get your podcasts, including Apple Podcasts and Spotify.

Learn more about the Cineversary podcast at www.cineversary.com and email show comments or suggestions to cineversarypodcast@gmail.com.

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Young Frankenstein doesn't feel old 50 years onward

Perhaps the greatest horror-comedy ever made, Young Frankenstein—released nearly 50 years ago in December 1974—stands as possibly Mel Brooks’ finest film and collaboration (the screenplay was co-written by Brooks and its lead actor, Gene Wilder). The movie is both a parody and a loving homage to the classic Frankenstein Universal horror films of the 1930s.

To listen to a recording of our CineVerse group discussion of this film, conducted last week, click here.

The story centers on Dr. Frederick Frankenstein (Wilder), the American grandson of the notorious Victor Frankenstein, who is determined to separate himself from his family's dark legacy by pronouncing his surname "Fronkensteen." However, after inheriting his ancestral estate in Transylvania, Frederick becomes intrigued by his grandfather’s experiments and sets out to bring a dead body back to life. Assisted by the mischievous hunchback Igor (Marty Feldman) and the charming Inga (Teri Garr), Frederick successfully reanimates a creature (Peter Boyle), whose frightening exterior contrasts with his gentle personality. The film follows Frederick as he tries to manage the chaos that ensues. The standout cast includes Cloris Leachman as the mysterious housekeeper Frau Blücher, Madeline Kahn as Frederick’s fiancée Elizabeth, and Kenneth Mars as the over-the-top Inspector Kemp.

Indeed, Young Frankenstein most benefits from excellent casting – this is debatably Wilder’s finest role and performance, and it’s hard to envision any of the other parts played by any other actors than the ones cast in this film.

Wilder’s ability to express a wide array of emotions with dramatic facial expressions, animated gestures, and exaggerated histrionics demonstrates his gift not only for comedy but credible acting. This feels like a role he was born to play. Chris Justice of Classic-Horror.com wrote of Wilder in this role: “There is something hilarious in seeing hypocrisy unfold, especially when it occurs unknowingly and there is no explanation for it. Even more hilarious is when the hypocrite has spent much time previously denouncing what becomes the hypocritical act. His self-conscious melodrama allows him to perfectly play the victim of others' sarcasm and satire, and he revels in being the target of so many comic arrows.”

Feldman, meanwhile, practically steals every scene he’s in and often garners the biggest laughs. Boyle has a challenging assignment here – he has to convey a lot of emotion and ideas nonverbally, remain consistently in character, and also personalize and customize his interpretation of Frankenstein’s monster without turning it into a caricature of itself.

Every actor seems perfectly assigned to their respective role and seems to lend so much more to their part than a substitute actor would. Consider how effortlessly Kahn inhabits Elizabeth the fiancée, bringing a sophisticated charm yet wacky diva energy to this character, or the exaggerated mannerisms and Teutonic speech inflections that Mars imbues within Inspector Kemp. This is one of the best ensemble casting ever for a comedy film. Throw in the fact that you have the luxury of casting in small roles Gene Hackman and Chloris Leachman, who each won acting Oscars two years earlier, and this film becomes a cup runneth over with thespian talent.

Additionally, this is that rare breed of comedy where there is more than one strongly funny female character—three, in fact, who collectively may garner more laughs than the male characters.

This picture also remains evergreen thanks in large part to timeless humor in the form of hilarious set pieces, endlessly quotable comedic lines, and priceless running gags. Examples of the latter include the continuous mispronunciation of Frank-en-STEEN and EYE-gore, the frenzied whinnying of the horses after hearing Frau Blucher’s name spoken, Inspector Kemp’s mechanical arm, Elizabeth’s ridiculous prissiness, and the shifting of Igor’s hump. Unforgettable one-off laughers include the dead hand in the coffin sequence, the sed-a-give charades scene, the freshly dead face of Igor resting on the bookshelf, the dart-throwing episode, the visit to the blind hermit, and, of course, the Puttin’ on the Ritz number.

In a retrospective documentary on the film found on the Blu-Ray, actor Robert Ben Garant comments on the versatility of the comedic characters, noting that roles often get swapped around between straight man and funny person in Young Frankenstein, so that no one personality is always one or the other. For example, Igor is often the film’s comic relief, with his exaggerated expressions, shifting hunchback, and carefree attitude, relying on physical humor and irreverent quips. However, he occasionally shifts to the straight-man role, such as in the "Abby Normal" brain scene, where he remains calm while Frederick becomes frantic, cleverly reversing their typical comedic dynamic. Additionally, The Monster frequently acts as the straight man, using his confusion and innocence to contrast with the comedic chaos around him. However, he becomes the focal point of humor in scenes like the iconic Puttin’ on the Ritz performance, where his exaggerated dancing and singing alongside Frederick transforms a simple homage into a comedic highlight.

This film matters more because there are moments of true poignancy and pathos. This is not a wall-to-wall comedy with a record ratio of jokes per minute like the Airplane movies, and that’s to the picture’s advantage: the filmmakers have to create sympathy for the monster to make him more than one-dimensional, and they’re not relying on pure parody and satire to entertain viewers here. Their goal is to tell an emotionally involving story that’s also filled with plenty of laughs. “Every good comedy needs an engine, and the engine behind Young Frankenstein is the father-son relationship of the monster and Dr. Frankenstein,” Brooks said in an interview, adding “That’s the true love story” in this movie.

Young Frankenstein is an all-ages comedy kids can enjoy--true enough--but it's layered with a special sauce that stimulates adult taste buds. It revels in post-sexual revolution bawdiness and sexual innuendos, which grown-ups appreciate and elevate the comedic potential.

Furthermore, it boasts a showstopper sequence that everyone remembers: the Puttin’ on the Ritz performance. Including this scene was a major risk, Brooks believed, because if it wasn’t prepared and handled carefully, it could have fallen flat on its face. Also, none of the Frankenstein films this was spoofing featured a song-and-dance number, pulling the film away from its source genre. Thankfully, the sequence is a delightful surprise that’s wildly funny and highly entertaining. Wilder had to strongly sway Brooks to film and include this bit, but Brooks now considers it the best scene in the film.

Unlike many of Brooks’ other pictures, this isn’t anchored firmly in the year or era it was made – it isn’t saddled with contemporary pop culture or scatological references, trendy jokes, or zeitgeist characters that by now would have grown dated. Because the old-time horror films it honors remain timeless and classic, Young Frankenstein itself remains timeless and classic.

Consider how this picture is also a sturdy and dependable comedy institution, as demonstrated by the widely held belief that it improves with rewatches. Brooks said in an interview: “When something becomes precious, the replaying of it has more joy and comic effect than the surprise of a new joke. The big jokes are old pals, and you want to see them again.”

Young Frankenstein places high on many “best of” comedy film lists. On the American Film Institute's list of the 100 funniest American movies, Young Frankenstein holds the No. 13 spot. It is also ranked No. 28 on Total Film magazine's readers' "List of the 50 Greatest Comedy Films of All Time" and No. 56 on Bravo's "100 Funniest Movies" list.

Elements that help elevate this film as not only a comedy masterwork but an authentic-looking and sounding work of retro cinema include the brave choice of shooting in black and white, which makes it a more credible tribute to classic horror films and helps it stand out during an era when black and white was very much out of fashion and rarely used in feature-length motion pictures. It’s estimated that only around 35 significant black and white films were made in Hollywood between 1967 to 1974, a period when theatrical releases averaged 150 to 200 per year. That meant that by 1974, merely 3% of feature films were monochrome. And many of these black-and-white movies were independent or smaller productions, as major studios overwhelmingly created color films.

