Testament of Orpheus (1960)
In the final film installment of Jean Cocteau’s Orphic trilogy, he encounters characters from his previous films and appears before a tribunal to defend his life and art.
Though not as well-known as later French filmmakers, Jean Luc Godard or Francois Truffaut, Cocteau’s films introduced avant-garde sensibilities and philosophical underpinnings into cinemas. There had been earlier attempts by the dadaists and the surrealists, but Cocteau was the most successful at combining them with a format palatable to moviegoers. His films are artistic essays, but they work as films because Cocteau respected the medium on its terms. Others made surreal films, Cocteau made films which included surreal and philosophical elements.
In a career spanning both World Wars, he cast a shadow over the artistic and intellectual life of France for nearly half a century. His circle of friends included Edith Piaf, Coco Chanel, Marlene Dietrich, Pablo Picasso, and Yul Brunner. In addition to directing films, he wrote novels, poetry, and librettos for Stravinsky operas.
A towering figure in the development of film, you can see his influence in the films of Ingmar Bergman, Woody Allen, and Christopher Nolan. He deserves more widespread recognition.
Judgment at Nuremberg (1961)
Inspired by the Judges’ Trial, this movie explores the culpability of every day German citizens in Nazi atrocities. Were the judges who carried out sentences according to Nazi law wrong to do so?
Chief Judge Dan Haywood (Spencer Tracy) is committed to a fair trial, despite pressure by the US government to go easy on the Germans so they would support US policies in the Cold War.
World-renowned jurist Dr. Ernst Janning (Burt Lancaster) is the primary defendant in this particular tribunal. Lancaster shrewdly plays him as a victim, and manages to make a man who carried out Nazi orders sympathetic.
Frau Bertolt (Marlene Dietrich), a widow of a German general executed by the Allies, provides a context for understanding how Germans allowed the Nazis such power.
Irene Hoffman (Judy Garland) is a reluctant witness torn between loyalty to her native country, a sense of what is right, and fear of retaliation for her testimony. Garland is excellent and proves she was more than a powerful voice.
Rudolph Peterson (Montgomery Clift) was forcibly sterilized by the Nazis. Clift’s life was cut short, but he, alongside Marlon Brando and James Dean popularized the naturalistic approach to acting still en vogue today.
The highlight of the film is Maximilian Schell as German defense attorney Hans Rolfe. His impassioned and logical pleas justifying leniency for the German judges, paint a picture of a helpless situation: the Germans were downtrodden after WWI, eugenics were widely practiced, other countries had given legitimacy to the Nazis. Schell was rewarded with an Oscar for his astounding performance which makes us momentarily believe Nazi collaborators were innocent victims.
The cast also includes a pre-Star Trek William Shatner and Werner Klemperer, who would achieve greater fame playing a decidedly different type of Nazi.
The movie boldly uses actual footage from the Russian liberation of concentration camps.
When you realize those are the remains of actual victims of Nazi atrocities, it makes every other Holocaust film seem trite.
After posing legitimate questions about the responsibility of Germans for the actions of their government, the film ends with a powerful reminder of the duty each of us has to ensure justice is carried out. Janning claims he never intended innocents to be slaughtered he shouldn’t be held accountable, Haywood retorts, “Herr Janning, it came to that the first time you sentenced a man to death you knew to be innocent.” Failure to do what you know to be right is a tacit endorsement of what you know to be wrong.
The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance (1962)
When a local reporter asks US Senator Ransom Stoddard (Jimmy Stewart) why he traveled across the country to attend the funeral of rancher Tom Doniphon (John Wayne), Stoddard tells the story of when he first moved to Shinbone as an idealistic attorney and ran afoul of outlaw Liberty Valance (Lee Marvin). Despite the protests of local ranchers led by Doniphon, the pacifist Stoddard was unwilling to use violence to combat Valance and his gang.
In addition to their opposing worldviews, Stoddard and Doniphon pursued the affections of the same girl, Hallie (Vera Miles).
