Jazzz, pizzazz, and a whole lot of razzmatazz

Quite possibly the most autobiographical film musical ever made, All That Jazz (1979) was helmed by Bob Fosse, who also co-wrote and choreographed the movie. It offers a riveting peek into Fosse’s life via the character of Joe Gideon (Roy Scheider), focusing on his struggles with artistic ambition, personal relationships, and his confrontation with mortality. Joe is a talented but self-destructive Broadway choreographer and director juggling the creation of a musical with his declining health and personal chaos. 

Blending reality with fantasy, All That Jazz—costarring Jessica Lange, Leland Palmer, Ann Reinking, Ben Vereen, and John Lithgow—features surreal musical sequences that illustrate Gideon’s internal turmoil and relentless pursuit of artistic flawlessness. It earned widespread critical praise and several accolades, including the Palme d'Or at the Cannes Film Festival.

To hear a recording of our CineVerse group discussion of All That Jazz, conducted last week, click here.

Part of the fun of watching this film is paying attention to its meta elements – the way it’s self-referential and slyly comments on the process of filmmaking. Consider how the character of Joe is a loose representation of Bob Fosse, the film's director and choreographer. This adds a layer of self-reflection, as the narrative draws from Fosse’s own experiences in the entertainment world, turning the film into a commentary on both his personal life and professional journey. This movie is loosely based on a highly stressful period in Fosse’s life, in the mid-1970s, when he was both editing the film Lenny, which he directed, and attempting to stage the Broadway musical Chicago; Fosse actually did suffer a heart attack and underwent cardiac surgery, as does Joe, only Fosse survived until 1987, when he ended up succumbing to another heart attack.

Throughout the film, characters are also shown navigating the challenges of creating both a Broadway show and a movie. This behind-the-scenes perspective invites the audience to recognize that they are watching a story about the very process of filmmaking and theater production. But the meta-Easter eggs don’t stop there: the character of Kate is played by Fosse’s former girlfriend at the time, Ann Reinking; the editor Joe works with on the standup comic film he’s cutting is the actual editor of the film All That Jazz, Alan Heim; Cliff Gorman, who won a Tony Award for playing Lenny Bruce in the original stage production of Lenny, was cast as the lead in the film Joe is editing, The Stand-Up; and Audrey’s character is based on Fosse’s wise Gwen Verdon, his ongoing collaborator until Fosse’s death.

All That Jazz has been fairly criticized by some as being too self-indulgent. Of course, Fosse is an easy target here because, one could argue, he’s too close to the subject matter he’s directing to be impartial. It’s impossible to ignore the built-in subjectivity of his storytelling and direction. As overwhelming proof of his over-the-top self-importance, he has the character of Joe stage his own funeral as a song-and-dance showstopper.

However, Joe—and, by extension, Fosse—is quite self-deprecating and relatively censorious in how he’s depicted as a womanizer, substance abuser, perfectionist, and in denial about his physical health. Many of his lines and monologues are disparaging and regretful of his choices and behaviors. Criterion Collection essayist Hilton Als wrote: “…how can you think of All That Jazz as being self-indulgent when Fosse is so happy to take the piss out of himself? It’s part of what made him such a witty filmmaker—the joke was on him, and some other people too.” AV Club reviewer Scott Tobias had a similar take in his review: “With a sly wink and a devil's grin, courtesy of uncanny alter ego Roy Scheider, Fosse absorbs and defuses any criticism that could be leveled against him, constantly poking holes in his inflated reputation. He counters every piece of show-stopping craft, such as the dazzling cattle call that opens the 1979 film, with bitter, excoriating truths about his weaknesses and regrets, coming clean about the bad behavior that he correctly predicts will lead him to an early grave.”

At its core, this film is about fearing and flirting with death. All That Jazz is a cautionary tale about burning the candle at both ends, pushing the boundaries of indulgence and workaholism, and trying to defy death and mortality as a figurative tightrope walker – an innovator who sacrifices health and longevity for an opportunity to be great, suffering the ultimate punishment for his art. We literally see Joe dallying coquettishly with an angel of death, as personified by Jessica Lange in the mysteriously unveiled character of Angelique.

An obsessive pursuit of perfection and its consequences is a further treatise. Joe is always trying to top himself, to make a flawless film, choreograph a pristine song and dance number, and innovate the stage musical in ways that have never been done before. “It’s showtime,” we hear him say to himself in the mirror morning after morning, suggesting how pressured he feels to constantly perform. Joe is surely concerned about obsolescence and legacy, and his ego and narcissism fuel him toward a self-realized greatness, although at a great cost to his health and relationships. Per Slant Magazine’s Chuck Bowen: “All That Jazz is so head-spinning because it’s a deeply felt, deeply stylish, deeply alive movie about disconnection, degradation, and estrangement that abounds in lewd, boozy, intellectualized poetry. The fusion of those various contrasts was Fosse’s great specialty, and it’s right there, subsumed, in the film’s rococo photography and, especially, in the amazing dance numbers, which revel in a tone of macabre erotica that contextualizes Joe’s narcissism and self-aggrandizement vis-à-vis his sex fantasies and death wishes (dying, the ultimate stage exit, absolves Joe of selflessness)… All That Jazz is Fosse’s assertion that he can make art out of anything… The source of the film’s disconcertingly contradictory power resides in its understanding that, for the loved ones left in the wake of Joe’s aloof remoteness, the art, no matter how amazing it is for us, ultimately isn’t enough.”

Viewers are also continually reminded about the price paid for hubris. Like Icarus flying too close to the sun, Joe unrealistically aims for simultaneous superhuman success and conquest on the stage, the screen, and in the bedroom without reckoning upon the proper balance needed in his life to juggle all these endeavors effectively.

Additionally, Fosse’s film explores fact versus fiction, reality versus fantasy. All That Jazz blends realistic vignettes of Joe’s work and life with illusory sequences of surreality (such as the scenes involving Angelique, the hallucinatory segment in the hospital, and the Bye Bye Life number that concludes the film). The intercutting between the real world and the dream world creates a memorably visual hybrid that is as cinematically entertaining as it is also contrastingly jarring.

Similar works

• Fellini’s 8½
• Stardust Memories
• A Chorus Line
• Flashdance
• Chicago
• Marriage Story, also directed by a man whom the lead male character is based upon
• A Star Is Born
• Birdman
• Synecdoche, New York

Other films directed by Bob Fosse

• Sweet Charity
• Cabaret
• Lenny
• Star 80

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Why the sun never truly sets on this 30-year-old romance classic

Valentine’s Day may be weeks away, but it’s never too early to start thinking about romance films that set your heart afire. Perhaps the greatest cinematic love letter of the last three decades, and one of the finest depictions of sudden young amore the movies have to offer, is Before Sunrise, directed by Richard Linklater and written by Linklater and Kim Krizan, which debuted in theaters 30 years ago today. Starring Ethan Hawke as Jesse and Julie Delpy as Céline, this is the tale of an American man and a French woman who meet on a train traveling through Europe. Jesse persuades Céline to get off the train with him in Vienna, where they spend a single night wandering the city, sharing philosophical conversations, and forming an intimate connection. Exploring themes of love, human connection, and the fleeting nature of time, the film captures the profound bond that develops between two strangers in a brief but unforgettable encounter.

To hear our CineVerse group discussion of Before Sunrise, conducted earlier this month, click here. To listen to the latest episode of the Cineversary podcast, which commemorates Before Sunrise’s 30th birthday, click here.

Before Sunrise is an easy movie to root for and embrace in large part because it’s such an underdog success story: It’s a low-budget, under-the-radar indie that nobody saw coming but has gathered such momentum over the past three decades as a terrific word-of-mouth favorite among so many film fans. Yes, it proved to be a success based on surprisingly good box office returns relative to its $2.5 million budget as well as positive critical reception early on (still true, as evidenced by a 100% fresh Rotten Tomatoes score). But more importantly, the movie has come to represent a kind of dark horse cinematic triumph that demonstrates – despite limited resources, lesser names at the time, and little ballyhoo out of the gate – the power of quality over quantity, of craft over crass commercialism in a subgenre, the romance film, brimming with mass-marketed mediocrity.

