THE BEST YEARS OF OUR LIVES — CLASSIC FILM PICK

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The underlying satirical nature of William Wyler’s post-war paean to American soldiers returning home from World War II lurks throughout this beloved drama.

The winner of nine Academy Awards — including the only time an actor has won two Oscars for the same role — “The Best Years of Our Lives” is such a blatant example of American-produced propaganda that its blunt elements serve opposing purposes to its detailed context of approved social behavior, realities, and identities.

Samuel Goldwyn first commissioned the script from war correspondent MacKinlay Kantor, whose blank verse novella “Glory for Me” informed the finished product — written by Robert E. Sherwood. When Sherwood allows the story’s brimming social subtext to overflow with regularity, the complex scenes strike enduring dissonant chords that contradict every bit of gung-ho nostalgia and political brainwashing that the movie seems to parade.

Each of the film’s ex-military protagonists carries his battle scars differently. Emotionally insecure bombardier Captain Fred Derry (Dana Andrews) disregards his marriage to a local trollop. Rather, Fred woos Peggy (Teresa Wright), the vulnerable daughter of Sargent Al Stephenson, a 40-year-old soldier Derry meets on his way back to the same Midwest town, Boone City. Also present is Homer Parrish (Harold Russell), a Navy man who lost both hands in an explosion. Homer has since mastered use of the hooks that attach from below his elbows. Economic realities are on prominent display.

Well-off family man Sargent Stephenson takes refuge in alcohol to numb his post-war depression. His patient wife Milly (Myrna Loy) is her husband’s loyal keeper. Al’s longtime mentor, and bank owner, Mr. Milton (Ray Collins) gives Al a promotion from his former desk job to “vice president in charge of small of loans” — “at a salary of $12,000 a year.”

Mr. Milton comes to regret his generosity in light of Al’s favoritism toward fellow veterans with “no collateral.”

Al publicly breaks company rank at a dinner hosted by Mr. Milton. The inebriated civilian professes love for his bank before representing it as a generous investor “in the future of this country.” During the speech William Wyler keeps the camera on Al with a deep focus on Milly’s telling facial expressions that translate her husband’s intentionality to the other dinner guests. The distraction works, for the film audience at least. Still, Al Sharpton’s days of gainful employment at Cornbelt Trust Company may be numbered.

The scene that scratches the heavily music-queued movie sparks its inciting incident. Fred Derry works as a “soda jerk” at a local department store. A well-dressed gentleman wearing a ring on his left pinky orders a sandwich. Homer stops by for a chocolate sundae. The stranger wants to “ask a personal question.” Homer answers out of turn, giving his well-rehearsed explanation of how he uses his “hooks.” The stranger compliments Homer’s braveness before expressing an unconventional opinion of the war.

“You got plenty of guts. It’s terrible when you see a guy like you that had to sacrifice himself, and for what.”

Homer is confused.

“We let ourselves get sold down the river. We were pushed into war.” The “leftist” at the counter believes that “the Germans and the Japs had nothing against us. They just wanted to fight the Limeys and the Reds.”

The opinionated stranger talks about the American people being “deceived” into war by “radicals” in Washington. 

A fight ensues that directly addresses everything the wounded soldiers have been hiding.

Not Rated. 168 mins.

A CLOCKWORK ORANGE — CLASSIC FILM PICK

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There's Stanley Kubrick's "A Clockwork Orange," and then there's everything else.

Kubrick's 1971 adaptation of Anthony Burgess's complex literary satire of crime and punishment is an earth-shattering cinematic experience that elicits an unprecedented visceral response from its audience.

Malcolm McDowell plays British thug and sociopath Alex De Large, who wanders around a futuristic, economically ravished Britain where trash fills the streets.

It’s a spitting image of the bleak socio-political landscape that gave rise to the British punk rock movement of the late ‘70s.

Alex lends friendly narration to the audience that he calls "brothers" as he incites violence with a band of delinquent misfits (called "droogs") at his command. Alex gets imprisoned after viciously raping and murdering an upper-class woman in her home with a large plastic phallus intended as an ironic piece of modern art.