After Stoddard confronted and killed Valance in a shootout, the fame which accompanied killing such a notorious outlaw propelled him to a storied political career, but, in reality, Doniphon killed Valance to protect Stoddard, because he knew Hallie loved him.
Despite their lengthy and iconic careers, this was the first film to feature both John Wayne and Jimmy Stewart.
The popular image of John Wayne is a larger than life hero, but in many of his most beloved films such as Red River (1948) and The Searchers (1956), Wayne played a corrupt or semi-corrupt pragmatist motivated by self-interest.
Jimmy Stewart’s image has likewise been whitewashed by nostalgia. We think of him as wholesome and clean-cut, and while this is certainly true in Mr. Smith Goes to Washington (1939) and It’s a Wonderful Life (1946), his later work in The Greatest Show on Earth (1952), Rear Window (1954), Vertigo (1958), and The Anatomy of a Murder (1960) was much more complex and ambiguous.
In addition to Wayne and Stewart, the film features a bevy of character actors famous for their work in westerns, including Andy Devine, Woody Strode, Strother Martin, and Lee van Cleef.
Ironically, one of the chief twentieth century progenitors of the mythology of the American West, John Ford, directed one of the first and best deconstructions of popular misconceptions of the era. Without this movie, later revisionist Westerns such as Bonnie and Clyde (1967), The Wild Bunch (1969) or Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (1969) wouldn’t exist.
Winter Light (1963)
Unable to reconcile the atrocities he witnessed during the Spanish Civil War with the idea of a loving God, pastor Tomas Ericsson’s faith has become a perfunctory show; a job, not a calling.
Tomas must deal with the conflicted emotions of his former lover Marta and the suicide of his parishioner Jonas (Bergman regular Max von Sydow) who was terrified after he learned China had developed an atomic bomb.
The movie offers a challenging, pessimistic view of traditional Christian morality, but ends with a glimmer of hope. Tomas refuses to cancel his afternoon service despite only one person showing up, suggesting even a tiny amount of faith deserves our respect and attention.
The second part of Ingmar Bergman’s spiritual trilogy beautifully explores unanswerable questions and the inner workings of the soul.
My Fair Lady (1964)
To test his theory that speech patterns are one of the primary drivers of success, phonetics professor Henry Higgins (Rex Harrison) trains flower seller Eliza Doolittle (Audrey Hepburn).
His experiment is ultimately successful: Eliza passes as a genuine member of upper crust society. However, her new position leads to unhappiness and frustration. Meanwhile, Henry develops feelings for the unpredictable Eliza.
There’s a hilarious subplot involving Eliza’s unscrupulous father, Alfred, who’s taught morals and regrets the responsibility it instills in him.
Based on Pygmalion, the 1913 play by George Bernard Shaw, the film endorses antiquated viewpoints of gender roles, but the music is fun, energetic, and hummable and the central idea of control over one’s fate is powerful. Combined this with the luminescent presence of Hepburn, the caddish charm of Harrison, and the physical hilarity of Holloway and it more than covers any flaws.
The original 1956 Broadway production featured Harrison and then unknown Julie Andrews in the title role. Harrison was asked to revise his role, while Andrews was passed over for a more reliable box office draw. She would, however, be vindicated: winning the Best Actress Oscar for her work in Mary Poppins.
From the scene at Ascot Racecourse, to the tutoring sessions, to Alfred’s inspired rendition of “Get Me to the Church on Time,” to the irresistible joy of “I Could Have Danced All Night,” fifty years later, this film still stands as one of “best and most unlikely of musicals.”
A Thousand Clowns (1965)
Murray Burns (Jason Robards), an unemployed writer raising the son of his deceased sister, is a delightful iconoclast who believes people identity with their jobs to distract them from more important questions.
This kinetic movie maintains the energy of the zaniest scenes of the Marx Bothers career through an entire film.
Robards is hysterical; it’s a shame he spent so much of his career in serious theater, particularly the works of sourpuss Eugene O’Neill.
Martin Balsam is more famous for being pushed down a flight of stairs by Norman Bates, but he won an Oscar for his work as Arnold, Burns’s more pragmatic brother. The dialogue between the pair is a master class in the real world effects of unchecked idealism.