Before Sunrise’s formula for brilliance is three primary ingredients: spot-on casting, outstanding performances, and, most importantly, exceptional dialogue, as very little in the form of plot or action happens. Because we need to believe in the discourse and find it credible, the writing required a balanced approach from a man and a woman; hence, Linklater enlisted the aid of a female screenwriter (Krizan), who especially helped with Celine’s lines. Written entirely by a man, this film may not have resonated as strongly or plausibly. Being so reliant on its two main characters to captivate us, the key to this picture’s success was to have a stellar script in hand (mission accomplished) and then everyone else gets out of the way so these two gifted actors can do the heavy lifting, which is exactly what happens.

According to film reviewer James Berardinelli: “For this film to work, (Hawke and Delpy) have a threefold task: embrace their characters; attract each other; and connect with the audience… The rapport between Jesse and Celine is so lacking in artifice that at times the viewer feels like a voyeur. We are privy to everything, including the sort of ‘unimportant’ dialogue that most films shy away from.”

As is true in so many great films, these actors seem born for these roles. Hawke organically imbues Jesse with a worldly but tolerable cynicism, and Delpy effortlessly inhabits the more romantic and soul-searching Celine. They exhibit undeniable chemistry, as evidenced by the record store scene. The rhythm and timing required for that nonverbal interplay to seamlessly work speaks to the talents of and shared trust between Delpy and Hawke.

What also elevates Before Sunrise to the upper echelon is how it’s unpredictable in ways large and small. An example of the former is how, at the finale, we are left to guess if they will ever meet again. An instance of the latter is how, despite an early scene where Celine and Jesse are invited by two Viennese thespians to later attend their play, they never do. This superbly written and acted film has the luxury of completely discarding that earlier play invite setup, which many viewers may have expected to have a later payoff.

Pulling off a winning romantic drama is certainly no layup. Many viewers who frequent this aisle have expectations for Harlequin novel-esque wooing, torrid sex scenes, and stirringly soppy interplays between stock characters. Before Sunrise is a revitalizing new entrée on a mostly stale menu. Granted, the plot is threadbare—very little happens. But instead of turning to a proven yet overused formula, the filmmakers bank on two interesting personalities and well-written conversations. The emphasis is on believable human interactions over a crunchy storyline. And this work isn’t limited in its appeal to only Gen Xers, the demographic represented by Celine and Jesse. The issues and questions these young twentysomethings discuss remain evergreen and relevant to adult couples of almost any age.

Linklater and company aren’t aiming for melodramatic emotional manipulation or trying to trick you with some heavy-handed twist at the end. There is no sex scene, and we’re not even sure if they consummated the relationship, which is quite astounding when you consider that almost all movies of this stripe eventually include a bedding-down sequence and some degree of nakedness. (Sadly, this film remains rated “R,” even though there is no nudity or violence and only sparse profanity. That’s myopic and unfortunate, as it limited Before Sunrise’s original theatrical run audience to adults only, when teenagers could have certainly enjoyed and learned from this picture. In 2025, this remains an excellent film for adolescents to watch, regardless of that restrictive rating.)

Before Sunrise is set in naturally picturesque and colorfully vibrant Vienna, but it doesn’t go out of its way to romanticize that city or use it as a travelogue-like backdrop where the viewer expects the characters to fall in love because they’re surrounded by an abundance of natural beauty and venerated culture. It's admirable that the filmmakers don’t try to exploit the fact that this is set in a foreign city and use its famous landmarks, art, or architecture to over-sentimentalize or color its characters or situations.

Like other Linklater films, including Slacker, Dazed and Confused, Before Sunset, and Before Midnight, this narrative occurs over a single day, without giving us the benefit of a prologue, epilogue, or flashbacks. This scenario creates an emotional urgency and immediacy, fueling Jesse and Celine to make the most of their limited window. Additionally, the movie benefits from an eclectic score that includes timeless classical works by Beethoven, Vivaldi, Strauss, and Bach as well as contemporary rock and alternative music.

Before Sunrise’s reach and influence extended across the globe in the years since its release. Consider the multiple works it helped inspire:

• In the Mood for Love (2000), Wong Kar-wai’s exploration of unspoken amore and fleeting moments.
• Lost in Translation (2003), Sofia Coppola’s meditation on the longing and emotional connection between two characters in a foreign city.
• Once (2007), an Irish musical romance that follows two strangers who form a deep connection over a short time before parting.
• 2 Days in Paris (2007), Julie Delpy’s film that explores relationship dynamics with humor and realism, influenced by her collaboration with Linklater.
• Certified Copy (2010), Abbas Kiarostami’s story of a man and woman wandering a European town that captures the raw intimacy of Before Sunrise.
• Weekend (2011), Andrew Haigh’s British indie that ruminates on fleeting intimacy and meaningful conversations between two men over a weekend.
• Blue Jay (2016), a black-and-white picture about former lovers reconnecting.
• Columbus (2017), Kogonada’s introspective film about two people bonding over architecture, which mirrors the quiet conversations and emotional depth of Before Sunrise.

Among several predecessors that may have influenced Linklater and his collaborators are:

• Brief Encounter (1945): This classic tale of a fleeting love affair shares themes of brief connections and bittersweet romance.
• The Clock (1945): This romance about a single-day love story in New York shares Before Sunrise's real-time structure and exploration of brief, intense relationships.
• Letter from an Unknown Woman (1948): Max Ophüls' exploration of fleeting love, the emotional weight of brief connections, the passage of time, unspoken emotional depth, romantic idealism, and the use of setting as a character predate Linklater’s film.
• The Third Man (1949): The atmospheric depiction of post-war Vienna in this noir, and its famous Ferris wheel scene (the same Ferris wheel used in Before Sunrise) may have inspired Linklater’s choice of a similarly evocative European setting.
• An Affair to Remember (1957): Its theme of romantic ideals and a promise to reunite echoes Before Sunrise's open-ended conclusion of trust in love.
• Annie Hall (1977): Woody Allen’s blend of humor, depth, and reflective storytelling likely influenced Linklater’s conversational style and emotional exploration of relationships.
• Manhattan (1979): This film’s focus on intellectual dialogue and the use of cityscapes as a romantic backdrop mirrors Before Sunrise's approach.
• My Dinner with Andre (1981): Its dialogue-driven narrative, centered on a philosophical conversation, likely shaped Before Sunrise's emphasis on character-driven exchanges.
• Chungking Express (1994): Wong Kar-wai’s poetic exploration of fleeting love and serendipitous encounters parallels Before Sunrise's focus on ephemeral moments.

Particular Linklater qualities shine through. Beyond the natural dialogue, minimalist narrative, and storytelling (mostly) in real-time, the director makes several insightful choices that enhance Before Sunrise. He doesn’t try to be flashy or artsy-fartsy by going for complicated setups, experimental framing, elaborate camera movements, or grandiose editing choices. Instead, Linklater and crew keep the visuals simple in terms of shots, edits, and camera placement. In fact, he utilizes many extended takes that let the characters dominate the frame and command our eyeballs, allowing us to linger longer on them and identify the shared vibes without excessive editing manipulation. Case in point: the long, unbroken shot on the back of the tram that stretches over several minutes.

The cinematography is subtly crafted, with long takes and smooth tracking shots that let the actors' performances take center stage. This understated approach creates a sense of intimacy, almost as if we're right there beside Jesse and Celine, quietly observing an authentic moment between two people.

Linklater’s well-documented collaborative process also brings out rich, multidimensional performances from Hawke and Delpy, allowing their characters to feel alive and deeply relatable.

Of course, there’s the closing montage to consider as further proof of Linklater’s talents; recall how the camera revisits many of the spots previously traversed by Celine and Jesse, now empty of any human occupants, which showcases this director’s innate flair for visual storytelling and emotionally tethering the audience to his characters.

