Wasted Postage: Reports from the Netflix Theater

The Third Man (1949)

The Third Man seems to be regarded as film noir by default only, as if it's simply the most convenient way to discuss the film. Of course it's always been a loose genre descriptor, and The Third Man fulfills plenty of the requirements — murder, intrigue, a mysterious woman and sharp, if not particularly hard-boiled dialogue. But the famous score, performed on a zither, tends to work against the cynical nature of the film, lightening the dark corners and shadows particular to the genre, often lending a more lighthearted feel, full of smirk and humor. The darkest, and most interesting element is the setting. Pulp novelist Holly Martins (played by Joseph Cotton) is drawn to post-war Vienna to meet a friend, Harry Lime, who promises work in the crumbled city. Vienna's bombed-out buildings are never too far off screen, lending an added weariness to the otherwise fast-paced mystery.

After the long flight in from the states, Holly arrives at Harry's apartment only to learn that his friend was struck and killed by a car the day before. The death was deemed an accident, but as soon as Holly starts asking questions, he learns of Harry's black-market entanglements and circle of bizarre friends who were present the day of the incident. Holly is now the main character in a suspense story seemingly ripped from one of his own adventure novels, and he intends to write the ending.

Allied-occupied Vienna is interesting for a reason beyond the bullet holes — it was divided into four regions following WW2 — United States, Soviet Union, United Kingdom and France, with all four bureaucracies and police departments butting heads and created even more difficulties as Holly tries to protect Harry's former lover, and crack the case. Orson Welles doesn't appear until just passed the midway mark, and does so with a wink and smile. His charismatic supporting role carries the film past the somewhat predictable twist, through a beautifully-staged climax in a massive sewer system and towards the inevitable conclusion. British director Carol Reed employs lot of off-angle and skewered shots, and the film is often incorrectly and casually attributed to Orson Welles. It has been ranked as the best British film of the 20th century, and it won some Oscars and the Grand Prix at the Cannes in 1949. I liked it a bit less than the hype, but it's good none-the-less. A-

Let's go see "The Hottie and the Nottie"!!!

Apparently film distributors don't think central Illinois folk are sophisticated enough to watch anything worth viewing.

For years I've wondered why none of the critic-lauded fare ever makes it to the local multiplexes. I always assumed the theater owners had at least some say, and plenty of poor taste. Thursday's Cue section of the Journal Star interviewed local theater owners and industry insiders about why "Milk," "The Wrestler," "Rachael Getting Married," "Revolutionary Road," "Frost/Nixon," and other Oscar fare have not yet run through Peoria's projectors. As it turns out, owners of the Rave and Willow Knowles really don't have a say in bringing decent cinema. It's common practice for distributors to slowly roll out the critic darlings in big cities, to garner buzz without spending money on advertising. One would expect that when the film goes into wide release, it would end up here. Not so. I eagerly anticipated "Synecdoche, New York," but as far as I know it never made it, even after going into wide release. According to Danielle Hatch's article, "It's up to when the distributors want to make a given film available to a given market."

It's not like these are esoteric and abstract noise-art projects. "Synecdoche" was written and directed by Andy Kaufman, writer of "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind," "Being John Malcovitch," and "Adaptation," some of the best films and inventive writing of the last 20 years, and all three have a pretty wide following.

The distributors are probably right not to waste the celluloid on unappreciative eyes. I attended one night of Peoria's annual Film Noir festival at the historic Apollo Theater. The ornately refurbished theater plays host to a week of classic noir from the genre's golden era of the '40s, to revisionist works from modern decades. My friend and I were two of only 10 people in the audience, despite the fact that the showing was free (with a suggested donation), and gourmet appetizers were provided by a local caterer free-of-charge. Notable speakers provided insight into the period and film before and after each double bill that week. The event was widely publicized in the arts section of the Journal, and columnist Steve Tarter puts the whole thing together. It's not like nobody knew about the damn thing, people just don't care about good film in small-sized cities. Maybe it's a result of years of conditioning provided by the culture barons living on the coasts. At least Peoria has an "art house" cinema, even if it does only show films sparingly, and rarely shows any new foreign or indie cinema.

What is showing in Peoria defines crass. Nine of the 17 movies currently in theaters locally received a 1.5 star-or-less rating from the AP film reviewer printed in the Journal. Five of the 17 received 2 stars. Only THREE of the 17 movies received a three star rating or better. Enjoy your night at the movies, fuckers.