The Littlest Winslow

Before Chuck Norris, there was Eastwood. And I can’t deny: I’m highly tempted to give up the Epic Film Quest all together. Cold turkey.

After watching the 1992 Best Picture winner, Unforgiven, I only want to watch movies that star Clint Eastwood wielding a gun in each hand, chasing down felons or participating in your standard, everyday Western shootout. I want my life to be inundated with witty one-liners chock-full of curmudgeonly attitude, as Eastwood guns mofos down and sprays the town with their blood. That totally happens in, like, Ghandi…right!?

Regrettably, Eastwood was kind of before my time. I’ve seen modern day Eastwood films like every other asshole alive (Gran Torino, Mystic River, Million Dollar Baby, etc.), but never really got to appreciate his older work. Unforgiven is one of those movies that makes me want to quit my job and become an uber Eastwood-phile. I want to sit on my couch surrounded by tubs of ice cream (yes, plural tubs) and repeating every beloved line to myself and to the Internet. I want to channel my inner Eastwood so I can quote him thoroughly, completely, and in context should I ever find myself riding a horse in the desert, participating in a gunfight, exchanging wits with a nemesis, or battling a gang of thugs in a scary LA suburb. (Actually, scratch that last one. Eek.)

To celebrate Unforgiven and this stop on my quest to watch all of The Academy’s Best Pics, I binged on this YouTube clip of some of the best Clint Eastwood quotes known to the Milky Way galaxy. You should watch it and pretend that you’re as cool as Clint Eastwood. Because that’s what I’ve been doing for the last 45 minutes of life.

Some real winners here:

“You did two things wrong. One is you asked a question, and two is you asked another question.”

“Nobody….I mean nobody…puts ketchup on a hotdog.”

“I have dined with some of the ugliest goddamn bitches in my time. And I have dined with some of the goddamndest ugly bitches in this world. But you, my dear, are the ugliest bitch of them all.”

“You couldn’t take care of a wet dream.”

“Your lucky numbers are 84, 23, 11, 78, and 99. What a load of shit.”

“And I’ve drunk more beer, pissed more blood, and banged more quiff, busted more balls then all you numbnuts put together.”

And that’s only a small sample of the 10 minute-long clip, and an even smaller sample of the legend’s six-ish decades of acting excellence. Need. More. Clint.

Suffice to say, Unforgiven is a resounding Grade: A movie.

Before our viewing of the 1941 Best Picture winner How Green Was My Valley, my lady mentioned that it sounded like the title of a porno. Although the movie turned out to be your run-of-the-mill 1940′s film (bummer, man), I stopped to think about the many possibilities: In the movie’s bizarro porn version, would the miners get laid every time they returned home from work, covered in soot and ash? Would there be lots of shower scenes to make up for their gross grime? Or maybe some of their ladies met them below the surface for some underground lovin’. Did porn even exist in the 40′s!? A guy has to wonder.

I think we singlehandedly mocked and destroyed one of the most beloved movies of all time. And I’m talking, like, in the history of modern day cinema.

Oh, well.

I didn’t love this entry of the Quest, but I didn’t hate it either. This is one of those that sort of felt like a mere check off a list. It’s really fun to write about stuff I absolutely lose my mind over or things I loathe more than pickles, but when the result is somewhere in the middle I’m rather mum. I think my preconceptions got the best of me on this one – I was expecting more and wasn’t significantly moved with regard to the miners’ struggles, families, unions, etc. The socio-economic snapshot of poor coal miners wasn’t completely lost on me, I just didn’t fully connect with it. I don’t fault the film for this, though. It just didn’t happen. Can’t love everything.

From a modern day viewpoint, it’s unbelievable that this one beat out Citizen Kane for the title. But according to Wikipedia (it MUST be true if it’s on Wikipedia!), people were boycotting Kane. Since the film was based on William Randolph Hearst’s actions in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, he naturally was a huge sissy about it and wanted people to claim libel against Orson Welles. He even tried to get the film banned. Trying to ban a future classic – way to go Hearst! There’s more to this story but I got super bored while reading about it.

What was this post about? Right. How Green Was My Valley is not about the sexual adventures of a bunch of Zoolander-esque coal miners. Instead, it’s about their struggles in society, both at work and at home, and about a little boy who gets beat up all the time and tells their stories and stuff. It was a good enough movie that didn’t really grab me the way I had hoped.

Grade: C+

To start out this here review of 1981’s British historical drama Chariots of Fire, I’d like to grade it first and discuss it second.