For a film so predicated on philosophical ideas, Before Sunrise has a high bar to clear in the themes department, which it does effortlessly. What is this picture about? Plenty. For starters, seeking permanence in a world of impermanence, inevitable change, and death. “(The) couple’s conversation is preoccupied with death, transience, and the fragility of life,” wrote Slant Magazine critic Dan Jardine. “The couple search for evidence of things that can persist. Staying awake in defiance of that harbinger of mortality—the night—hoping to cheat the death of each day by stealing the time that they shouldn’t even be having together, their conversations inevitably swing back to all the proofs that they see around them of the ephemeral, particularly in the realm of human relationships, where nothing sticks, where disintegration and collapse seem to be the norm.”

The film examines the temporal constraints of our existence and the fleeting nature of time. The ephemeral 12 hours the characters spend together underscores how quickly life goes by and how fast an opportunity can pass. Time itself is a thematic element and motif constantly revisited (and it’s thematically fitting that these time-obsessed young characters are placed within a timeless Old World city).

Recall how Jesse refers to their brief encounter as a kind of time travel experiment. Jesse later remarks: “It's all these people talking about how great technology is, and how it saves all this time. But, what good is saved time if nobody uses it?” Speaking about a dead girl’s gravesite in the cemetery, Celine says: “She was only 13 when she died. That meant something to me, you know? I was that age when I first saw this. Hmm. Now I'm ten years older and she's still 13, I guess.” Jesse comments: “I mean, just once, I'd love to see, some little old lady save up all her money, to go to the fortune teller, and she'd get there, all excited about hearing her future, and the woman would say, ‘Um-humm. Tomorrow, and all your remaining days will be exactly like today. A tedious collection of hours.’”

One particular conversation suggests that the couple is trying to thwart time and explore beyond the confines of temporal existence, even if momentarily. Jesse: “I feel like this is, uh, some dream world we're in, y'know.” Celine: “Yeah, it's so weird. It's like our time together is just ours. It's our own creation. It must be like I'm in your dream, and you in mine, or something. Jesse: “And what's so cool is that this whole evening, all our time together, shouldn't officially be happening.” Celine: “Yeah, I know. Maybe that's why this feels so otherworldly.”

Ponder how Jesse quotes W.H. Auden and his poem As I Walked Out One Evening: “O let not Time deceive you/You cannot conquer Time/In the burrows of the Nightmare/Where Justice naked is/Time watches from the shadow/And coughs when you would kiss/In headaches and in worry/Vaguely life leaks away/And Time will have his fancy/To-morrow or to-day.”

Criterion Collection essayist Michael Koresky wrote: “Before Sunrise…flies in the face of other youthful love stories for the thematic prominence it gives to the passage of time. Most twentysomethings think they’ll live forever, but the one-night stroll through Vienna of young Celine and Jesse is marked by both the filmmaker’s and the characters’ constant awareness that their time, both here and on earth, is limited.”

Before Sunrise espouses the perks of living life spontaneously and seizing the moment. Ponder how the couple adapts to their limited environment and acts uninhibitedly despite these limitations. Both Celine and Jesse decide on the spur of the moment to depart the train and forget their rules and restrictions. They also randomly encounter three artists along their travels—a palm reader, a street poet, and a belly dancer. Jesse and Celine spontaneously engage with each of them and their art.

Additionally, the film questions the unpredictable nature of fate versus happenchance. Were Celine and Jesse destined to meet like star-crossed lovers, or was this just a random event that won’t mean much in the scope of their lives? (You’ll need to conveniently forget about the sequels for this query to be fully explored.)

Discovering yourself through the eyes of another person is a further takeaway. Remember Jesse’s telling rumination: “(So many people) are sick to death of being around themselves…So of course I'm sick of myself. But being with you, uh, it's made me feel like I'm somebody else.”

Celine and Jesse explore another fundamental problem: relationship rigor mortis. The pair discuss how, as couples age together, they can lose the ability to hear each other. But Celine and Jesse attempt to avoid this inevitable problem by spending only one night together.

Rewatching Before Sunrise, one particular message becomes all the more evident: the power of playacting. Per Dennis Lim in his Criterion Collection essay: “Jesse and Celine move past initial awkwardness by implicitly acknowledging the role-playing aspect of their impromptu date. He initiates a question-and-answer game, in which they take turns quizzing each other about sex and love. The verbal seduction drifts into strategic thought experiments—What would happen on an island with ninety-nine men and one woman? With ninety-nine women and one man?—that allow the opinionated twosome to get a fix on their respective worldviews. Late into the night, with time running out, they again use the indirection of play as disinhibitor and armor.”

Lim is referencing the famous role-playing scene toward the end of the movie involving imaginary phone calls. It’s enthralling how Jesse has to stay in character as Celine’s pretend friend while Celine speaks positive and negative words about him. It’s a clever way for both to reveal things about each other without discussing them directly, and it could be the best scene in the entire film.

In another scene, Jesse says: “I always think that I’m still this 13-year-old boy that doesn’t really know how to be an adult, pretending to live my life, taking notes for when I’ll really have to do it.” And revealing how engrossed with finality and death our female protagonist is, Celine remarks: “I always have this strange feeling that I am this very old woman laying down about to die. You know, that my life is just her memories, or something.”

Above all, this work examines the transformative power of genuine human intimacy, as evidenced by the film’s most memorable monologue, courtesy of Celine: “I believe if there's any kind of God it wouldn't be in any of us, not you or me but just this little space in between. If there's any kind of magic in this world it must be in the attempt of understanding someone sharing something. I know, it's almost impossible to succeed but who cares really? The answer must be in the attempt.” This suggests that divinity and meaning lie not within individuals but in the shared connections between them, emphasizing the intangible beauty of trying to understand and relate to others. It celebrates the effort to connect as inherently valuable, even if perfect understanding is unattainable.

Before Sunrise’s best bestowal to fans on its 30th birthday is its incredibly credible conversation and intellectually stimulating dialogue. The discourse between Celine and Jesse plays as realistic and authentic, as evidenced by its occasional stream-of-consciousness circuitousness, its focus on the mundane as well as the momentous, its mining of deeply philosophical matters, its lack of florid, overscripted language, and the absence of audience-friendly one-liners and groan-worthy catchphrases. Here’s a rare film romance that touches the head as well as the heart, a fresh-scented falling-in-love drama that avoids cheap mawkishness and predictable tropes.

But it’s often what’s not spoken aloud that further cement this as a masterwork. It boasts possibly the best “falling-in-love” moment in cinema history via the wordless sequence in the record shop, when, fascinatingly, as they listen to a Kath Bloom folk song, each character keeps stealing quick glances at the other with their eyes never meeting. And it later features one of the best kissing scenes ever in the movies: their first lip lock on the Ferris wheel. (A later osculation, when Jesse asks “Can I tell you a secret,” then quickly leans in and steals a smooch, is equally memorable.)

Before Sunrise is all the more amorously imbued because it’s set before the ubiquity of smartphones, which makes the uncertainty of their future rendezvous at the conclusion more gripping and heartfelt. What can be more romantic than, at the conclusion, not sharing their last names or contact information and simply promising to rendezvous in six months at the place they first met?

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The devil's in the details

It’s easy to forget how Jack Nicholson, now 87 years old, appearing publicly disheveled in recent photos and long retired from thespianism, took the cinema by storm in the 1970s: starting with his breakthrough performance in Easy Rider, the first of his five Academy Award acting nominations spanning six years, and culminating in an Oscar for One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest in 1976. In the middle of that spectacular run was his unforgettable portrayal as “Badass” Buddusky in Hal Ashby’s The Last Detail from 1973, a role the actor himself considered his best, rumor has it.