Kubrick’s sense of visual irony is spectacular. Rather than go to prison Alex opts to undergo a torturous rehabilitation therapy (the "Ludovico technique"), involving forced viewings of Nazi war films accompanied by Beethoven's Ninth Symphony. A scene involving Alex being "cured" with clamps holding his eyelids open, presents a fierce artistically infused portrait of torture. The proven effects of the treatment lead to Alex's release into a society where he is repeatedly punished for his past transgressions until he isn't. 

"A Clockwork Orange" proved a crucial touchstone for significant cultural shifts in music and film. '70s era filmmakers like Francis Coppola and Martin Scorsese were liberated by Kubrick's visionary approach to style, form, and subject matter. As well, many aspects of the punk rock movement are directly attributable to it.

The film is intoxicating in its use of atmosphere, music, and paradox to excite and inform the viewer's imagination at a palpitating tempo. Everything comes as a surprise for the voyeuristic spectator who is implicated in every criminal act of citizen and state. We are all victim, killer, police, and legislator.

Sleep on that.

Rated X. 136 mins.

MONSIEUR VERDOUX — THE CRITERION COLLECTION

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Charlie Chaplin bought and adapted the story idea for his 1947 black comedy from Orson Welles, who wanted to cast Chaplin in the title role of a serial killer based on the French “Bluebeard,” Henri Désiré Landru. Ever the master of his own artistic vision, Chaplin was never a collaborator.

Sadly, Chaplin’s reputation as one of the world’s best loved and most influential film artists had been irrevocably tarnished.

Chaplin’s pattern of marrying underage women created one scandal after another and constant fodder for the tabloid and international press.

Charlie Chaplin's outspoken support for the alliance with the Soviet Union that defeated Nazi Germany in World War II got him painted as a communist by careerist political hacks. The huckster designers of the House on Un-American Activities Committee looked on Chaplin’s association with such leftist luminaries as Bertolt Brecht and Hanns Eisler — whose works were banned in Nazi Germany — with the same contempt as the Nazis.

For Monsieur Verdoux, Chaplin created a sophisticated ‘30s era antihero far removed from his trademark Little Tramp — a veritable Snoopy-doll of 20th century cultural iconography. Simultaneously ethical and unethical, the snappily dressed Verdoux exists as an extraordinary challenge to capitalism’s status quo during its seismic swing toward fascism.

After squandering 35 years as an “honest bank clerk,” Verdoux uses his hard-earned knowledge to invest the money he steals from noxious women he marries and murders with his preferred method: poison. He counts their cash with the same pragmatic technique he used as a clerk. Verdoux thus emulates, on a much smaller scale, capitalism’s method of doing business.

Through the butchery, he maintains a personal life. Verdoux visits his invalid wife and young son to provide for their wellbeing. He clearly loves them. They enable him to rationalize his obsessive need to overcompensate financially for the next economic depression that is sure to come. Verdoux’s addiction to ill-gotten financial gains mirrors that of his former bosses. The satire is at once transparent yet opaque.

The carefully manicured upturned mustache he wears accentuates the pursed lips that Verdoux uses to charm new conquests. Chaplin’s ever-present command of body language and vocal range is spellbinding. From his ever-present delicate hand gestures to his flawless enunciation of every word, Chaplin inhabits his character as a man of purposeful contradictions rather than a confused hypocrite.

As he did with his unforgettable theme-stating monologue in “The Great Dictator” (1940), Charlie Chaplin the dramatist brings “Monsieur Verdoux” to a crescendo with a speech that informs the audience of its author’s dramatic intentions.

The “cruel and cynical monster” explains himself before a court.

“As for being a mass killer, does not the world encourage it? Is it not building weapons of destruction for the sole purpose of mass killing? Has it not blown unsuspecting women and little children to pieces, and done it very scientifically?”

Verdoux describes himself as an “amateur” by comparison with capitalism’s ruling class. “Monsieur Verdoux” finds Charlie Chaplin deconstructing his Little Tramp into an all-in-one entertainer, murderer, and victim. A more committed idealist you will never find.

Not Rated. 124 mins.