Young Frankenstein achieves an authentic early horror film aesthetic, as well, by incorporating original laboratory equipment from the 1931 Frankenstein, designed and preserved by Kenneth Strickfaden, lending historical accuracy with its iconic electrical devices. The sets, including the castle and lab, are meticulously crafted to evoke the eerie, expressionistic atmosphere of 1930s horror, with high-contrast chiaroscuro lighting. This highlights sharp contrasts between light and shadow, reinforcing a gothic feel, particularly in scenes like the monster’s revival.

The camera work closely follows the techniques of that era, too, using static wide shots, close-ups, and angled compositions to amplify tension.

Additionally, the film employs iris transitions, where shots open and close in a circular pattern, further nodding to the filmmaking techniques of classic cinema.

The movie boasts a tremendous score by John Morris that is sweet, haunting, and foreboding, utilizing dramatic string instruments and violins to evoke longing, loneliness, and mystery. It’s a throwback soundtrack that sounds like it was written 30 or 40 years earlier.

The scenario, look, and characters were all drawn from the first four films in Universal’s Frankenstein cycle, including, chronologically, Frankenstein (1931), Bride of Frankenstein (1935), Son of Frankenstein (1939), and Ghost of Frankenstein (1942). Brooks and company invoke horror brushstrokes found beyond the Frankenstein franchise canvas, however. The Puttin on the Ritz sequence, and how the monster is introduced to and later antagonized by the crowd, recalls the similar Broadway unveiling scene in 1933’s King Kong.

Earlier horror comedies of note that came before Young Frankenstein that it would be compared to include The Cat and the Canary, The Ghost Breakers, Arsenic and Old Lace, Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein, Scared Stiff, The Little Shop of Horrors, The Comedy of Terrors, The Munsters, The Ghost and Mr. Chicken, and The Fearless Vampire Killers.

Horror comedies released after the success of Young Frankenstein include The Rocky Horror Picture Show (1975), Attack of the Killer Tomatoes (1978), Love at First Bite (1979), Saturday the 14th (1981), Student Bodies (1981), Full Moon High (1981), Ghostbusters (1984), Once Bitten (1985), Frankenstein’s Great Aunt Tillie (1985), Transylvania 6-5000 (1985), Haunted Honeymoon (1986), Frankenstein General Hospital (1988), Beetlejuice (1988), Elvira Mistress of the Dark (1988), Killer Klowns from Outer Space (1988), Frankenstein: The College Years (1991), and Dracula: Dead and Loving It (1995), also directed by Brooks.

Make no mistake: Horror comedies have always existed. Per Wikipedia, there were 10 horror comedies tallied in the 1920s, six in the 1930s, 13 in the 1940s, 8 in the 1950s, 16 in the 1960s, 22 in the 1970s, an astonishing 103 in the 1980s, 72 in the 1990s, 105 in the 2000s, and 155 between 2010 and 2020. It’s not a coincidence that the number of mirthful macabre movies spiked significantly in the wake of Young Frankenstein.

Consider, too, that there have been close to 100 films made over the past 114 years that are based on the Mary Shelley novel Frankenstein. After Sherlock Holmes and Dracula, Frankenstein is the fictional character that has been featured in more films than any other.

One last bit of trivia: Igor’s “Walk this way” quote influenced Aerosmith to write their hit rock song with the same title.

Importantly, this movie isn’t trying to mean-spiritedly mock those old Frankenstein pictures; instead, it attempts to evoke the look and feel of those films while also poking gentle fun at some of the tropes, conventions, motifs, aesthetics, and characters of those 1930s movies. For proof of the love and respect that the filmmakers intended, consider the choice to shoot in black-and-white and include some of those original lab equipment props featured in the 1931 Frankenstein movie.

It’s worth noting that, in 1974 when young Frankenstein was originally released, the classic Universal horror movies like Frankenstein and its sequels had for many years prior enjoyed a resurgence on rerun television a la Shock Theater and Creature Feature-type TV repackagings. Also, classic movie monsters remained popular among baby boomers and their children, as evidenced by the popularity of horror magazines, comic books, monster models, and other merchandise. These interests did not suffer after Young Frankenstein was released – in fact, old-time monsters were back in vogue.

That being said, some viewers may find it difficult, after watching Young Frankenstein, to screen the original Frankenstein pictures with an open mind or a patient, tolerant attitude that respects the films in the context of their times.

Although this is a Mel Brooks-directed work, it’s a fairly equal collaboration between him and Wilder, who co-wrote the original screenplay and originated the idea. Some critics and scholars contend that this is Brooks’ most well-paced and restrained film – not quite as silly and zany as some of his other comedies – and that praise should be equally attributed to Wilder. Brooks himself regarded this as his best film as a writer-director.

Per Roger Ebert: “In his two best comedies, before this, The Producers and Blazing Saddles, Brooks revealed a rare comic anarchy. His movies weren’t just funny, they were aggressive and subversive, making us laugh even when we really should have been offended…Young Frankenstein is as funny as we expect a Mel Brooks comedy to be, but it’s more than that: It shows artistic growth and a more sure-handed control of the material by a director who once seemed willing to do literally anything for a laugh. It’s more confident and less breathless…Perhaps Young Frankenstein works the best of all Mel Brooks’s films because Brooks has a clear affection for the originals and has made a major effort to recapture the look and style of the old Frankenstein films.”

Blazing Saddles and Young Frankenstein cemented Brooks’ reputation as Hollywood’s signature satirist of film genres, in these two cases the western and the horror film. He would go on to spoof cinema made before talking pictures with Silent Movie (1976), Hitchcock films with High Anxiety (1977), historical epics with History of the World Part I (1981), science-fiction features with Spaceballs (1987), and Robin Hood movies with Robin Hood: Men in Tights (1993).

On the cusp of its 50th birthday, one of Young Frankenstein’s greatest gifts is that it proved you could affectionately lampoon a beloved classic, like Frankenstein and its sequels, without skewering it mercilessly over the coals and diminishing those originals in any way. That requires love and respect for the source material and carefully balancing the jokes with proper reverence. A few films released after 1974 that adopted this approach include Shaun of the Dead and Zombie Land—parodies of zombie movies, particularly George Romero-directed films, that seem to hold those earlier zombie classics in high regard—as well as Galaxy Quest (a fairly gentle ribbing of Star Trek) and The Cabin in the Woods (a whipsmart deconstruction of horror clichés that honors the genre, blending humor with a respectful exploration of its themes). Examples of genre spoofs that often take an opposite, more irreverent approach—while still generating copious yuks—include Airplane!, The Naked Gun, Scary Movie, and Tropic Thunder.

Greatest gift #2 is the underrated brilliance of lead actor and co-writer Gene Wilder, who is as responsible for the creation and success of Young Frankenstein as his partner Mel Brooks. His Dr. Frederick Frankenstein quickly pivots from an unruffled intellectual to a peeved patrician to a hysterical idealist who allows his engulfing emotions to trump his innate pragmatism. Wilder never fails to wow as Mr. Wonka, but his embodiment of this manic mad scientist, and the pathos he masterfully wields to capture our attention and elicit a surprising emotional response in the viewer, makes this perhaps his finest and most memorable performance. This is screaming Gene at his very best.