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

Buttressed by a stellar screenplay by Robert Towne boasting credible dialogue (The Last Detail was envelope-pushing for this era in its consistent use of profanity, with more use of the “F” word, spoken 65 times, than in any previous movie), based on Darryl Ponicsan's novel of the same name, the movie co-stars Randy Quaid as young sailor Larry Meadows and Otis Young as Richard "Mule" Mulhall. The yarn follows two U.S. Navy petty officers (Buddusky and Mulhall) assigned to escort Meadows to a naval prison after he is sentenced to eight years for attempting to steal $40 from a charity collection box. During their journey, the officers form a bond with the shy and naive Meadows, deciding to show him a good time before the hammer falls. The story blends humor and camaraderie with poignant reflections on authority, freedom, and the injustices of life. It’s a film that neatly fits into several different genres, including the road movie, the buddy picture, the dramedy, the iconoclastic anti-hero film, and the broader social commentary/criticism movie.

Consider what usually happens to characters by the end of a road movie. They typically undergo an internal transformation or develop toward a better or improved life during the journey and before reaching their destination. However, in The Last Detail, the main protagonists realize that reaching their destination is anticlimactic and soul-squelching, as it results in Meadows’ ultimate incarceration and Buddusky and Mulhall returning to their drab lives in the military.

In the Indicator/Powerhouse Blu-Ray edition of this film, essayist Michael Pattison wrote: “We really told that son of a bitch, though, didn’t we!’ Buddusky cries, a little too self-convinced, after he and Mulhall achieve a muted triumph over the lieutenant who registers Meadows at Portsmouth. As both men go their separate ways, however, Buddusky’s claim rings false: Mulhall’s promise that they’ll see each other again in Norfolk only underlines their final resignation. To be a lifer, here, is to advance from an already compromised position. Meaningful attachments to Meadows or not, these men are bound by the duties of self-preservation.”

Savvy filmic techniques emphasize the tonal pessimism prevalent in The Last Detail, including drab tones, washed-out colors, and an abundance of blacks and greys. A significant portion of the movie consists of scenes of watching, waiting, and standing around, evoking the sense that these characters’ lives are not progressing. Tight shots create a constricted, claustrophobic effect. The biting irony of using the military drum march in the opening credits and the Anchors Aweigh melody at the end of the film is also notable, as these are meant to be stirring pieces of music intended to reflect an honorable and proud military tradition; yet our three sailors certainly don’t represent that.

The Last Detail is ultimately a cogitation on the futility of rebellion against systems of authority. Buddusky embodies the anti-authoritarian attitude of the 1960s and 1970s, continuously challenging the limitations set by the Navy as well as societal expectations. His actions mirror a broader cultural dissatisfaction with rigid institutions and hierarchies. However, despite Buddusky and Mulhall’s attempts to offer Meadows moments of freedom and joy before his confinement, their efforts ultimately seem pointless, as the system they resist is too powerful and entrenched for any real change. Despite their indulgent distractions and attempts to literally and figuratively de-virginize Meadows, they and he cannot escape the realization that the boy’s fate is unavoidable, that his immutably vulnerable nature—the thing that endears the older men to him—will inevitably cause him to suffer all the more in a cruel world that chews up and spits out souls like Meadows.

Loss of personal freedom is both text and subtext here. The film examines how societal norms and institutional power diminish individual liberty. The characters are constrained by military rules and societal pressures, with Meadows’ imprisonment symbolizing a larger theme of both physical and emotional confinement. Ashby and his collaborators are reminding us that life itself can be a prison—a jail of our own making. By adhering to society’s rules, we keep ourselves spiritually caged. Being a prisoner of these societal conventions and institutional rules is isolating. By the end of the picture, all three characters are isolated, alienated figures. The oppressive nature of institutions is also evident: The military is portrayed as a cold, bureaucratic force that values rules over the well-being of individuals. This theme also critiques other societal systems that prioritize order and structure at the expense of personal dignity.

And yet, you could argue that the film suggests these restrictive rules and institutions are necessary to keep us in check from our basest instincts and to prevent us from becoming lawless, boundless Budduskys. Consider that the repressive institutions that Nicholson’s characters rebelled against in the 1970s may be corrupt, restrictive, or damaging, but they are necessary evils for society to function properly.

A fascinating psychological triangle emerges with this pairing. The three main characters can be seen as complementing and contrasting each other in psychological ways, particularly when explored through Freudian terms. They may represent the id, the ego, and the superego, with Meadows caught between the base instincts and impulsive nature of Buddusky (the id) and the moral conscience and sense of responsibility embodied by Mulhall (the superego).

Revisiting The Last Detail, there’s an inescapable sense that time is quickly running out. Recall how Meadows must decide swiftly who to choose at the brothel. When he believes he’s falling in love with his prostitute, the camera lingers on Meadows, as if urging him to speak up quickly before the moment slips away. And consider how the gathering darkness approaches rapidly in the penultimate scene in the snowy park. When Meadows attempts to escape, the audience holds its breath, wondering if Buddusky will load his gun in time.

Similar works

• On the Town (1949), also about three sailors on a brief shore leave who are determined to make the most of their time in the big city.
• Slaughterhouse-Five (1972), an adaptation of Kurt Vonnegut's novel that critiques war and authority, blending dark humor with existential themes.
• One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest (1975), which shares an anti-authoritarian vibe and a charismatic central performance by Jack Nicholson, similar to The Last Detail.
• Road movies by Alexander Payne, including Sideways (2004), Nebraska (2013), and The Holdovers (2023).

Other films by Hal Ashby

• The Landlord (1970)
• Harold and Maude (1971)
• The Last Detail (1973)
• Shampoo (1975)
• Bound for Glory (1976)
• Coming Home (1978)
• Being There (1979)

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Cineversary podcast celebrates 30th birthday of Before Sunrise

Kim Krizan and Rob Stone

In Cineversary podcast episode #78, host ⁠Erik Martin⁠ celebrates the 30th anniversary of one of the greatest romance films of the last three decades, Before Sunrise, directed by Richard Linklater. Joining him in this installment is the film’s Oscar-nominated co-screenwriter Kim Krizan, author of Original Sins: Trade Secrets of the Femme Fatale; and filmmaker Rob Stone, a professor of film and television studies at the University of Birmingham in the UK and author of The Cinema of Richard Linklater: Walk, Don't Run. Together, they examine why Before Sunrise still matters, the many movies it influenced, its major themes, and much 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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Yes, Meet Me In St. Louis is a Christmas movie--and a masterwork regardless of the season

“They just don’t make ’em like that anymore" is an axiom—albeit a rusty one—that certainly applies to Meet Me in St. Louis, the 1944 MGM musical directed by Vincente Minnelli and produced by Arthur Freed that spotlights the Smith family as they prepare for the 1904 World's Fair in St. Louis. The film stars Judy Garland as Esther Smith, a lively young woman who falls in love with her neighbor, John Truett, played by Tom Drake. Margaret O’Brien delivers a standout performance as Tootie Smith, Esther's mischievous and imaginative younger sister. Mary Astor and Leon Ames portray Mr. and Mrs. Smith, the loving but occasionally strict parents who must navigate significant family decisions, including a potential move to New York—a decision that comes to a head in the Christmastime segment near the end of the film.

To listen to a recording of our CineVerse group discussion of Meet Me in St. Louis, click here. To hear the latest Cineversary podcast episode honoring this movie’s 80th birthday, click here.

Rewatched by many around the Yuletide season, it’s fair to ask: Is this really a Christmas picture? In his book Christmas Movies: 35 Classics to Celebrate the Season, author Jeremy Arnold wrote: “The two and a half minutes of screen time in which Judy Garland sings Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas would be enough to catapult Meet Me in St. Louis to the front ranks of holiday classics. As it happens, the film devotes 25 minutes to the season, all of them set on Christmas Eve and all rich with meaning in a story built entirely around themes of family and nostalgia. (The song’s) melancholic feel, conjuring loss and sorrow beneath the nostalgia, injects a dose of honesty into the film’s image of Christmas—not to mention childhood…The meaning that the song imparts to the audience’s experience of the story is significant, enough to make this a genuine Christmas movie. As a point of comparison, the Bob Hope comedy The Lemon Drop Kid (1951) also introduced a top-notch holiday song to the world—Silver Bells—but the song carries no real meaning to the story or characters and therefore is not enough to make The Lemon Drop Kid a ‘Christmas movie.’”