Grade: F

Ouch. And I don’t mean the grade. I mean the snoozefest about two athletes in the 1924 olympics. I can honestly say that I gained absolutely nothing from watching this movie, and instead, lost two quality hours of my life that could have been better spent watching Reality TV, eating peanut butter from the jar with my hands gorilla style, or video taping my cat being all cat-like.

As if “stuffy British film” was ever a trite term, take it from me people: Chariots of Fire is the definition. So Eric Liddel and Harold Abrahams are both runners. One is a Scottish runner who runs for God’s glory or whatever, and the other is an English Jew running to overcome prejudice. (As if, “Holy shit, you won that race, and I fucking love Jews now!” would actually have happened and alleviated some asshole’s misconceptions). But they run. And run. And run some more. Even around their college once, attempting to beat some record. This is important because SPORTS.

If only I could look as cool when I run.

Here is perhaps an area in which I am extremely biased. I enjoy playing sports, I enjoy watching winter Olympics, and I played like crazy as a youngster. But I don’t like the business of sports, and often claim that football, baseball, and insert-sport-name-here simply exist in our modern world in order to sell Miller Lite, and well hey, props to Miller Lite because beer is delicious. It’s just that sports and sports movies have a tendency of getting super preachy. And did I say stuffy yet?

Other thoughts:

If I was an actor, I’d probably look for roles that didn’t require running. Maybe running from a serial killer, or running to my car so I could be involved in some sickass chase scene, or maybe even running from the cops after my character’s involvement in a heist, but running just to run? I’d probably avoid that.

The most notable thing about this movie is its super-amazing score, which made me feel both incredibly stupid, yet also enlightened. It was the uber-“THAT’S WHERE THAT COMES FROM???” moment. Now, I’m 28 and not that young or old, but I think if I polled a sample of my peers, they wouldn’t really know the origin of this music either, so yeah, I guess I’m pretty OK with admitting my shock and amazement. Chariots of Fire’s score was done by Greek composer Vangelis, who won the Academy Award for it, naturally. Hear it below:

RIGHT!? Mind blown. I will feel even more moronic the next time I watch the decathlon scene from Old School. I’m sure I’ll gloat about knowing where the music comes from though, because hey, my horse is high. “You mean you don’t know?!” Look, I’m watching every single Best Picture winner in the history of forever. I’ve got to get props from somewhere, right? Even if it’s mostly from patting myself on the back.

In closing, I loathed this movie. More so than I loathed Out of Africa. That’s saying a lot, in my opinion.

A church, a broken window, some piano playing, singing, and two priests not getting along so much. That about explains the 1944 Best Picture winner Going My Way, starring Bing Crosby, and it was JUST AS EXCITING AS IT SOUNDS!!!!

Crosby plays Father Charles “Chuck” O’Malley, a young up-and-comer (if priests can even be referred to as “up-and-comers”) heading to a new congregation for his new post. Father Fitzgibbon (Barry Fitzgerald), the old school Elder Priest or something, disagrees with O’Malley’s ways, which really just includes real, grounded friendships, playing golf, and teaching children how to sing (The horror!). Fitzgibbon’s disapproval doesn’t really make any sense, but neither does religion sometimes. OH SNAP! A scandalous blog I lead, I know. Other characters float in and out, like a girl who ran away from home, some kids O’Malley teaches to sing, and a few others, but they don’t really matter too much because there isn’t really much of a plot and the film’s pieces rarely connect the puzzle. The movie was well-paced though, (which as you know by now is so crucial to me when I’m watching older, black and white films), and enjoyable enough.

Fun Fact: This movie won a helluva lot of Academy Awards (7!) and was the first and only time an actor was nominated for Best Actor and Best Supporting Actor. Fitzgerald lost to Crosby for Actor, but then snagged the Best Supporting trophy.

But before I start sounding like a Negative Nick about Going My Way, we should all hail the mighty Crosby – whose trademark bass-baritone made him a star on screen, in the recording industry, and on radio (he has three stars on the Walk of Fame to prove it). Some of these old-timer films simply exist as a vehicle for a super-mighty-talented guy to show off his super-mighty-talented talent, and Bing Crosby is “a dreamboat,” as one of my Facebook friends leisurely commented one day. The guy has mad skillz and no one can argue with that. Listening to the movie’s songs make it worthy of a watch, but negative points for yanno, the stuff I said above. The relationship between O’Malley and Fitzgibbon does progress nicely though, and by film’s end it’s kind of nice. Said the worst description of a movie ever.