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The downsides to trading up

Released at the height of the Cold War in 1966, Seconds is a unique psychological thriller directed by John Frankenheimer that can still resonate with modern audiences in a world where innovative technologies can offer exciting—and frightening—new possibilities. Notable for its unsettling take on themes of identity, existential crisis, and the pressures of modern life, the film follows Arthur Hamilton, a dissatisfied middle-aged man, who is approached by an enigmatic group that offers him a chance to erase his old existence and begin anew by undergoing a complete physical transformation. After assuming the identity of the younger, more successful Tony Wilson, played by Rock Hudson, Hamilton initially enjoys his new life. However, he soon discovers that this fresh start comes with a heavy and frightening price.

To listen to a recording of our CineVerse group discussion of Seconds, click here.

Seconds is overwhelmingly dark and pessimistic, even for the Cold War era, with an especially downbeat conclusion. There is no tacked-on happy ending here. This is a film that attempts to expose the myths and lies behind the pursuit of the American dream and the search for physical perfectionism—at a time when advertising and popular culture emphasized physical beauty, materialism, and sex appeal.

The visuals are creative, memorable, and unsettling, particularly the distorted shots achieved by master cinematographer James Wong Howe, who uses fish eye lenses, distorted and wide angles, giant close-ups of blank, soulless faces, POV shots, tracking shots following heads and feet, jump cuts and other techniques to achieve a disturbing visual tapestry.

Frankenheimer's direction builds on his earlier work with themes of conspiracy, dread, and control, evident in films like The Manchurian Candidate and Seven Days in May. Though Seconds was not a commercial hit upon release, it has since garnered a devoted following and is now considered a significant piece of existential and dystopian cinema.

Why did audiences reject Seconds back in 1966? Perhaps because it cast Rock Hudson against type: Viewers were used to seeing him in romantic comedies, after all. Additionally, the film mixes several different genres into one: science fiction, horror, psychological thriller, noir, cautionary tale, and fantasy. Possibly this ambitious blending was ahead of its time and too off-putting to viewers in the mid-1960s. Consider, too, that the filmmakers chose to shoot in black and white vs. color, at a time when the former was decidedly less popular. The distorted, haunting monochrome imagery, bleak message, and dark tone may have been too overwhelming and depressing for contemporary moviegoers.

Seconds emphasizes distortion—as exemplified through the skewed visuals and warped shots—and disillusionment, suggesting that what we think will make us happy and fulfilled may be a lie. Is true happiness and self-fulfillment possible? Or do we always crave more?

Above all, this is a cautionary tale, a “be careful what you wish for” allegory. If you think your life is bad, it could always be worse. Seconds is also concerned with resurrection and rebirth (ironically, in this resurrection, the body is perfected but the soul remains dead), distrust of technology (technology should be in our control, but this film argues the opposite), and, most importantly, the fallacy of the American dream. Frankenheimer had said, in interviews, about this film: “When we talk about life, my philosophy is that you have to live your life the way it is. You can change it, but you can’t change who you are or what you’ve done before. And you have to live with that. I think that point was very well brought out in Seconds—that’s what the film is all about.”

Criterion Collection essayist David Sterritt pushes this message of existential angst even further, writing that “Seconds was (Frankenheimer’s) outcry ‘against ‘the Dream,’ the belief that all you need to do in life is to be financially successful. He saw the film as ‘a matter-of-fact yet horrifying portrait of big business that will do anything for anybody, provided you are willing to pay for it.’ It expressed his contempt for ‘all this nonsense in society that we must be forever young, this accent on youth in advertising and thinking.’”

Similar works

• Frankenstein
• Invasion of the Body Snatchers
• Faust
• The Picture of Dorian Gray
• The Man in the Gray Flannel Suit
• Several episodes of The Twilight Zone, including The Trade-Ins
• Hollow Triumph
• Eyes Without a Face
• The Stepford Wives
• The Face of Another
• Shock Corridor
• Carnival of Souls
• Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

Other films directed by John Frankenheimer

• The Birdman of Alcatraz
• The Manchurian Candidate
• Seven Days in May
• Black Sunday
• Ronin

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It would be a Shame to miss this Bergman standout

It may not be as renowned or heralded as some of Ingmar Bergman’s other classics like Persona, Wild Strawberries, or The Seventh Seal, but Shame (1968) remains a powerful examination of the human cost of war and the fragility of relationships, standing out as one of the most compelling anti-war films in cinema.

The story centers on Jan and Eva Rosenberg, a married couple and former musicians played by Max von Sydow and Liv Ullmann, who flee to a rural island to escape a civil war in an unnamed country. However, as the conflict reaches their refuge, they are forced to confront the brutal realities of war and the unraveling of their relationship.

To listen to a recording of our CineVerse group discussion of Shame, conducted last week, click here.

Although Bergman claimed this was not a political commentary on the Vietnam War, the fact that this film was released at the height of that conflict makes comparisons unavoidable. While it’s true that this is an imaginary civil war within Sweden—not Vietnam—Shame seems to capture the zeitgeist of violence, discomfort, and unrest that permeated the late 1960s. Interestingly, the civil war itself is not explained or contextualized; we don’t know what each side stands for, although each side seems equally awful in its treatment of the civilians affected.

Cinematographer Sven Nykvist enhances the psychological tension of the film with stark black-and-white visuals that lend the island an eerie beauty, making it both a place of refuge and terror. The black-and-white canvas is fitting, creating a template more suitable for moral ambiguity and ethical shades of gray.

Bergman often prefers long takes where he lets the actors carry a scene, forcing the viewer to pay closer attention to small details as the camera often remains static, as demonstrated in the earlier picnic scene and the later kitchen table sequence with Jacobi.

The film doesn’t try to explain why characters do what they do. Per Roger Ebert: “Eva has sex with the colonel in charge…Does she do it to save them? Probably, but hard to say. Her own marriage is painfully uncertain. Later, Jan conceals money that could have bought the colonel’s freedom from the other side. Does he do it to punish their adultery? Hard to say if he has actually witnessed it.”

(SPOILERS AHEAD) The narrative ends abstrusely, with Eva and Jan likely facing death adrift on the ocean as she recalls a strange dream. There is no resolution here.

So what are we to make of Shame? It’s an obvious polemic on war’s corrosive effects on humanity, innocence, and civilians. Bergman explores how war erodes what makes us human, including our empathetic qualities and moral values. Eva and Jan, apolitical and initially detached and uninterested in the conflict, are drawn into the violence, illustrating how ordinary people can become enmeshed in cruelty. As their innocence is lost, their relationship begins to deteriorate, revealing underlying selfishness and betrayal.

Criterion Collection essayist Michael Sragow wrote: “As the sixties neared their end, even Bergman, the screen’s foremost investigator of private life, intimate behavior, and postreligious faith, felt the need to make a statement on that turbulent decade and the legacy of World War II. His vision of how sadism and paranoia fuel martial conflicts and spread from society’s fringes into middle-class living rooms (and bedrooms) permeates Shame, the only Bergman film that could be called primarily political or antiwar. The relentless, Kafkaesque backdrop of a never-ending war puts a troubled marriage into stark relief, dramatizing the end of fellow feeling and the dehumanization of death… Throughout, Bergman gets us to feel what it’s like to be a displaced person in one’s own homeland.”

True to its title, the film delves deeply into shame and culpability, which both Eva and Jan feel. Jan acts passively and cowardly earlier in the story, Eva gives in to Col. Jacobi sexually, Jan betrays Jacobi by keeping his money, and Jan kills a deserted soldier. These and other actions trigger guilt and disgrace, seriously impacting the couple’s relationship. As the narrative progresses, their need to survive leads them to abandon their principles, showing how desperation erodes personal integrity. The title of the film, posits Alternate Ending blogger Timothy Brayton, “can refer to Bergman's shame at dodging politics or Jan's shame at the same, God's shame at creating a violent world; humanity's shame at embracing war as a first resort; the same of being a bad and weak husband; and that's without even pausing to think about it.”