Regardless of whether or not you deem Meet Me In St. Louis worthy of your time as a holiday entertainment staple, there’s no denying the magically nostalgic power of this film, which, in 1944, provided a vision of what America could be again. It demonstrates that wistfulness, sentimentality, and Americana can be powerful tools to tell a cinematic story and emotionally impact viewers. The film continually reminds us of a simpler, more innocent, and charmingly quaint time—before any electronic form of popular entertainment, automobiles, or modern technological conveniences—when family was the focus and the limits of your fun were dependent on your imagination and resourcefulness.

Consider that World War II was still raging at this time. This movie made viewers appreciate what we were fighting for: the preservation of the American family and all the precious values that we as a nation held dear. The film intended to make people remember the importance of family unity and happy, secure domestication. In 1944, this picture would’ve touched viewers and families eager to see an end to the war; any homesick soldiers who would have watched were likely moved by it, as well.

Today, the film’s key messages – be true to your roots, honor thy mother and father, continue family conventions in familiar settings – probably don’t resonate as powerfully among modern audiences. They aren’t likely to be inspired to marry the boy next door, buy a single-family home in the neighborhood they grew up in, have three generations living under the same roof, and live life as mom and dad and grandma and grandpa do. However, the simple values on display here, the fantasy of having a normal, close-knit family, and the sentimental Americana imagery can still pack a punch and make a contemporary watcher feel wistful for these things they’ve likely never experienced.

Per DVD Savant critic Glenn Erickson: “The world of Meet Me In St. Louis is a 1944 dream of a life most Americans never had. Yet it is the sentimental definition of the American way of life that our troops were defending. America's official ideals were accepted by a much greater consensus of the country back then, which some people think was a good thing. Although it is an idealized fantasy, this is one of the key films my generation could have looked to, to understand our parents' generation.”

The narrative structure, being segmented by the four different seasons—with tintype postcard visual intros used as framing devices—provides a simple yet effective way to tell the story of one family’s growth and transition over a set period (one year). As each season progresses, so too do the characters, who come of age more as time passes. Interestingly, the season that opens the story, summer, comprises nearly half the runtime, and spring—the fourth and final chapter—commands a mere three minutes.

Granted, there isn’t much of a plot here, tension and conflict are lacking, and not every song is instantly memorable as with other classic musicals. But what the film boasts an abundance of is emotional resonance, courtesy of its reliance on nostalgia, homespun allure, and idealized depictions of domestic harmony and everyday life in an upper-middle-class American family from 120 years ago—a household where the kids engage in relatively believable behaviors as they squabble and scheme, joke around, pine for love, and have each other’s backs.

Meet Me in St. Louis is one of the crown jewels in the cycle we now know as the golden age of the MGM musical that began in 1929 and continued through the early 1960s, with Freed serving as the head of MGM’s musical unit for most of those years. Meet Me in St. Louis is regarded as the first Freed unit masterwork, which would later include Easter Parade, On the Town, Royal Wedding, An American in Paris, Singin’ in the Rain, The Band Wagon, Brigadoon, and Gigi.

This was a huge box-office attraction, becoming the second highest-grossing film of 1944 and the studio’s most profitable picture since Gone With the Wind five years earlier. This helped establish MGM’s signature look and style for subsequent Technicolor musicals.

It’s also the film that established Vincente Minnelli as an A-list filmmaking talent and helped cement Judy Garland as a major box office draw on the heels of her star-making role in The Wizard of Oz five years earlier. The two met during production, fell in love, had a baby (Liza Minnelli), and collaborated on four additional movies prior to their split in 1951.

The music won an Oscar and is among the most memorable song cycles in the Hollywood musical canon. Many of the tunes have become evergreen standards, including The Trolley Song, The Boy Next Door, and the aforementioned Have Yourself a Mary Little Christmas—three numbers written exclusively for the film. The latter song was especially resonant to viewers in 1944, many of whom were missing their loved ones fighting overseas in the war and yearning for them to come home and be reunited with the family.

Other tunes, including the title song, Skip To My Lou, and Under the Bamboo Tree, were turn-of-the-century standards that were period-accurate for the time depicted in this story. But unlike many other contemporary musicals, Meet Me in St. Louis doesn’t drown out the central narrative with a glut of sung music; there are only about seven or so complete songs performed by the cast.

Some experts contend that Meet Me in St. Louis innovated the classic film musical to some extent. This production skillfully integrates song lyrics into the dialogue, allowing both to collaboratively advance the narrative. In most earlier musicals, the songs often seemed arbitrarily placed, mainly to showcase the stars' vocal and dance abilities. Recall how, in spontaneous fashion, different members of the family begin singing the lyrics to the title song, which is actually the official anthem of the real world’s fair that came to St. Louis in 1904. Consider the lyrics to The Boy Next Door, which perfectly summarize Esther’s growing feelings for John Truett, the boy she saw outside a few moments earlier. Ponder, as well, how Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas and its words fit the melancholy mood and advice that Esther is offering Tootie in that scene. And remember that this movie doesn’t feature any significant choreographed dance sequences, which many earlier musicals did.

Critic Emanuel Levy makes a case for how the director imprints a strong creative stamp on this work: “In his third film–and first masterpiece–Minnelli fuses brilliantly all the elements of a musical (songs, performances, cinematography, decor and costumes) in service of his singular vision. Stylistically, the film demonstrates Minnelli’s fluid camera, relying on swirling movement and smooth dissolves rather than sharp cuts and montage (the Busby Berkeley style).” Levy also credits Minnelli and his collaborators with infusing the production with thought-provoking thematic underpinnings. “Taking a mythical approach, the film tries to reconcile the dichotomies of art versus reality, stability versus change, small-town America versus the Big City, extended versus nuclear family, East and West, past and present. At the end, the World Fair becomes both a dream image and hometown reality for the Smiths family.”

Minnelli’s camera purposefully lingers long on the youthfully beautiful countenance of his future bride, Judy Garland, who probably never looked as radiant or ravishing before or after in a motion picture. Recall how he maintains a surprisingly long unbroken shot of Judy singing The Boy Next Door in the open window, for example. The director also deserves praise for many smart creative decisions, including the mesmerizingly memorable sequence where John helps Esther turn off the house lights, flaunting incredible shadows contrasting with eye-catching colors.

One of the movie’s finest moments is the lengthy backward tracking shot showing the apprehensive Tootie approaching Mr. Braukoff’s home, allowing us to study her increasingly frightened face. Another standout visual involves Esther dancing with her grandfather, a duo waltzing in a circular pattern as they disappear behind a gigantic Christmas tree only to re-emerge as John and Esther. As featherweight light of a plot as this is, Minnelli also favored economical storytelling, as evidenced by having John and Esther talk about marriage without showing him proposing.

There’s no denying that the vibrant Technicolor on display really pops. The filmmakers were able to create an idealized cinematic confection thanks to the chromatic palette provided by the old-school Technicolor process.

Succeeding films and musicals it may have inspired include State Fair (1945), Life With Father (1947), Cheaper By the Dozen (1950), On Moonlight Bay (1951), The Music Man (1962), and The Sound of Music (1965). Among the predecessors that may have influenced Meet Me in St. Louis to some degree, or that at least come to mind, are Little Women (1933), also a tale about a female-centric household with several independent-minded daughters; The Magnificent Ambersons (1942), a similar study of how technology will inevitably change the American family; and Holiday Inn (1942), which is also segmented into different chapters based on holidays or seasons.

One obvious reading of the film stresses the importance of traditional and conservative family values, staying true to your roots, and navigating challenging familial dynamics. So long as the family remains cohesive, it doesn’t matter what happens in life. Meet Me in St. Louis is a coming-of-age story, too, a tale about experiencing first love, and a narrative maturing into a new stage of life. Hope springs eternal is an obvious takeaway, and it’s fitting that the film’s final act falls in springtime, a time of renewal and rebirth when love, like the flowers, is in bloom.

A further timeless message? There’s no place like home—a message shared by Garland’s earlier film “The Wizard of Oz”. This is echoed in her closing remarks: “I can't believe it. Right here where we live – right here in St. Louis.”