To conclude with this conclusion, Going My Way is to Bingy as An American in Paris is to Gene Kelly: The movie was just OK for me, but the talented singing man keeps it out of C-territory.

Grade: B-

37 of 84 movies remain in the quest. Baby steps.

Until a tiny sail named Titanic came into view, All About Eve was the mothership of the Academy Awards. The 1950 film grabbed 14 nominations and won six of them, truly making it one of the first powerhouses to ever take down the awards ceremony (Titanic tied it in noms, and beat it in wins, 11, which is a number also claimed by Ben-Hur). But hey, not too shabby for 1950, yeah? Oh, and Eve still stands as the only film to garner four female acting nominations. Well done, ladies!

All About Eve stands as another one of these classics that really wasn’t on my radar and that is cray! It’s an excellent behind-the-scenes glance at the Entertainment/Theater industries, which most casual viewers had probably never thought of at the time. It’s a tale of actors vying for the spotlight and competing with each other, and even back in the 50′s, that shit could get cutthroat.

Bette Davis plays Margo Channing, a slightly aging, yet still crazy famous Broadway star of a popular play called Aged in Wood. Channing is beautiful; bitchy, yet revered. Basically, she’s the 1950′s version of “the shit.” After the show one evening, Channing’s friend Karen (Celeste Holm) introduces her to diehard fan Eve Harrington (Anne Baxter), who quickly and quietly makes her way up the ranks of Channing’s entourage thanks to her calm demeanor and heart-tugging sob story. Yada, yada, yada….Eve becomes a force to be reckoned with, manipulating Channing’s relationships, contesting for roles, lying to those around her, and generally taking the face of your every day Regina George.

There’s really nothing in this movie that isn’t absolutely stellar. The plot works, the story is well-paced and the acting is simply phenomenal. The performances given by Davis and Baxter are seriously some of the best I’ve ever seen. They’re both shrewd and cunning in their own distinct ways, electrifying the screen and dominating the film.  Research any “Greatest Films of All Time” list and you’ll surely see Davis’s face or an Eve movie poster of some sort, because dammit, this one is simply worth it. For anyone appreciative of Broadway or fine performances, this is one that can’t be missed. Bonus points for the Celeste Holm casting, too (Gentleman’s Agreement).

Fun-fact: A young and then-unknown Marilyn Monroe can be found playing Miss Casswell in the party scene at Channing’s apartment. (How do you make an already great film that much better? Add Marilyn. Always add Marilyn.)

My quest is still rolling along smoothly. I’d call my pace moderate, but I’d label my dedication as extreme. I’ve been delaying an actual countdown because quite frankly, I’m terrified to find out how many films I have left. I’m just going to continue this smooth and steady pace until I baby-step my way closer and closer to my end goal: Watching every single Best Picture winner in the history of the Academy Awards. It’ll happen. Some day. Eventually.

To sum: if you’re riding high on a movie quest of your own, or if you’re simply looking to consume some old school cinema, add All About Eve to your Netflix queue ASAP and bump it to the top. It’s classy, classic and one hell of a 50′s film that is truly near perfection.

Grade: A

Musicals aren’t my favorite type of movie, but this stop on my Watch-Every-Best Picture-Film-or-Die-Trying quest was a quite satisfying one! Based on the original British play of the same name (which was based on Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens), the film version of Oliver! was directed by Carol Reed, released in 1968, and housed the Oscars, taking prizes for Best Picture, Best Adaptation Score, Best Director, Best Art Direction, Best Sound, and even won a much-deserved Special Academy Award for Cinematography. Word, holla.

The bummer: my favorite two characters/actors from the film were nominated for Best Actor (Ron Moody) and Best Supporting Actor (Jack Wild)….and they both lost! That is nucking futs! Moody gave a rousing, if not, completely zany performance as Fagin, a sketchy thief who teaches kids to “Pick a Pocket or Two,” while Wild (formerly known from the Sid and Marty Krofft psychedelic kids show H.R. Pufnstuf) was dashing and quick-footed as Fagin’s eventual partner-in-crime, the Artful Dodger. Watching these two sing, dance, and gallivant about was certainly the highlight for this blogger, while I found Mark Lester (leading boy, Oliver) to be a little…magoo.

Having said that, I enjoyed the folly and jolly that Oliver! delivered, although it wasn’t my favorite musical. I was later asked by my co-pilot on this magic carpet ride what my favorite musical was, to which I replied “Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog,” of course (clearly the answer for a straight, white, male geek). However, I was quickly informed that for some reason, that didn’t count. I was then told that if I didn’t have a favorite musical, I couldn’t claim that Oliver! was not my favorite musical. This went on for a good twenty minutes, because this is what happens when you watch musicals with a lady who arguably loves musicals more than she loves you.