Bergman also confronts the fallacy of neutrality or remaining uninvolved during wartime. Jan and Eva’s efforts to remain apolitical and uninvolved—including living on an island amid a civil war—ultimately fail, as they are eventually embroiled in the very conflict they sought to avoid. Shame suggests that trying to remain neutral in a crisis is not only futile but can entangle individuals more deeply in the destructive forces of war. Yet the film also espouses that it doesn’t really matter which side you support: you’re likely to lose as a human being. “Bergman’s lack of specificity here comes to suggest that war is inevitable and circular and will eventually engulf most of us, who might be currently enjoying the sojourns of Shame’s opening passage,” according to Slant Magazine critic Chuck Bowen. “Bergman fillets his interests in this film, forging a vision of annihilation that is, understood, itself, to be yet another bourgeoisie toy. In one scene, Eva wonders if she’s in a dream, and if such a dreamer is capable of feeling shame. The film’s existence is her unattainable answer.”

Lastly, Shame examines how, as pressures increase, relationships suffer, causing each party to become more estranged from the other, making isolation and detachment a further thematic underpinning. The psychological strain of the conflict exposes the weakness in their marriage, which slowly falls apart under mistrust and the instinct to survive.

Similar works

• Hour of the Wolf and The Passion of Anna, two films that, respectively preceded and followed Shame and form a trilogy each featuring Liv Ullmann and Max Von Sydow as a similar type couple living under duress on a Swedish island
• Films depicting an imaginary civil war, including Children of Men, Civil War, The Rover, and Bushwick
• Come and See
• The Sacrifice
• The Painted Bird
• Lacombe, Lucien
• The Road

Other films by Ingmar Bergman

• The Seventh Seal
• Wild Strawberries
• The Silence
• Winter Light
• Through a Glass Darkly
• Persona
• Cries and Whispers
• Scenes from a Marriage
• Autumn Sonata
• Fanny and Alexander

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All aboard Jarmusch's Mystery Train

If you haven’t yet discovered the distinctive pleasures of Jim Jarmusch’s cinema, there’s no time like the present. This idiosyncratic indie filmmaker earlier worked around the fringes, ever pushing the envelope with unconventional films and quirky characters. But his style encompasses a wide range, and he’s dabbled in many genres, from westerns to horror films. 

One of his early standouts is Mystery Train. Released in 1989 and set in Memphis, the movie weaves together three interconnected stories that take place over the course of a single night. One follows a young Japanese couple, portrayed by Masatoshi Nagase and Yuki Kudo, visiting the city to pay homage to Elvis Presley at Sun Studios. Another focuses on a recently widowed Italian woman (Nicoletta Braschi) who ends up sharing a hotel room with a stranger. The final story centers on a British immigrant, played by Joe Strummer, whose night spirals into chaos after a series of unfortunate events. Supporting roles include performances by Steve Buscemi, Screamin' Jay Hawkins, and Tom Noonan.

Click here to listen to a recording of our CineVerse group discussion of Mystery Train, conducted last week.

The eccentric personalities in this triptych tale characters share a commonality beyond their presence in Memphis: They eventually all end up in a fleabag motel in the city, with America not being the native country for the three main characters. We learn that each of these story segments occurs at roughly the same time, as evidenced by each set of characters hearing the radio DJ and the gunshot within the hotel simultaneously.

Most of the soundtrack features music by early rock and rollers who presumably recorded in or left a major mark on the city, including Elvis, Junior Parker, Roy Orbison, Otis Redding, and the Bar-Kays. The title derives from the famous cover of the song of the same name by Elvis, which kicks off the opening of the film. Speaking of, Elvis appears as a ghost to the widow; it could be a dream or hallucination, or it could be a real apparition, giving the narrative a tinge of the supernatural that wouldn’t feel out of place in Memphis: a mecca to the King of Rock and Roll.

The film relies heavily on small moments and relatively trifling exchanges between major and minor characters as opposed to a weighty plot dependent on action, twists, or rising and falling drama. Also, Mystery Train is arguably more a comedy than a drama, although there are dark moments such as the shooting of a liquor store owner and when Luisa is followed by three men on the street at night.

A major thematic appeal of Mystery Train is, of course, the pervasive influence and powerful impact of music. Pop music, particularly by American rock 'n' rollers, plays a significant role in shaping the characters' experiences. The film explores how music bridges cultural divides and forges connections between diverse individuals. “Mystery Train is a singularly enthusiastic American anthem that trenchantly interprets the cult of audiophilia as filthy gas stoves roasting marshmallows, raspy radio DJs hawking fried calamari, and ill-equipped racial armies ignorantly clashing by night,” wrote Slant critic Joseph Jon Lanthier.

Jarmusch himself said in an interview: “What I like about the Japanese kids in Memphis is, if you think about tourists visiting Italy, the way the Romantic poets went to Italy to visit the remnants of a past culture, and then if you imagine America in the future, when people from the East or wherever visit our culture after the decline of the American empire – which is certainly in progress – all they'll really have to visit will be the homes of rock'n'roll stars and movie stars. That's all our culture ultimately represents. So going to Memphis is a kind of pilgrimage to the birthplace of a certain part of our culture.”

Mystery Train also marinates in serendipity and random chance. Fate is a prominent message, showcasing how seemingly unrelated characters' paths cross by accident. These incidental encounters underscore the arbitrariness of life and how unanticipated moments can bring people together or force them to cross paths.

To the surprise of no one who has seen other Jarmusch films, the inability to communicate and connect is examined. According to Bright Lights Film Journal essayist Alan Jacobson, “Jarmusch makes films that focus on the subtle nuances of communication…the failure for human beings to connect and then spark and the consequences of this typical human failure to communicate is not only a running concern through one of America’s best filmmakers’ work, but it is his strong suit.” We observe how the Japanese couple encounter difficulty interpreting Americans around them and can’t communicate easily with each other, either. Luisa, meanwhile, can’t seem to easily connect with her hotel roommate; and Charlie and Will struggle to talk sense into Johnny, whose impulsive, violent behavior puts them in danger.

Moreover, Mystery Train gives voice to personalities from different backgrounds and countries, delving into cultural alienation and the outsider’s experience of America. The first story centers on Japanese tourists, the second on an Italian widow, and the third on an Englishman—each navigating the unfamiliar terrain of Memphis and trying to better understand America and its people through this music-famous city. It emphasizes the feeling of estrangement that cultural differences create. Likewise, each of these foreigners is depicted as physically or emotionally isolated to some extent and unable to fully assimilate into the American way of life or mindset. Their respective travels through Memphis underscore these ideas.

Similar works

• “Hyperlink cinema” films with intersection narratives/characters, including Short Cuts, Grand Canyon, Crash, Pulp Fiction, Amores Perros (2000), Babel, Magnolia, Traffic, Love Actually, and Syriana
• Paris, Texas (1984), a poignant journey through isolation and reconciliation set against the vast backdrop of the American Southwest, imbued with a reflective, melancholic atmosphere
• Bagdad Café (1987), a quirky, heartwarming tale of unlikely friendships forming in a remote desert motel, blending offbeat humor with a touch of magical realism
• Slacker (1990), also featuring a meandering collection of interconnected scenes featuring oddball characters in Austin, Texas, with a casual, free-flowing narrative style
• Chungking Express (1994), a visually stylish, emotionally driven film set in the vibrant streets of Hong Kong, weaving together stories of lonely souls seeking connection
• Buffalo '66 (1998), a quirky and bittersweet tale of an ex-convict confronting his past, blending awkward humor with underlying sadness in this unique character study
• Smoke (1995), a series of interwoven stories unfolding in a Brooklyn cigar shop, spotlighting human interactions and conversations, wrapped in a gentle air of melancholy

Other films by Jim Jarmusch

• Stranger Than Paradise (1984)
• Down by Law (1986)
• Night on Earth (1991)
• Dead Man (1995)
• Ghost Dog: The Way of the Samurai (1999)
• Coffee and Cigarettes (2003)
• Broken Flowers (2005)
• The Dead Don't Die (2019)

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Shawshank redeems our belief in the power of great movies--even popular ones

1994 is remembered as the year when Pulp Fiction commanded the zeitgeist, Forrest Gump captured the hearts of moviegoers and the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences (which awarded the film six Oscars, including Best Picture), and The Lion King became the highest grossing picture of the year and animated film of all time to that point.