The Smith family dynamics are captivating. The children and the maid are often in collusion with little white lies to fool their parents. Patriarchal order dictates the family meal schedule, tableside etiquette, and major decisions like the choice to move. The maid is a cherished family insider yet unafraid to sarcastically speak her mind. Time and again this work suggests a clash between strong-minded women and the patriarchal order, and how men often fail at accurately reading women’s signals. Remember how John Truitt compliments Esther on wearing a perfume preferred by his grandmother, or how Papa stubbornly insists on moving the family to New York without carefully considering the relocation’s impact on the women in his family. It’s obvious that the females rule this roost, raise the kids, and solve most of the problems, with Father Smith serving as more of a figurehead of the household who is given proper respect but is not the center of the Smith clan. Tellingly, when Tootie is tended to after her injury on Halloween night, Anna tells her daughters “Don’t call your father—what would he do?”, suggesting that Papa doesn’t have the proper nurturing or healing skills.

Of course, this movie unintentionally demonstrates the negative effect of a male-dominated society and the pressures it imposes on women, at least back in this period. Today, Meet Me In St. Louis perhaps unintentionally conveys the relative lack of freedom and agency that women had back then as well as their methods for coping with society’s limitations. Consider, for example, that Tootie gets respect on Halloween by wearing male cosplay; the mother acquiesces to her husband’s rules and wishes; and the older sisters eagerly await and bank on marriage proposals, suggesting that an of-age female’s sole objective back in the day was to land a handsome and upwardly mobile husband. In this turn-of-the-century era, men had the vast majority of jobs and college educations. Ponder, as well, that every vehicle and outlet for escape for these women is literally driven by men, like the trolley, the horse-driven carriage, and the ice truck.

On the other hand, let’s not forget that this is a female-centered story in which the Smith women demonstrate strength and solidarity, with the Smith sisters and their mother supporting each other through challenges and presenting a united, resourceful front. Recall how Rose subtly defies societal dating norms by refusing to call Warren Sheffield, asserting her independence, while the youngest, Tootie, embodies an unconventional spirit with her rebellious, imaginative nature, challenging traditional expectations for young girls and celebrating individuality. We see how Esther strongly defends her sister physically and verbally and castigates her father after nearly spoiling Rose’s telephone call opportunity, and we learn that Mr. Smith is preparing to send Rose to college.

Additionally, Meet Me In St. Louis persists as a fascinating study of childhood precociousness. Both Agnes and especially Tootie possess morbid curiosities, speaking in candidly strong words about violence toward people and animals—although often through the lens of playful pretending and juvenile imagination. It’s interesting that an ultra-family-friendly studio like MGM would have green-lit a movie featuring ghoulish-minded and death-obsessed child characters like these, who almost cause a Trolley to derail that could have killed several people (!) Recall how, after the maid kids Agnes’ about kicking her cat down the stairs, the child replies “If you killed her, I’ll kill you. I’ll stab you to death in your sleep and then I’ll tie you to two wild horses until you’re pulled apart.” Tootie says of her doll: “Poor Margaretha, I've never seen her look so pale…I suspect she won't live through the night, she has four fatal diseases.” Later, she says: “It'll take me at least a week to dig up all my dolls in the cemetery.” Of her Halloween character, she says: “She was murdered in a den of thieves, and I died of a broken heart. I've never even been buried because everyone's scared to come near me.” Of her neighbor, whom she’s vowed to “kill” by throwing flour in his face, Tootie comments: “We'll fix him fine. It'll serve him right for poisoning cats... He buys meat and then he buys poison and then he puts them all together…and Mr. Braukoff was beating his wife with a red hot poker... and Mr. Braukoff has empty whiskey bottles in his cellar.”

The picture echoes across the ages, as well, as a comment on how new technology can serve as both a benefit and a disruption to the American family. Recall how Papa bristles at phone calls during dinnertime from the recently invented telephone, or how the maid remarks, “Personally, I wouldn’t marry a man who proposed to me over an invention.”

At a time when many people criticize the dangers of living in the past and frown on cinematic sentimentality, this film’s entire central premise celebrates nostalgia and its feel-good effect. Today, the media and popular culture often reinforce how different we are generationally, and how it’s healthy and necessary to break from your parent’s unhip and outdated values and traditions. But Meet Me In St. Louis suggests that being in a loving family is perhaps what’s most important, and that family dysfunction isn’t a universal experience.

It also teaches us that you need not have lived in 1944, or 1904 for that matter, to appreciate this movie’s themes, characters, music, or values. These represent some pretty great gifts for an 80-year-old film set 120 years ago.

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The Wachowskis hit the Bound running

Who’da thunk that the filmmakers responsible for the most revolutionary science-fiction film of the last 25 years would come bolting out of the gate a few years earlier with a sleeper of a neo-noir heist thriller (one recently added to The Criterion Collection, no less)? Bound may not have captured the zeitgeist in 1996 like The Matrix did in 1999, but in retrospect it was easy to spot the innate talents of the Wachowski siblings—formerly Andy and Larry, who publicly transitioned years ago as Lilly and Lana—in their directorial debut.

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

We’ve seen tales of dirty deeds like this made masterfully in the 1940s and 1950s, filmed in black and white during the censorship era by virtuosos of the genre like Billy Wilder, Howard Hawks, John Huston, and Fritz Lang. Bound furthers the shadowplay tradition of classic noir by taking the adult material to a more accepted extreme for modern audiences, with ample violence, gore, and sexual imagery and language on display (although the nudity is relatively tasteful and spare).

The visual style of Bound is one of its prime calling cards, boasting impressive shots, creative camera movements, and moody lighting to produce a dramatic visual effect, despite only having two main sets: Caesar’s apartment and Corky’s apartment next door. The directors and their cinematographer accomplish optic marvels with a small budget and limited resources.

Erotically charged and sexually explicit, with a steamy foreplay scene and a famous nude sequence between Violet and Corky, Bound would have been fair game for criticism as yet another titillating film designed for the male gaze. But the fact that the Wachowskis eventually changed genders and proved to be more attuned to non-heterosexual sensibilities now better acquits this film as a respected work of queer cinema. Twenty-eight years onward, Bound is regarded by many in the LGBTQ+ community as one of the best movies featuring lesbian characters and a somewhat pioneering work that predates more modern representations of queer characters in cinema.

Chicago Reader journalist Cam Cieszki wrote: “Bound was ahead of the curve and all the better for it, deepening Violet and Corky’s connection and keeping their romance centered around real communities. Bound gleefully toys with the binaries and restrictive scripts enforced upon bodies and spirits. Just as The Matrix invites a trans textual reevaluation—spurred from its creators coming out as trans women years after release—Bound subconsciously uses its genre-bending cinematic elements toward corporeal freedom and autonomy.”

Bound was also refreshing for its time by not suggesting that the lesbianism was perverse, unhealthy, or dangerous. Slant Magazine’s Jake Cole posited: “The basic subject matter of the film…runs counter to decades of noir’s fraught depiction of openly or heavily coded queer characters as usually the villain motivated by repression and longing. Bound walks a fine line in introducing its characters in blatantly criminal terms (Violet’s shameless seduction and manipulation of Corky, Corky’s tough-as-nails demeanor and reference to a rap sheet) before having them pull off a scheme worthy of Billy Wilder, only to slowly humanize them through their deepening sexual connection. This is an erotic thriller where eroticism is the agent of redemption, not damnation.”

The film further earns respect among viewers and critics critical of male gaze filmmaking thanks to the hiring of an intimacy choreographer and sex consultant, Susie Bright, who supervised the lovemaking scene.

This is a movie that espouses embracing your true sexual identity. Bound is a literal and figurative “coming out of the closet” story about trusting and accepting your preferred sexuality and your preferred sexual partner, a film with surprising gender politics. Violet and Corky defy the sexual and gender expectations others assign to them, proving to be much more than what meets the eye. Violet uses her dumb moll act and high-pitched sexpot voice to fool the mobsters, demonstrating intelligence and savvy in outwitting them; and Corky, despite being hard-edged and jaded from her prison stretch and previous criminal experiences, is willing to be vulnerable in Violet’s hands and fall in love with someone she probably shouldn’t trust.