No one wants to work. We’d all rather pursue things which interest us, but as Arnold Burns reminds us, if everyone followed this philosophy, there’d be a lot of hungry people.
The Hawks and the Sparrows (1966)
Roaming the Italian countryside, Toto and his son Ninetto meet a talking crow who tells them the story of two Franciscan friars (played by the same actors) commissioned by St Francis to preach the Gospel to the hawks and sparrows.
As Toto and Ninetto continue their journey, they encounter a variety of characters, primarily the poor and displaced.
Pasolini is one of the most overtly spiritual directors. His films work out the ramifications of intellectual assent to religious and theological ideas.
Here, he wisely casts the famed Italian comedian Toto in the lead role. I’m not overly familiar with Toto’s work, but he appears to be similarly placed to Chaplin in the Italian canon.
Pasolini uses his audience’s familiarity with Toto to disarm them and suck them into his meditation on the meaning of the gospel.
Some of Pasolini’s work is a bridge too far for me (120 days of Sodom), but when he tones it back, I find him to be a thoughtful, engaging voice, with a deep sense of right and wrong and an appreciation for the radical message of Christ.
While I don’t always agree with his politics, I admire Pasolini’s audacity in trying to bridge the gap between socialism and Christianity.
The Whisperers (1967)
After her husband abandoned her, elderly Margaret Ross (Edith Evans) lives alone and relies on government assistance to survive. When her criminal son hides stolen money in her house, Margaret finds it and briefly experiences a new, more hopeful life. Sadly, this ony leads to more heartbreak.
This is a beautiful and sobering film about the way we treat the elderly and the inherent cruelty of valuing people for what they can provide us with and not for who they are.
The Lion in Winter (1968)
During the Christmas of 1183, Henry II (Peter O’Toole) contemplates the plans for succession after he dies. He wants his youngest son, John, to inherit the throne, while his wife, Eleanor of Aquitaine (Katharine Hepburn) wants their oldest son, Richard (Anthony Hopkins) to be the next King of England.
Henry makes no attempt to hide his numerous infidelities or his disdain for Eleanor, while she uses her previous position as wife of the King of France to antagonize him.
The film is noteworthy for its surprisingly modern treatment of Richard’s homosexuality.
Watch this, then watch Cliff Robertson’s Academy Award winning performance in Charly (1968), and you realize the extent of the travesty which denied O’Toole a competitive Oscar despite a record eight nominations.
Despite her initial success, by the end of the 1930s, Katharine Hepburn was box office poison. However, with this film she won her second consecutive Oscar and third overall, cementing her reputation as one of the best actresses of all time.
This brilliant film about the intersection of politics and personal relationships should be viewed along Becket (1964). In the earlier film, Peter O’ Toole plays a young Henry II as he creates a legacy, while in this film, he’s ensuring this legacy is preserved.
Army of Shadows (1969)
With this unsympathetic view of the French resistance during World War II, Jean-Pierre Melville creates a drama as morally ambiguous as 24, but not nearly as outrageous.
To those in the French Resistance, secrets were the lifeblood of the cause; the leaders of the movement routinely killed those suspected of betrayal with little regard for the legitimacy of the accusation. The highest moral imperative was to keep France from falling completely under the control of the Nazis. Everything else: allegiances, morality, and friendship was subservient.
The movie glorifies the men who risked, and often lost, their lives to protect France from Nazism, but refuses to whitewash their actions. The movie, like the movement, has already decided their actions were justified and doesn’t feel the need to persuade anyone.
This sort of moral complicity has recently been explored in American television shows, but while we enjoyed living vicariously through the misdeeds of Tony Soprano, Vic Mackey, and Walter White, we never forgot they were bad people.
In this movie, it’s the good guys who have little regard for the lives of their friends and compatriots. It’s uncomfortable, but speaks important truths: we believe in doing right and living by a strict moral code in theory, but in practice this is often more difficult than it seems, and we’re more lenient than we want to believe.