But the most rewatched and cherished work from 1994 is also the one that has proved to be the most popular of the last 30 years: The Shawshank Redemption, directed by Frank Darabont.

To listen to a recording of our CineVerse group discussion of this film, click here. To hear the latest Cineversary podcast episode honoring The Shawshank Redemption, click here.

So, what makes Shawshank worthy of celebration over the past 30 years? First, it’s the popular champion in the modern era. The Shawshank Redemption has commanded the crown as the crowd favorite over the last three decades, as evidenced by its repeated ranking at the top of the IMDB top 250 films list, where it has reigned supreme among movie watchers for most of the past 27 years. It first topped the IMDB list in 1997, dropped to second place for a few years, and then recaptured its top ranking in 2008.

The Wizard of Oz may likely be the most-watched film in history, Avatar and Gone With the Wind may have sold the most tickets, and Citizen Kane remains the critics’ darling, but when it comes to the picture that most pleases the masses, Shawshank wins. This is a perfect example of a film that didn’t blow the critics away—its Rotten Tomatoes score is 89% and its average critical score is an impressive but far from perfect 8 out of 10—yet it’s hard to find an everyday person who has seen The Shawshank Redemption and not loved it. Consider that its Rotten Tomatoes Popcornmeter score, representing its fans, is 98% while its IMDB fan rating is 9.3 out of 10.

Many believe these are the best performances in the careers of both Morgan Freeman and Tim Robbins. This film is superbly cast, and kudos are deserving of the supporting roles by James Whitmore as Brooks, Bob Gunton as the warden, Clancy Brown as Captain Hadley, and others. But Freeman easily steals every scene he’s in while Robbins looks born to play this role with his boyishly innocent yet often expressionless face that helps Andy remain mysterious to the viewer.

This is also the film that cemented Freeman’s status as perhaps the most respected and compelling actor of that era, a versatile thespian who brought gravitas to every role he was cast in from 1989 onward. Additionally, Shawshank is where Freeman proved his considerable mettle as a voiceover powerhouse, and he has consistently been in demand for years following this film for his voice alone in documentaries, commercials, video games, and even the Waze GPS app. His voice drizzles over you like melted butter: It’s that rich, smooth, and savory.

The two lead performances are often cited as Shawshank’s greatest strength, but more credit should probably go to the A+ screenplay and the original story by Stephen King on which it’s based. The narrative is exemplary, gripping us with tension and twists, provoking deeper thought with its philosophical monologues and enriching dialogue between Red and Andy, and thoroughly satisfying in its redemptive conclusion in which the karmic scales are balanced. The Writers Guild of America slots it at #22 on its list of the greatest screenplays.

This is almost universally regarded as the best prison film of all time within a strong subgenre that includes, chronologically, Grand Illusion, Brute Force, Stalag 17, Riot in Cell Block 11, A Man Escaped, Bridge on the River Kwai, Bird Man of Alcatraz, The Great Escape, Cool Hand Luke, Papillon, Midnight Express, Escape From Alcatraz, Kiss of the Spider Woman, and The Green Mile.

Speaking of Mr. King, this could be the finest cinematic translation of one of his works. Rotten Tomatoes places it #3 behind Carrie and Stand by Me as the best movie sourced from a Stephen King story, but many would fight tooth and nail to defend The Shawshank Redemption as tops. King himself said it was his favorite adaption of one of his tales. There are a lot of worthy contenders to choose from, as other acclaimed and popular films based on King stories include, chronologically, Carrie, Salem’s Lot, The Shining, The Dead Zone, Christine, Stand by Me, Misery, Dolores Claiborne, The Green Mile, 1408, The Mist, It, Gerald’s Game, and Doctor Sleep.

One of the movie’s secret weapons is the painterly craftsmanship of cinematographer Roger Deakins, who conjures incredible thematic depth with deep shadows, for instance, in scenes involving Brooks, as well as golden-tinged pictorial splendor in outdoor shots such as the rooftop tarring sequence. Deakins has demonstrated mastery of light and darkness in numerous classics, especially Fargo and No Country For Old Men by the Coen Brothers, and more recently in visually spectacular works like Blade Runner 2049 and 1917, but Shawshank stands as a continually underrated triumph in his resume.

Shawshank remains endlessly quotable, too, containing priceless pearls of perfectly written dialogue and monologue that are regularly cited in pop culture and across social media. Cases in point:

• I guess it comes down to a simple choice, really. Get busy living, or get busy dying.
• There are places in this world that aren't made out of stone. That there's something inside... that they can't get to, that they can't touch. That's yours.
• Hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things, and no good thing ever dies.
• Hope is a dangerous thing. Hope can drive a man insane.
• I believe in two things: discipline and the Bible. Here you'll receive both. Put your trust in the Lord; your ass belongs to me. Welcome to Shawshank.
• The world went and got itself in a big damn hurry.
• The funny thing is - on the outside, I was an honest man, straight as an arrow. I had to come to prison to be a crook.
• They send you here for life, and that's exactly what they take. The part that counts, anyway.
• Salvation lies within.
• How can you be so obtuse?
• Every man has his breaking point.
• I hope I can make it across the border. I hope to see my friend and shake his hand. I hope the Pacific is as blue as it has been in my dreams. I hope.

The Shawshank Redemption was nominated for seven Academy Awards, but unfortunately didn’t land a single Oscar. IMDB isn’t the only source that ranks it highly: It was named the greatest film of all time by Empire magazine in 2006; the American Film Institute’s 2007 list of the greatest American movies has it at no. 72, ahead of Pulp Fiction and Forrest Gump, two other critically acclaimed works released in the same year (1994); and in 2015 it was named Britain’s favorite movie after polling by YouGov. It was also voted as New Zealand's favorite film in a 2015 poll.

Like It’s a Wonderful Life decades earlier, The Shawshank Redemption is a phoenix of a film, proving that an overlooked masterwork can be resurrected and rediscovered by viewers years later.

After quickly fizzling out at the box office and disappearing from theaters, the movie became a word-of-mouth phenomenon and enjoyed one of the greatest audience comebacks in cinema history. It tapped into an incredible second wind on the small screen, where a loyal following was cultivated. It became one of the most in-demand VHS and DVD titles of the 1990s (the most rented film of 1995, in fact) and was aired more than 100 times on TNT and TBS, becoming a juggernaut on cable.

Sunday Guardian critic Saumya Mehrotra credits Shawshank with helping to seed the growth of what became “prestige TV,” where exclusive television series and programs boast cinema-quality content, as evidenced in shows like The Sopranos, The Wire, and Breaking Bad. Per Mehrotra: “It was The Shawshank Redemption that made Hollywood producers think seriously about tapping into the television industry. After this point in cinema history, films were made for both the big screen and for the small one.”