Bound forces us to answer the question: Can you fully trust someone when you’re both in a precarious situation? This picture is all about duplicity and disloyalty, as we witness Violet deceive and betray the gangsters while staying true to Corky. “Because we are familiar with the conventions of film noir, we cannot help but suspect Violet throughout,” wrote Deep Focus Review’s Brian Eggert. “That she never double-crosses Corky is less a disappointment or failure to realize the character’s potential than a romantic jolt. This is where Bound becomes more than just a thriller, or a film that would exploit its lesbian characters; rather, it’s a sordid and violent love story. The Wachowskis present Corky as a strong woman who has been wounded by other women in the past, and rather than play out her repetitive and ill-fated lot, as so many film noir protagonists have, she finds true love.”

Bound also plays like a high-stakes game of chess where death can pounce after any finished turn by a player. The tightly woven plot skillfully ratchets up the tension as we observe how the lovers, who think they’ve concocted an airtight scheme, must pivot and improvise as the pieces on the chessboard move in ways they didn’t expect.

Similar works

• Erotic thrillers of the 1990s, including Basic Instinct, Single White Female, Wild Things, Cruel Intentions, and Poison Ivy
• Neo noirs and thrillers of the 1990s including The Last Seduction, Red Rock West, Jade, and Killing Zoe
• Classic noir films involving a crime scheme for profit like Double Indemnity, The Postman Always Rings Twice, and Out of the Past
• Blood Simple
• Mad Dog and Glory, also set in Chicago
• Thelma and Louise
• Disobedience
• High Art
• The Handmaiden
• Love Lies Bleeding
• Drive
• Sin City

Other films by the Wachowskis

• The Matrix films
• Cloud Atlas
• Speed Racer
• Jupiter Ascending

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Cineversary podcast celebrates 80th birthday of Meet Me In St. Louis

Jeremy Arnold

In Cineversary podcast episode #77, host ⁠Erik Martin⁠ commemorates the 80th anniversary of one of the most beloved musicals in Hollywood history, Meet Me In St. Louis, directed by Vincente Minnelli and starring Judy Garland. Joining him to discuss this seasonal favorite is Jeremy Arnold, a film historian, commentator, and author of Christmas in the Movies, and The Essentials: 52 Must-See Movies and Why They Matter. Together, they examine the many musical, mirthful, and melodramatic merits of the movie, how it has stood the test of time, its brilliant songcraft, and much 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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This fascinating Wheel of Fortune has nothing to do with game shows

It’s rare to discover an anthology film of recent vintage that isn’t a horror/sci-fi movie. But perhaps the finest example of a portmanteau picture of the last several years that isn’t fantastical or frightening is Wheel of Fortune and Fantasy, directed by Ryusuke Hamaguchi and released in 2021. This work weaves together three unrelated short stories that delve into themes of chance, coincidence, and the complexities of human relationships. In "Magic (or Something Less Assuring)," a model named Meiko discovers her best friend is falling in love with her ex-boyfriend, sparking a tense confrontation. "Door Wide Open" follows a student who manipulates his older lover into seducing a professor for revenge, leading to unexpected outcomes. The final story, "Once Again," explores a chance meeting between two women who believe they share a past connection, only to uncover a poignant misunderstanding. The cast includes standout performances by Kotone Furukawa, Ayumu Nakajima, Hyunri, Kiyohiko Shibukawa, Katsuki Mori, Shouma Kai, Fusako Urabe, and Aoba Kawai.

Click here to listen to a recording of our CineVerse group discussion of Wheel of Fortune and Fantasy, conducted last week.

This is a rare modern example of a triptych featuring three stories. But unlike some other anthology films (such as, for example, Dead of Night, Twilight Zone The Movie, Sin City, or Amores Perros), these tales don’t have interconnecting characters or overlapping narratives. Each tale, while relatively short (about 40 minutes) and thin on plot, is far from predictable or uninteresting. The absorbing dialogue, well-drawn characters, and the situations the characters find themselves in provide plenty for viewers to appreciate.

Hamaguchi tests our patience by lingering long on singular shots and extended scenes, such as in the back of the taxi in the first chapter, or shots of Nao talking to Negawa in part two, or the leisurely pacing of Moka and Nana’s discourse in her home in the third episode. But because the filmmaker continues to intrigue with fascinating verbal exchanges and compelling story twists, the visuals don’t become static or monotonous. The film’s high craftsmanship is self-evident.

“In all three stories, Hamaguchi is spinning a web of uncertainty for his characters and for his audience,” posits Vox reviewer Anissa Wilkinson. “The women at the center of each story feel out of place, alienated from their families and desires and the people around them. Meiko keeps a secret from Tsugumi, but she’s also aching for a love she once had and rejected. Nao has tried every life path available to her and found ways to live without commitment, but an encounter with a man who knows who he is undoes her. And Natsuko, hunting for the only happiness she’s ever known in the midst of a miserable life, is pushed by fate into feeling emotions she isn’t sure how to process.”

The two endings of "Magic," the first episode, can be confusing. In the café, we see first that Meiko boldly demands Kazuaki choose between them, causing Tsugumi to flee and Kazuaki to follow; however, it’s suggested that this is Meiko's fantasy. In reality, she excuses herself, and Kazuaki plans to take Tsugumi elsewhere after their café visit. Calling part 1 “Magic” can lead the viewer to believe, perhaps, that Meiko has the magical power to hit redo on her words and actions.

Chance encounters and coincidental meetings are consistently explored in each chapter. Meiko realizes her friend Tsugumi’s new love interest is her ex-boyfriend Kazuaki, leading to an unplanned reunion when she confronts him. In "Door Wide Open," Nao’s attempt to seduce professor Segawa at her lover’s urging unexpectedly fosters a meaningful connection, heightened when Segawa reads an erotic passage from his novel. In "Once Again," Moka mistakes Nana for a high school friend at a train station, sparking a transformative interaction as they recreate old memories. These serendipitous moments highlight the film’s meditation on the profound effects of happenstance on human relationships.

Variety critic Peter Debruge wrote: “Audiences tend not to take well to coincidence in drama, which can feel unrealistic when handled clumsily. In Hamaguchi’s hands, however, lucky (or unlucky) twists don’t feel so much like manipulation as a chance for the filmmaker to explore a series of intriguing scenarios.”

A valid reading of the film is the unpredictability and twisting nature of life, and the extent to which uncontrollable luck or fate can shape our lives. Case in point: Meiko accidentally learns that her friend’s romantic interest is her ex-boyfriend, leading to an emotional confrontation that blurs the past and present. 

Additionally, Nao's attempt to seduce professor Negawa as part of a revenge plan concocted by Sasaki, her lover, backfires when the encounter unexpectedly exposes her vulnerability and sincere affection for the professor; their meeting elicits an emotional reaction from both of them that doesn’t result in sex or a romantic relationship as the viewer would expect. Nao is surprised five years later when she encounters Sasaki—now engaged to be married and doing better in his career than her. In a shrewd twist, it’s suggested that she may be pursuing a similar honeypot revenge against Sasaki by indicating romantic interest and kissing him. 

Finally, in "Once Again," a case of mistaken identity leads Moka and Nana to form a profound emotional bond during an accidental meeting, offering catharsis based on misunderstanding; despite these women discovering they are actually strangers, not former classmates, they unexpectedly form a friendship bond by the conclusion. 

Ponder, too, how characters in these stories often do things that opposite characters don’t anticipate, such as when the professor reaches toward the student, not to touch her but to open the door; or when ex-boyfriend Kazuaki embraces Meiko after their verbally volatile encounter; or when Nana offers to role play with Moka or runs to catch the departing Moka at the end.

