GASLIGHT — CLASSIC FILM PICK

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George Cukor's masterful adaptation of Patrick Hamilton's 1938 stage play is a cinematic feast of noir suspense. Gleefully dark, seamlessly directed, and packed with surprising plot twists, "Gaslight" is truly a masterpiece of Cinema.

Glory!

Ingrid Bergman won a much deserved Best Actress Oscar in 1944 for her nuanced portrayal of famed opera singer Paula Alquist.

Stunning!

Retired Paula returns to London (circa 1880) to live with her new husband Gregory Anton (Charles Boyer) in the house where her late aunt lived before she was murdered ten years earlier. 

Gregory is a skilled technician in the practice of gaslighting. Convincing Paula that she is losing control of her mental faculties is just a smokescreen to cover up Gregory's criminal activities. 

Joseph Cotton's Scotland Yard detective Brian Cameron becomes suspicious of Gregory, whose refusal to let his wife go out in public raises a red flag.

Ingrid Bergman's flawless performance is endlessly watchable.

The late, great Angela Lansbury steals every scene she's in as Nancy, the flirtatious maid that Gregory hires to keep an eye on Paula while he's busy with his skullduggery.

This is much more than a solid period drama from one of Hollywood's most revered directors.

If you haven't yet seen "Gaslight," you are in for a rare treat. You'll certainly be keenly aware of other's attempts at leading you down a path of self-doubt after watching this amazing film.

Repeated viewings are in order.

If you discover that someone is attempting to gaslight you, you'll know what to do; exit the relationship on the spot.

"Gaslight" remains remarkably topical for its relevance in the modern world. This Cinema classic is essential viewing if only for its clear definition of the now-popular term.

Not Rated. 114 mins.

I LOVE YOU, DADDY

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Louis C.K.’s filmic send up of Woody Allen’s films, and [offhandedly] Allen’s reputation as a pedophile, would have been a bizarre act of public self-immolation even without the icon-shattering revelations about Louis C.K.’s sexual harassment of women that brought his legendary career to an abrupt halt.

Filmed in black-and-white (à la “Manhattan,” “Stardust Memories,” “Broadway Danny Rose,” etc.) “I Love You, Daddy” is every bit as exasperating as any Woody Allen film of the past 10 years because it isn’t funny. Visually, the movie looks just like a Woody Allen film. Even the segues are done in Woody Allen’s faux nostalgic style with similarly pitched musical cues. You can also see the similarity of this film's poster to that of Allen's one-sheet for "Manhattan."  

If his father figure character in this movie is a tell, then Louis C.K. lost his comic mojo sometime after his enormously successful 2016 stand-up tour. Evidently, Louis C.K. had said and done what he came into the business to accomplish, and was ready to be sent to the gallows for his sins.

As this film’s story goes, Glen Topher (Louis C.K.) is a filthy rich comedy television show writer and producer whose heart isn’t in his work anymore. Glen lets the little guy in his pants call the shots when he fires an actress scheduled to play the lead in his upcoming series, in favor of a [fetish alert] pregnant one (played by Rose Byrne).

Glen’s midlife crisis is made all the more acute by his spoiled brat daughter China’s pending transition into adult hood. Having just returned from Spring Break, China (Chloë Grace Moretz) bullies daddy into flying her back to Florida to extend her vacation. It’s not that China isn’t already on a permanent vacation on the eve of her 18^th birthday; she’s taking a gap year. China’s rudderless lifestyle makes her easy prey for John Malkovich’s author character Leslie Goodwin, a man famous for chasing underage girls.

One especially frustrating aspect of the film is how good the actors are against C.K.’s awful script. Edie Falco, Chloë Grace Moretz, John Malkovich, Pamela Adlon, Rose Byrne, and Charlie Day all bring their A-game to movie that refuses to submit to their talents. I found one laugh-out-loud comic bit that went so far over the top (courtesy of a ribald Charlie Day) that there isn’t anything else do to but guffaw at his character’s full-course imitation of masturbation.

“I Love You Daddy” will go down in history as an ugly reminder of men in power who abuse and harass those [especially women] who come into their sphere of influence. There isn't anything funny about that. 

Rated R. 123 mins. 

 

THE HOUSE ON 92ND STREET

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Created during America’s ham-fisted effort at producing propaganda films during the early 1940s era of World War II, “The House On 92^nd Street” stands as a noxious example of patriotic pap disguised as faux docu film noir.

For all of the film’s publicity about it featuring actual FBI footage, the filmmakers couldn’t be bothered to use the film’s promised 92^nd street location; the building featured was located on 93^rd street just east of Madison Avenue in Manhattan’s Carnegie Hill district.

The picture was made following the same period that Luis Buñuel was hired to edit U.S. propaganda films for the Museum of Modern Art from 1940 to 1942 before Government agents got a hold of Salvador Dali’s 1942 autobiography that named Buñuel as an atheist and a Marxist.

The powers in charge had misunderstood Buñuel’s political persuasion when he replied that he was a “Republican,” meaning that he sided against General Franco’s fascist regime which was responsible for the deaths of more than one million civilians during the Spanish Civil War. Therein lies a clue about where American political leanings bent. Dali's revelation caused Buñuel to be fired from his post at MoMA.

Hokey as a three-dollar-bill, “The House On 92^nd Street” layers on heavy-handed voice-over narration by newsreel standard bearer Reed Hadley about the oh-so-reliable FBI’s ability to defeat foreign (namely Nazi) spy operations attempting to take seed on U.S. soil. J. Edgar Hoover’s name gets dropped a lot. Bombastic music underscores a pre-roll that credits all but the “leading players” as F.B.I. personnel.

“Actual F.B.I. surveillance films” show men carrying trunks into the German embassy in Washington D.C. Director Henry Hathaway professedly shot the footage himself, guerilla-style. Nevermind that the pulp story by Charles G. Booth takes place in Manhattan. Fifteen minutes of such preamble is necessary before William Eythe’s double agent Bill Dietrich is ordered into action to investigate shenanigans at Elsa’s Dress shop at 53 E 92^nd street. Signe Hasso plays Elsa Gebhardt as a villain with avarice dripping from her every movement and word.

Although loosely based on the F.B.I.’s Duquesne espionage ring which captured more than two dozen spies and traitors, “The House On 92^nd Street, is most memorable for Elsa’s last minute transition into male form with the aid of a man’s suit, hat, and a handsome pair of two-tone high-button shoes. I wonder if the film’s producer Louis de Rochemont (of “March of Time” newsreel fame) would have given the film’s leading part to William Eythe if he knew that Eythe was a closeted gay actor. Considering that J. Edgar Hoover exerted his considerable will over the picture, perhaps all is as was intended.

Either way, “The House On 92^nd Street” is a laughable piece of American propaganda for all of the reasons you’d expect. The U.S. political machine has never understood how to under-promise and over-deliver. Rather the reverse is always proven to be true. With cartoon villains and overconfident heroes like these around, no one is safe.

Not Rated. 88 mins.