It’s easy to trace the rise of prison-themed TV shows, docuseries, and films that came in the wake of The Shawshank Redemption, including The Green Mile, The Hurricane, American History X, Oz, Prison Break, The Escapist, Felon, Orange is the New Black, and Inside the World’s Toughest Prisons.

Director Frank Darabont consistently uses clever misdirection, skillful surprises and twists, as well as the withholding of key information to keep us from guessing what will happen next or to upend our expectations for a character or outcome. Brooks’ suicide, Tommy’s revelation of Andy’s innocence, Tommy’s murder, Andy’s secret escape, and Red’s unexpected parole are the major twists and surprises. Meanwhile, examples of red herrings include:

• We don’t learn of Andy’s true innocence until 90 minutes into the film. There are enough false clues to taint him as possibly guilty, including his introductory scene where he holds the revolver and the courtroom sequence when he lacks a believable defense against the circumstantial evidence presented.
• We see a figure approach the parole board and assume it’s Andy but are surprisingly introduced to Red, who establishes his voiceover narration at this point.
• The veteran inmates take bets on the new crop of “fresh fish” inmate arrivals, but what are they wagering on? Is it who will be assaulted first? Eventually, we learn it’s a bet on who will be the first to break down into tears.
• Brooks asks for the wriggling maggot Andy picks out of his food. Is Brooks senile or insane? No, it’s rapidly revealed that he has a hungry pet bird.
• We and Red quickly accept that Andy truly is the “rock hound” he describes himself to be—that the small rock hammer will not be used for escaping but for crafting chess pieces.
• Andy has kept such a steady poker face in the first third of the movie that when he asks Captain Hadley if he trusts his wife, we are taken aback by this imposing question and wonder what Andy’s motivation for the confrontation is. He soon convinces Hadley to entrust him with financial planning.
• After being released, Brooks says he’s “decided not to stay.” We assume he means to relocate to another town or become a paroled fugitive, but he’s actually talking about suicide, which he soon commits.
• Warden Norton asks Tommy if he’s willing to testify about Andy’s innocence in court. We presume Norton is having second thoughts about Andy and may be willing to do the right thing here, but he shockingly opts to have Tommy killed.
• We and Red fear that Andy may follow Brooks’ path and use the rope to hang himself in his cell, a possibility milked for maximum effect via several tense shots in which we see Andy appear to be a forever altered, utterly defeated man. However, it’s eventually revealed that Andy uses the rope to escape, and has timed his breakout to perfectly coincide with Norton’s belief that he’s finally broken Andy’s spirit.
• When the authorities arrive at the prison to arrest Norton, he grabs his pistol and we believe that the warden won’t give up without a fight. Instead, he uses the weapon to kill himself.
• Red appears before the parole board for a third time; we’ve been patterned to believe that, as before, he’ll be rejected—especially after making comments the board would deem disrespectful—but, remarkably, his parole is granted.

The movie also benefits from maintaining a careful tonal balance designed to satisfy more viewers and prevent fewer watchers from abandoning ship. Yes, it is often violent, dark, and depressing, but these harsh qualities are buffered by the recurrent messages of hope, sporadic bits of comic relief, and the poignant and captivating camaraderie between Red and Andy.

Additionally, Darabont uses foreshadowing, inside jokes, and puns to punctuate the narrative and reward repeat viewings. Among the foreshadowing examples are the instances of holes made in walls, as when the warden removes the framed “His judgment cometh and that right soon” cross-stitching from the wall to reveal a safe, or when the crew demolishes a wall to build the prison library; Andy carving his name into the stone wall, followed by Brooks later carving “Brooks was here” into the wooden beam, and then Red repeating the latter; and the warden locking himself in his office while the authorities try to break it, which mirrors an earlier scene involving Andy sequestered in the warden’s office. In-jokes include the warden’s “Inside Out” program and insistence that “salvation lies within” (literally within a bible concealing Andy’s escape tool) along with the poster of Einstein sticking out his tongue in seeming mockery of the warden standing below it.

The Shawshank Redemption is a throwback of sorts to previous prison classics created by Hollywood like The Great Escape, The Birdman of Alcatraz, and Cool Hand Luke—referencing those three pictures and a few others in its look, old-school set design and costumes, escape techniques, and other ways. But it deviates from these predecessors in several respects. First, it features a spoken narration throughout that guides the viewer along, with a likable homespun voice and vernacular, impeccably delivered by Freeman, that helps weave a wholly absorbing tale and creates a more personal, emotional story.

Interestingly, the narrator is arguably not the central character. Red is a third-party witness to the story of Andy, the character whom we most identify and sympathize with. We get the story from Red’s point of view, which makes it increasingly interesting because Red is more credible as a grizzled, jaded, experienced inmate. This is Andy’s story, but it’s told by Red; that’s important because to us the most significant “redemption” of the film, it turns out, is Red’s, not Andy’s.

In his four-star reappraisal of the film, Roger Ebert wrote: “Red is our surrogate. He's the one we identify with, and the redemption, when it comes, is Red's…If Andy had been the heroic center, bravely enduring, the film would have been conventional, and less mysterious. But we wonder about this guy. Did he really kill those two people? Why does he keep so much to himself? Why can he amble through the prison yard like a free man on a stroll, when everyone else plods or sidles?”

Unlike other films about incarceration, which usually concern themselves early on with an elaborate escape plan plot—such as The Great Escape, Papillon, Escape From Alcatraz, and Stalag 17—this picture doesn’t try to tip its hat that the later payoff will be an escape; we see many years elapse during which Andy and his friends are imprisoned, presumably without hope. Therefore, the main meat of this narrative concerns both psychologically and physically coping with an interminable life in prison. There’s enough action and interesting subplots and characters here to make for a fascinating two hours without being focused from the beginning on an inevitable breakout.

Consider that inmates seldom triumph in prison films. Often, the incarcerated main character is killed (as in Brute Force or Cool Hand Luke) or the escaped or rebellious prisoners are captured and re-incarcerated by the authorities (recall The Defiant Ones, Riot in Cell Block 11, and The Great Escape). Shawshank is an exception to these rules and a repudiation of “the system” and the kinds of authority figures that run that system.

Another way Shawshank bucks the prison subgenre formula is in how it’s about the forging of a strong relationship between two friends. Papillon did this, too, but The Shawshank Redemption takes it many steps further. Some have even equated this narrative to a love story, albeit a platonic one. Morgan Freeman said in an interview: “I always think of this as a love story — two men who just totally bonded…At the very end of the movie, when they hook up — it’s complete.”

The deftly employed misdirection keeps you from prematurely guessing that Andy will eventually escape, and the clever details about how he accomplishes the breakout make for an incredibly satisfying third act in which the audience feels Andy’s uplifting sense of release, freedom, and vindication and revels in the execution of his plan. This is one of the best deliverance/revenge films ever made, and you don’t need to be a former inmate or wrongly accused victim to savor the powerful emotional payoff at the conclusion.

Of course, the film may not be very realistic in its depiction of a prison of this era or his escape efforts. It’s highly unlikely that Andy would have been allowed to remain in the same cell for 19 years, not attracted attention with his wall chiseling, or pulled off this breakout so seamlessly.