Despite a fairly hefty runtime (153 minutes) and a couple numbers that didn’t progress the story enough, I knocked this one out in one sitting and by movie’s end, I was glad to have seen it.

Grade: B

Here are my two favorite songs from the play-turned-film:

I am prepared for the inevitable backlash that this post is going to cause me. I have finally seen Braveheart. For the first time.  Alright, already…let me have it.

I’m not really sure what I was doing in 1995 that may have prevented me from seeing this Mel Gibson-led and directed Oscar winner. Maybe I was attending the 5^th grade. Maybe it was the day of the championship game of our backyard baseball league, cleverly coined as “BYB.” Maybe I was at the movies, seeing far greater films, like Jumanji or Toy Story. Dammit, I don’t know why I had never seen Braveheart, but in my defense, I was 10 at the time and once Gladiator came out, I never had any reason to watch Braveheart. One just simply rewatches Gladiator when he would like an ambitious period movie with sickass battle scenes, amazing acting and a heartbreaking finish.

Sooo, what? Oh, Braveheart. Right.

Mel Gibson has totally Tom Cruise’d himself. Even though I rather enjoyed The Beaver, Braveheart was the first Gibson movie from the past that I actively sought out. As if it wasn’t hard enough to take his sexy mane of hair and face-painted face seriously, Gibson had to rant about Jews and threaten his girlfriend and rob banks and steal children’s Halloween candy and stuff. (I may have made those last two up..) Watching his take on William Wallace, it was hard to concentrate on the actual performance simply because I know what a douchenozzle he is now. It’s the same reason I struggle with the Mission: Impossible series. I just can’t get involved in that shit.

On the other hand, Braveheart looked amazing, thanks to its Irish and Scottish filming locations, killer costume design, and medieval flair. It’s well-paced and has enough supporting characters to enrich the film with a mighty fine ensemble of characters. I just found it to be rather predictable in certain ways, unlike the best, most radically charged-up awesome fun time flick: GLADIATOR. But then again, Russell Crowe isn’t exactly the poster child for humanity either. Whatever. Braveheart won a shitload of awards that year, so maybe it is me, gentle readers, who is the asshole here.

In sum: I saw Braveheart. I saw it 17 years too late. And it wasn’t overly painful. Always striving for excellence here at The Littlest Winslow. Yep.

Oh, I almost forgot! I grade things now!

Braveheart: B
(Gladiator: A)

What next!?

Readers, friends, foes, and followers: Apologies for the radio silence! I was conquering the island of Oahu on a two week excursion of awesomeness. I jumped out of a plane, surfed Waikiki, hiked up a volcano and as a result, sadly neglected this ol’ blog here. However, The Winslow was in my thoughts as we took a side quest to Halona Cove – the filming location of the 1953 Best Picture winner From Here to Eternity – Epic Film Quest shoutout!

While driving down the eastern coast of Oahu, we stopped by the Halona Blowhole specifically to check out the Cove and see the very spot where Burt Lancaster and Deborah Kerr made out in the then-controversial “sex scene”. (I asked the wifee to roll around in the sand with me while a stranger filmed it, but she understandably declined). Surely, you remember the scene to which I’m referring:

How steamy.

It’s been awhile since I’ve tackled another film on my quest to watch every single Best Picture winner ever. (I am a slacker and procrastinator, but shit gets busy when you’re gettin’ hitched.) Now that I’m back from Hawaii, I’ve got a renewed sense of determination and motivation, and do plan on finishing my quest…even if it takes me an eternity, dammit! ONWARD!

Here a few pics and a vid I took at the scene. I promise to never abandon you ever again. Or at least not until I get married again. (That was a joke)

What do Gregory Peck, the gays and vegan “play” cheese have in common? Absolutely nothing at all!

Welcome to another installment of The Littlest Winslow’s Epic Film Quest extraordinaire! This time, Gentleman’s Agreement (1947) was on the docket, we giggled about how silly the 40′s were, and I ate some surprisingly awesome pseudo-cheese made by Zoe from SexyTofu. I know I can hardly contain myself, so let’s get started!

