Deborah Lipp

Sunset Boulevard 10/10
Joe Gillis (William Holden) is a down and out screenwriter until he meets former silent screen star Norma Desmond (Gloria Swanson). Soon he agrees to work for her, lying to himself about how far his “kept man” arrangement will go.

In the Five Random Facts meme, I said I’d never seen Sunset Boulevard, so it’s only fair I review it now. Besides, the next film review recalls this one, so there you are.

There are three steps to the foreshadowing that creates Sunset Boulevard’s mystique.

First, Sunset Boulevard opens with a dead man in a swimming pool. Because the movie is so famous, and the opening shot so oftened discussed, I knew it was Joe (William Holden), the film’s narrator. I wonder what director Billy Wilder intended, though, because the distortion of the water makes the dead man’s face unclear. Did film audiences know it was Holden?

Soon Joe finds his way to Norma’s mansion. In the second tip, he references Miss Havisham, we see Norma coming before Joe does, and we know she is loony, trapped by choice in her home, and willing to hold others prisoner.

Finally, we see that, on the day of Joe’s arrival, she is burying her pet monkey. There is no doubt, then, as to what needs replacing, and what Joe will become. Most of the movie is Joe’s gradual acceptance of pet monkey status, and its accompanying self-loathing.

Norma’s delusion—that she is a great and beloved star, that she is a great screenwriter preparing her own comeback—is a perfect balance for Joe’s. Each uses the bizarre beauty of an isolated mansion to build a false “mansion of the self;? a self-image that has nothing to do with reality. Norma is not a star, Joe is not a decent guy. And Max isn’t a butler either; nothing is real at Hotel California.

Indeed, Sunset Boulevard is more about California, specifically Hollywood, than it is about individuals. But with great actors, smart dialogue, and terrific cinematography, you don’t really need to see the big picture to enjoy it. Now I know why everyone’s been mad at me, all these years, when I say I haven’t seen it.

The Quiet American (2002) 10/10
In 1952, British journalist Thomas Fowler (Michael Caine) lives in Vietnam with his lovely mistress Phuong (Do Thi Hai Yen). Handsome young American Alden Pyle (Brendan Fraser) falls in love with Phuong and vies for her affections.

Like Sunset Boulevard, The Quiet American opens with a corpse floating face down in the water. Like Sunset Boulevard, we then go back in time, while our narrator (Caine) tells us how this murder came to pass. And like Sunset Boulevard, The Quiet American uses a relationship to tell a much larger story; in this case, that of colonialism and war in Vietnam.

Fowler is in every way Europe in Vietnam, as Pyle is America. Fowler is older, detached, dishonest but well-meaning, and impotent to effect change. Pyle is young, brash, forceful and opinionated, sure he is right and optimistic about his role in things. He blunders and yet succeeds, and he is not what he appears to be.

Remarkably, with all this symbolism, it is possible to watch the movie straightforwardly, looking only at the people, their feelings and relationships, their wants and needs, and how beautifully it’s all filmed. Caine is a dream here, and after seeing this, I have decided to forgive him for The Cider House Rules.

It’s almost impossible to believe that a movie can be understated, comment on political history, and take place in a war zone, without being dull, preachy, confusing, or all three, but The Quiet American achieves the impossible. The movie is filled with movement, with a variety of characters and places, with mysterious motivations that unfold with tragedy and clarity. It’s a haunting film, with haunting performances, one you won’t forget.