It’s the themes in The Shawshank Redemption that resonant strongest with viewers, and this film is chock full of them. Three of the most prominent explored are hope versus pessimism, opposites attract, and unlikely friendships. To help illustrate these three corresponding ideas, consider how Andy and Red are perfectly juxtaposed characters based on their differences: Andy is white, Red is African-American. Andy truly is innocent and wrongfully convicted of a crime he didn’t commit, while Red is a guilty criminal, although one who accepts that he has to pay his debt to society. Andy is younger and more sensitive, attuned to cultural sensibilities and the arts, idealistic, book smart, and hopeful; Red is older, hardened and jaded, street smart, and more pessimistically realistic, which makes him skeptical of the power of hope. Red is a man who can get things in from the outside for himself and others; Andy is a man who can get things out from the inside (his intelligence and optimism) for himself and others.

Therein lies the crux of the film’s main message: making Red, a doubting Thomas, see the light of hope, as exemplified in his savior, Andy, who serves as a messianic character (recall the 12 disciples surrounding him during the rooftop beer-drinking scene). Red is redeemed by Andy, not by helping him escape from the prison, but by making him believe in a life worth living outside the prison walls.

In addition to espousing that true, deep friendships last forever, Shawshank teaches us that true freedom has no boundaries and is often more a state of mind than a physical state of being in a free place. As Washington Post journalist Zachary Pincus-Roth put it, “Walls cannot confine you and do not define you.” Freedom, or “salvation” as the warden reminds, comes from within. You have to liberate yourself, first in your thoughts and attitude, to enjoy true independence. Remember that the final scene, featuring Red and Andy, occurs in Mexico. The fact that their reunion occurs outside of the boundaries of the familiar (the United States) and within a paradise-like setting is important: It suggests that they’ve graduated to a metaphorical “heaven,” an afterlife-of-sorts on earth far removed from their familiar place of confinement. It’s also wise to show only the two of them on the beach, as if this is their own private paradise they’ve earned. In the original story, Red is following Andy’s hidden trail and hopeful that he will rendezvous with his friend eventually someday. That ending was changed for the film because viewers responded more enthusiastically to a visible, conclusive reunion between the two.

“Art saves the soul,” as suggested by Unspooled podcast host Amy Nicholson, is a further takeaway. She and critic Mark Kermode believe The Shawshank Redemption is a love letter to the power of movies, as evidenced by how the inmates are mesmerized by Rita Hayworth while watching the film Gilda and how Andy uses a film can to fend off his attackers later in that scene. Ponder, too, how the convicts stand motionlessly and silently enraptured as they listen to the beautiful female operatic duet segment from Mozart’s Marriage of Figaro. Think back, as well, to when Andy gifts Red a harmonica; music in this narrative is equated with hope and freedom.

A final significant subtext to chew on: One small man can make a big difference in the lives of others. Andy improves the lives of nearly everyone he encounters at Shawshank State Prison, from Red and Tommy to the warden and Captain Hadley. His efforts result in a fantastic prison library as well as high school diplomas for several of the inmates.

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Cineversary podcast honors The Shawshank Redemption on its 30th birthday

In Cineversary podcast episode #74, host Erik Martin commemorates the 30th anniversary of the most crowd-pleasing picture of the past three decades and the greatest prison movie ever: The Shawshank Redemption. Partnering with him on this installment is Mark Dawidziak, author of The Shawshank Redemption Revealed: How One Story Keeps Hope Alive.

Mark Dawidziak

Together, they chisel away at this impressive cinematic edifice and examine why this film remains so beloved, how it has stood the test of time, resonant themes viewers appreciate, and more.

To listen to this episode, click here or click the "play" button on the embedded streaming player below. Or, you can stream, download, or subscribe to Cineversary wherever you get your podcasts, including Apple Podcasts and Spotify.

Learn more about the Cineversary podcast at www.cineversary.com and email show comments or suggestions to cineversarypodcast@gmail.com.

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Blurring the lines between documentary and dramatization

Not to be confused with the 1938 film of the same name helmed by Michael Curtiz, Four Daughters is a compelling documentary, directed by Kaouther Ben Hania, which premiered last year at the Cannes Film Festival. This co-production between Tunisia, France, Germany, and Saudi Arabia tells the harrowing true story of Olfa Hamrouni, a Tunisian mother whose life is shattered when her two daughters are radicalized and join ISIS. The film skillfully intertwines reality with dramatization, utilizing interviews, re-enactments, and archival footage to delve into the profound emotional and psychological impact on Olfa and her remaining daughters.

To hear a recording of our CineVerse group discussion of Four Daughters, conducted last week, click here.

The “documentary” approach here by female director Hania is meta-realism, which means a style that draws attention to its own nature and narrative structure. Common in postmodern works as metafiction, it appears in various media and encourages reflection on storytelling. This style often features self-aware characters or narrators, as seen in Jasper Fforde's The Eyre Affair, where the protagonist interacts with characters from Jane Eyre. Metafiction also breaks traditional narrative conventions, such as in Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, where the main character directly engages with the audience, breaking the fourth wall.

It’s a refreshing take on dramatic reenactments, having Olfa, Eya, and Tayssir play themselves while also interacting with actors portraying Olfa and her older missing daughters. It blurs the lines between documentary and dramatization. Per Slant Magazine critic Derek Smith: “In a particularly canny move, Hania never presents reenacted sequences as standalone scenes in their “finished” form, instead using the mostly unrehearsed collaborations between Olfa, Eya, and Tayssir and the actors working with them as the raw material for her film… As Olfa is always on set, and frequently in the frame as Sabr plays her, she’s forced to deal with her own culpability in real time, whether through revelations she makes on her own or Sabr questioning why she was so strict with her daughters… It’s the unique spirit of this collaboration—not only toward getting realistic performances, but plumbing the motivations and emotions of everyone involved—that makes Four Daughters so compelling. And because it’s so open about its behind-the-scenes process, we’re witness to how the artifice of performance and reenactment enhances, rather than diminishes, the depth of emotions of Olfa’s story.”

This exercise is less about re-enacting past events accurately or thoroughly and more about (1) evoking unscripted, spontaneous emotions and memories in the three remaining family members, (2) getting the mother and younger daughters to talk about their traumas, resentments, and difficult feelings, (3) exploring the familial dynamics between these real people, and (4) observing how even the actors playing the mother and older daughters—who are trained to compartmentalize their work and not get personally involved—are inevitably affected by their exposure to the real women and their recollections.

Film critic Peyton Robinson wrote: “Four Daughters” prioritizes empowering its women to take ownership of telling their story while also allowing its actors to participate in it… As Olfa and the sisters give perspective on their shared trauma and heartbreak and discuss the underlying principles of it with each other and the actresses, what ensues is not simply the story of a family but a tour de force examination of women’s place in the world and the costs of how they choose to cope with it.”

However, while we trust in what the family relays to the viewer, this is not exactly an objective doc. The testimonies could be biased and the recollections altered by distorted memory. We do not hear from the real Rahma, Ghofrane, or any of the actual men depicted by the sole male actor. The fates of Rahma and Ghofrane are truthfully told, but there are many subjective POVs here that prevent us from completely knowing who or what was responsible for many of the traumas and outcomes.

The filmmakers seem to be non-judgemental, showing Olfa and her sisters in both good and bad lights by allowing the real persons to speak for themselves and propel the narrative. There is no omniscient, faceless narrator whose disembodied voice navigates us through this story; we rely completely on the real family and the actors playing the missing persons for information, at least until toward the end when archival news footage reveals exactly what happened to Ghofrane and Rahma.

Four Daughters’ main message is breaking the cycle of trauma and family dysfunction. Olfa reveals that she turned out exactly like her mother and that “the curse will continue” with her daughters. But the agency and modern sensibilities that Eya and Tayssir demonstrate give us hope that their generation can progress from the restrictions and closed-mindedness that characterized her mother’s generation. However, the final still frame shot of her young granddaughter reminds us that progress and improved lives aren’t guaranteed; the future is decidedly uncertain.