Wheel of Fortune and Fantasy is also about yearning for a deeper connection with others that may lead to frustration or fulfillment when your aspirations collide with reality. Consider, for instance, how Meiko seeks closure with her ex-boyfriend Kazuaki, hoping to resolve her unresolved feelings, only to be confronted with the painful truth of his new relationship with her close friend Tsugumi, leaving Meiko emotionally unsatisfied. And in the second chapter, Nao attempts to entrap her boyfriend’s professor, but instead of seducing him she feels seduced by him—even though the professor’s feelings are platonic; ultimately, Nao’s revenge ploy backfires, which results in divorce from her husband and economic struggles in the years to follow and also leads to Segawa being fired and disgraced. The irony here is that she abandoned her plan to trap Segawa, but by mistakenly sending her recording to the wrong email address, she ended up ruining both their lives.

Further reinforcing this latter theme, Moka and Nana initially believe they are former classmates but disappointingly learn they are actually strangers; yet, they spark a relationship by role-playing and pretending to be old friends. While the conclusion is ambiguous and open-ended, showing the two saying goodbye for presumably the last time, the fact that Nana runs to catch up with Moka in the final shot gives us hope that their relationship will continue.

Similar works

• The Tales of the Tokyo Night Sky (2019)
• Summer Blooms (2017)
• Call Me by Your Name (2017)
• Wednesdays Don’t Exist (2015)
• The Taste of Tea (2004)
• In the Mood for Love (2000)
• Portmanteau films released in the last 20 years, including: The French Dispatch (2021), Rio, I Love You (2014), Burning Palms (2010), New York, I Love You (2008), Lust, Caution (2007), To Each His Own Cinema (2007), Paris, je t'aime (2006), Coffee and Cigarettes (2003), 11'09"01 - September 11 (2002)

Other films by Ryusuke Hamaguchi

• Passion
• Happy Hour
• Asako I & II
• Drive My Car
• Evil Does Not Exist

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Feasting on forbidden love

Hungry for a lushly crafted drama that blends themes of love, family, and societal change into its recipe? I Am Love (Io sono l'amore), directed by Luca Guadagnino and released in 2009, is your entrée of choice. Intended as the first in a trilogy, the film portrays the shifting traditions of a wealthy Italian family through the perspective of Emma Recchi, a Russian immigrant who has married into their world. With Tilda Swinton in the lead role, Guadagnino weaves a story that contrasts passion with obligation, set against the backdrop of a transforming Italy. Emma’s life as a dutiful wife and mother, suffering a stifled existence within an aristocratic family, is irrevocably changed after beginning a passionate affair with Antonio, her son’s friend and a talented chef. Their deepening amore disrupts the family’s carefully maintained facade, leading to tension and tragedy.

Click here to listen to our CineVerse group’s discussion of I Am Love, conducted last week.

Praised for its elegant visual aesthetic inspired by classic European cinema and Swinton’s immersive performance, I Am Love stands as a powerful exploration of freedom and self-discovery. This is a film focused on a cinematic evocation of the baroque style, often favoring dramatic visual and audio flourishes, a consistently moving camera with surprising camera movements, unconventional framing, and grandiloquent music to nonverbally tell its story and convey the emotional experience of its main character, Emma.

These directorial choices can be interpreted by some as overly arty, excessively melodramatic, and even pretentious by some viewers, while others can admire the emphasis on aesthetics and powerfully contrasting imagery (such as the naked bodies juxtaposed with insect imagery, or shots of the opulent Recchi family estate contrast preceded by dark exterior visuals) to suggest the emotional experience of Emma and other characters.

Per Deep Focus Review writer Brian Eggert: “(I Am Love is) a film ‘about’ embracing now unfashionable approaches to cinema established by great European filmmakers of yesteryear. Luca Guadagnino’s film values aesthetics as much as it dwells in the plight of its protagonist. The operatic production expects its audience to respond to theatrics, bright colors, lush details, and the swelling score by John Adams. The film wants to immerse the audience through the story, of course, but more so through the visual and auditory language of the entire mise-en-scène. It demands an audience that desires sumptuousness in their cinema, complete with bravado camerawork and meaningful, metaphoric passages to dissect…there’s a particular joy attached to this kind of filmmaking that harkens back to an era where Europe’s directors explored expressiveness and richness as a style. There’s a definite pleasure in high melodrama, the type of Visconti and Douglas Sirk, that doesn’t exist in films today.”

The film is comprised of two main sections: The first half is concerned with establishing the characters and the family dynamics, with Emma remaining in her assumed secondary role within the Recchi clan, and the second half centered on her sexual awakening and liberation from that established identity.

Yet again Tilda Swinton excels in another demanding role here, one that required her to learn how to speak Italian but with a Russian accent and engage in an extended nude scene that would have made other actresses blanch. Her performance seems effortless, organic, and utterly honest, and the subtlety with which she inhabits the nearly catatonic Emma, experiencing unimaginable guilt after the accidental death of her son, is particularly impressive.

I Am Love can certainly inspire as a tale of self-awakening and following your truth. Something stirs in Emma after ingesting Antonio’s culinary creation, and soon she is driven to pursue the younger man and covertly indulge in a physically passionate romance that rouses feelings in her she either has long buried or never knew existed. The film delves into the tension between free will, self-discovery, and the pursuit of personal happiness, contrasting these themes with the pressures of conforming to societal norms and fulfilling the expectations imposed by others.

The film also plays up "out with the old, in with the new" ideas. I Am Love is concerned with conjuring the contrasts between the Old World and New World, between longstanding family practices dominated by patriarchs and liberated females who dare to buck those traditions. Consider that Tancredi has sold his father’s beloved business, thereby thwarting the founder’s inheritance wishes, and Edo has died, severing a key male bloodline descendant of the Recchi family. Ponder, too, how Emma has chosen a much younger man from a lower socioeconomic class. At its core, the story examines the complexities of family dynamics, the weight of legacy, and the lessons—both implicit and explicit—passed down across generations. It reflects on the rewards and the profound consequences of acting on instinct or impulse, emphasizing the fragile balance between choice and fate. Through its characters, the film also underscores the inherent unpredictability of human behavior, revealing how deeply we are shaped by both our emotions and the world around us.

A further thematic underpinning at work? The notion of breaking from tradition. Emma has been expected to play the dutiful wife, but she’ll always be an outsider in this Italian family that favors long-established conventions and customs. Her choice to confess her love for Antonio to her husband and walk out on the family by the conclusion demonstrates courage and a stark deviation from expectations that surprise everyone except perhaps her lesbian daughter. Roger Ebert espoused this reading of the movie, writing: "I Am Love" is an amazing film. It is deep, rich, human. It is not about rich and poor, but about old and new. It is about the ancient war between tradition and feeling.”

Emma appears caught between the contrasting paths represented by her son and daughter, each embodying opposing values she must navigate. Her son, idealistic and devoted to preserving family traditions, symbolizes adherence to societal expectations and duty. In contrast, her daughter, newly liberated as a lesbian unafraid to embrace her desires and explore the sensual world, represents a break from convention and a pursuit of personal freedom. Emma’s internal conflict is evident in her actions, particularly in her initial alignment with her daughter’s path. She cuts her hair short, mirroring her daughter’s style, and adopts similar colors in her wardrobe, signaling her choice to explore a freer, more authentic version of herself.

Lastly, Guadagnino demonstrates how amore can be a disruptive force. The film explores the immense power and irresistible allure of love, portraying it as a force of nature that can both inspire and consume. The characters appear as if they are possibly under the spell of Cupid, their actions seemingly guided by an uncontrollable drive toward passion and connection.

Similar works

• The movies of Luchino Visconti, especially The Leopard, which also deals with a similar family and legacy-type situation
• The films of Douglas Sirk, which focused on emotional melodramas and women’s issues, such as Magnificent Obsession, Written on the Wind, and All That Heaven Allows
• The visually poetic movies of Terence Malick, especially Days of Heaven
• The book Madame Bovary
• Hitchcock’s Vertigo in how Emma pursues the object of her obsession
• The Age of Innocence
• Fanny and Alexander
• Ratatouille

Other films by Luca Guadagnino

• A Bigger Splash
• Call Me by Your Name
• Suspiria
• Bones and All
• Challengers
• Queer

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