This Winslow-approved film was one of the better paced and acted out of the movies from that era that I’ve hit so far. It’s about a journalist (Peck) who goes undercover as a Jew to conduct research for an exposé on antisemitism in New York City and Darien, Conn. He is steadfast and true in his social experiment and gets treated unfairly throughout, experiencing the ubiquitous and unjust bigotry that was sadly common during that era. He meets a pretty lady friend (Kathy), who isn’t really a Jew-hater, but turns a blind eye upon this societal issue, which leads to problems in their personal relationship. Then his co-worker Anne is super awesome and makes funny quips and you want him to bang her.

Noteworthy Noteables:

1) The late Celeste Holm played fashion editor Anne Dettrey and she was a real delight, delivering a witty and natural performance that was quite ahead of her time. She even won a well-deserved Academy Award for Best Supporting Actress! Kudos, Ms. Holm, and RIP.

2) This movie tackled a huge social issue for 1947 and must have been very powerful and controversial upon its release. Though it’s a little preachy at times, the message is there and I respect the film’s forwardness in delivering that message.

3) As previously mentioned, Gregory Peck was in The Omen and The Omen is awesome. Therefore, Gregory Peck is awesome. That’s some hardcore journalism right there.

4) I’m sure I could rant about how this movie’s message about antisemitism mirrors our current social struggles for equalities for the LGBT community, but I kind of don’t want to. Although I’m very pro-equal rights and gay marriage, the media is doing a fine job of belaboring this point, so I feel my wee little entertainment blog can spare you this lecture. But there are definitely a plethora of social parallels here that would be great for any film class to explore.

5) Although I’m not a food blogger, I’m a huge food fan and never balk at the chance to try something new…especially if it’s healthy! This vegan “play” cheese that accompanied our screening was fucking delicious. The consistency is almost exactly like ricotta, and it has an explosive cashew flavor. We smothered it in sriracha (duh) and put it over whole wheat pasta with fresh, sautéed veggies. Here’s the skinny on how to make your own:

Cashew Tofu Ricotta
-1 lb extra firm tofu
-Juice of 1 lemon
-2 cloves garlic
-1 tbsp EVOO
-¾ cup raw unsalted cashews
-1 tsp salt
-½ tsp black pepper
-¼ tsp oregano
-Big handful of fresh basil or 1 tsp dried
-Few shakes of red pepper flakes

To make:
Throw ingredients into your food processor and pulse til thick, creamy and ricotta-esque.

Thanks to SexyTofu for the recipe – pairing quality foods with excellent movies makes the Quest that much more enjoyable! (Virtual High Five!) Be sure to check her blog out, and I’ll catch you next time…whenever my lazy, sunburned, summer-loving ass pulls another post together! ADIOS, MUCHACHOS and thanks for stopping by!

I’m having one of those moments again where I liked a film, but am shaky on the write-y. I’m grasping for motivation to continue my quest to watch every single Best Picture winner possible, yet I’m struggling alongside simultaneous feelings of anxiety and contentment – content because I really did like 1929’s winner The Broadway Musical; anxiety because I still have miles and miles to go on this journey.

Is any other twenty-something in the world watching these films? Which then begs the question of whether or not anyone even gives a rat’s ass about my words here. I started this bad boy last September and I’m kinda jeepin’ about the whole thing. How long is this actually going to take!? I CAN’T HAVE ANYBODY FREAKIN’ OUT HERE!

Alright, enough whinin’! The Broadway Melody (1929 version, people!) was the second film to win Best Picture and the first to feature dialogue and music! (The more you know!) The movie’s about two sisters (Anita Page and Bessie Love) who hit the big city to try their luck out on Broadway. They’re small-town heroes and talents, but struggle to find their place in a larger pond. Older sister Hank’s entanglement with a song-and-dance man becomes even more complicated as he begins to fall for her younger sister Queenie. The film won Love a nomination for Best Actress, among other accolades, and her performance really reminded me a lot of Joyce DeWitt, as the two share a lot of the same quirks and demeanor.

This movie is from an ancient land, man! It’s over 80 years old! It reminds me of this professor I had once. He was super pretentious and douchey, but loved Art History and taught it very well, despite his overwhelming douchebaggery. He would always lecture that it was “art HISTORY….art HISTORY…” always putting the right emPHAsis on the right syllABle. Through the art, he urged us to stop and catch a glimpse of what life was like during the time of the art’s conception. He wanted us to peer into the minds of the artists. I find myself doing the same lately, only this time with writers, directors and actors. What were those roaring 20’s like and how did the vastly different social, political and economical landscapes affect this movie’s production?

Food for thought as I schlep forward.

Later today, I head back to the 1940’s for Gentleman’s Agreement with my pal Zoe from SexyTofu. Gregory Peck is in it. That dude was in The Omen. The Omen was cool.