The intricate dynamics of family relationships, particularly the connections between the four sisters and their mother, are also at the heart of the film. It’s a coming-of-age, self-discovery, and identity evolution story, too. We discern that each daughter has transformed the course of the film: the two eldest have become radicalized pariahs who remain loved and missed by their family; the two youngest demonstrate greater independent thought and lifestyle choices that deviate from their mother as they mature; and Olfa appears to be reckoning with and taking responsibility for many of her mistakes while also refusing to accept culpability for others.

Additionally, the extent to which cultural and societal expectations influence individual decisions and family roles is explored. A major character in this narrative is Tunisia itself: the religious traditions of its people as well as the government’s role in shaping its society. And sexual politics, patriarchal values, and freedom of self-expression are put under the microscope, as well. The film tackles traditional gender roles, revealing the pressures these roles place on women and how the daughters resist and question these norms.

Similar works

• Mustang
• Inshallah a Boy
• Films influenced by the revolutionary theatrical style of Bertolt Brecht, including Palindromes, The Arabian Nights Trilogy, Superstar: The Karen Carpenter Story; Dogville; and Entranced Earth
• Robert Green’s Procession and Bisbee ’17
• May-December
• Dick Johnson is Dead
• The Rehearsal
• Capturing the Friedmans

Other films directed by Kaouther Ben Hania

• The Man Who Sold His Skin
• Beauty and the Dogs
• Le Challat de Tunis

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Tracing the glorious Paths to cinematic brilliance

Has there ever been a more effective anti-war film than Paths of Glory, the 1957 film directed by Stanley Kubrick and based on Humphrey Cobb's 1935 novel? Perhaps All Quiet on the Western Front (any version) tops it as a treatise on the horrors and injustices of combat, but Paths excels above all contenders to this crown as a perfectly engineered locomotive driven superbly by its director. The film stars Kirk Douglas as Colonel Dax, alongside Ralph Meeker, Adolphe Menjou, and George Macready. Set during World War I, it tells the story of Dax, a French officer tasked with leading his men on a doomed mission to seize a well-defended German stronghold called the Anthill. When the operation inevitably fails, the French generals, eager to deflect blame from themselves, court-martial three soldiers chosen at random for cowardice.

Widely considered a cinematic masterpiece, Paths of Glory (a fictional narrative loosely based on a battle and an incident that occurred in World War I in which a handful of men were executed as an example) is celebrated for its intense critique of military hierarchy and the senselessness of war. Kubrick's filmmaking choices, marked by meticulous and powerful use of cinematic techniques, particularly in the battle scenes and courtroom sequences, create a stark portrayal. The film challenges viewers to ponder profound ethical questions about duty, honor, and the often arbitrary nature of military justice.

To hear a recording of our CineVerse discussion of Paths of Glory, conducted last week, click here.

This movie deviates from many other war films in several ways. First, and most obviously, it’s rendered in stark black and white versus color. In contrast, a movie like Bridge on the River Kwai from the same year was a chromatic spectacle, had a big budget, and won major Oscars; arguably, Kwai is less of an anti-war cinematic polemic and more focused on the madness of armed conflict rather than the men who wage it.

Additionally, Paths does not seem to glorify war or depict any heroes or heroic actions; there is no sweeping, bombastic music to enhance the visuals, and there are few close-ups of soldiers engaging in battle with whom the viewer might identify. Likewise, sentimentality about the soldiers’ lives or the cause of their mission is nowhere to be found; we are given no patriotic speeches, flashbacks to family or loved ones to inspire them, or inspirational death scenes meant to rally the troops. The film is relentlessly scathing in its portrayal of military authority and the bureaucratic forces that decide the fates of countless soldiers. It depicts mindless, senseless slaughter with no honor or dignity in the soldiers’ deaths. Consider it the antithesis of pictures like John Wayne’s The Green Berets. Yet it shares a spirit with films like M*A*S*H and two other Kubrick standouts: Dr. Strangelove and Full Metal Jacket, which explore how war can be dehumanizing.

There appears to be nothing glorious about the battle scenes staged, which makes “Paths of Glory” perhaps an ironic moniker for this kind of movie. The title is actually inspired by the line “The paths of glory lead but to the grave,” which comes from Thomas Gray’s 18th-century poem Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard, published in 1751. The poem contemplates the lives of ordinary people and the certainty of death, implying that all forms of glory ultimately end in the grave. It reflects on the fleeting nature of fame and success, highlighting that everyone, regardless of their accomplishments, shares the same ultimate fate.

Kubrick’s decision to withhold the jury’s verdict in Paths of Glory is a purposeful and impactful artistic choice that intensifies the film’s critique of war, authority, and dehumanization within the military bureaucracy. By not revealing the verdict, he shifts attention from the trial’s outcome to the corrupt and unjust process, underscoring the futility of war and the arbitrary nature of military decisions. This approach heightens the film’s sense of inevitability and doom, drawing attention to the human suffering inflicted by an indifferent system. The absence of closure also prompts viewers to consider the broader themes of justice, authority, and morality, rather than focusing solely on the plot.

Concluding this film with a seemingly non-sequitur singing sequence is a curious choice. Some viewers might perceive it as a fluffy distraction from what they’ve witnessed over the previous 80-plus minutes; yet this denouement becomes an unsettling, uncomfortable statement about the victims of war and inevitability of injury, death, and doom for the men tasked with fighting.

Kubrick has rightfully been called a master visual storyteller, and his talents are on full display here. The filmmaker employs deep, sharp focus for virtually every shot, much like Orson Welles did in Citizen Kane. We marvel at the heightened visual realism, with incredible detail laden in the battle sequences, including props, sets, trenches, and more. Kubrick juxtaposes shots of grim, dirty trench warfare on the front line with images of the command post, contrasting visions of opulence and order with visuals of disorder and ugliness. Similarly, he contrasts memorable tracking shots within the trenches with circular camera shots of the chateau, emphasizing the difference between straight lines and circles.

Sometimes, he frames shots with impeccable geometrical symmetry, positioning subjects perfectly between objects. This approach makes the characters appear as pawns on a chessboard, serving as a visual metaphor for the film’s thematic elements. This is particularly evident in the trial scene, where the soldiers stand motionless on alternating dark and light tiles.

Recall how the battlefield charge scene uses long shots with the camera tracking from right to left and avoids close-ups, preventing the audience from identifying with any particular soldier—they are merely cogs in a vast machine in this framing. Also, ponder how the viewer is distanced from the action, which removes any romanticizing of battle.

Earlier Kubrick films like Dr. Strangelove, Lolita, and Paths of Glory are decidedly different from films in his peak period, when works such as 2001: A Space Odyssey, A Clockwork Orange, Barry Lyndon, and The Shining demonstrated a different approach to his cinematic storytelling. Case in point: This film is shorter in length, tighter, and more economical in terms of both length and budget. Later pictures would expand in scope, running time, and arguably self-indulgence, featuring much longer shots. Similar to all his works, there is a focus on attention to detail, with meticulously designed and planned setups and shots, each frame of which could serve as a master photograph.

Similar works

• All Quiet on the Western Front
• 1917
• Patton
• The Caine Mutiny
• Johnny Got His Gun
• Gallipoli
• Breaker Morant

Other works by Stanley Kubrick

• The Killing
• Spartacus
• Lolita
• Dr. Strangelove
• 2001: A Space Odyssey
• A Clockwork Orange
• Barry Lyndon
• The Shining
• Full Metal Jacket
• Eyes Wide Shut

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