The Sting - 4 Jacks

Guy Ritchie may have, for a while at least, been the crown prince of the comedy crime caper, but the real king remains George Roy Hill, the man who turned David Ward’s slick and snappy script for The Sting into one of cinema’s sassiest films. Hill and Ward structure the movie episodically, weaving together the components of the con into such a beautifully layered web that the viewer is hooked as easily as bad-guy Lonnegan (Robert Shaw).

With true economy of story-telling, Hill rattles from one scene to another, the action zipped along by Robert Redford’s young buck, Johnny Hooker, and his wily old mentor, Henry Gondorff (Paul Newman). Both men breathe sizzling charisma into their characters; these con men work against such nasty types that they’re almost morality Robin Hoods, albeit with their fingers in the coin purse. And that those fingers tap to a now-iconic ragtime soundtrack only adds to the feather-light comedy touch.Guy Ritchie may have, for a while at least, been the crown prince of the comedy crime caper, but the real king remains George Roy Hill, the man who turned David Ward’s slick and snappy script for The Sting into one of cinema’s sassiest films. Hill and Ward structure the movie episodically, weaving together the components of the con into such a beautifully layered web that the viewer is hooked as easily as bad-guy Lonnegan (Robert Shaw).

With true economy of story-telling, Hill rattles from one scene to another, the action zipped along by Robert Redford’s young buck, Johnny Hooker, and his wily old mentor, Henry Gondorff (Paul Newman). Both men breathe sizzling charisma into their characters; these con men work against such nasty types that they’re almost morality Robin Hoods, albeit with their fingers in the coin purse. And that those fingers tap to a now-iconic ragtime soundtrack only adds to the feather-light comedy touch.

Grade - A+

One of those instances where everything good about Hollywood just fell into one place at the right time, it's almost impossible not to get swept up in the vivaciousness of The Sting as a whole. Magnificent, timeless stuff.

Jaws - You're gonna need a bigger boat

"No". There's a word Steven Spielberg probably hasn't heard in a while. Back in 1974, though, it was a different story. Back in 1974, Steven Spielberg had yet to make Jaws. He'd seen the galley proofs of Peter Benchley's bestseller on producer David Brown's desk. "What's this about?" he remembers thinking, "a porno dentist?" Not quite. But although the transcript could hardly be described as high art, Spielberg was sold.

Having recently moved to Malibu, where he had taken to staring out to sea for hours at a time, the concept tapped into his psyche. As he himself says, "I read it and felt that I had been attacked. It terrified me, and I wanted to strike back." Zanuck and Brown turned him down nonetheless. Only when their first choice, Dick Richards (who had caused concern by continually referring to "the whale"), wavered did they call Spielberg back.

And although by this stage he had convinced himself the project wasn't for him, legend has it that on arriving at the producers' office to find them wearing the Jaws sweatshirts he'd had commissioned after that first fateful read (to convince them he was the man for the job) he rescinded. "We shamed him," Zanuck said, "into staying on." Whatever its genesis, Jaws was Spielberg's breakthrough. The first summer blockbuster, it was also the first to ever break the $100 million mark (worldwide it exceeded five times that) and single-handedly caused a downturn in the package holiday trade. "For years he just scared us," commented his sister Anne after an early screening. "Now he gets to scare the masses."

And didn't he just. The head popping out of the boat (re-shot from a different angle when preview audiences didn't jump enough), the moment the shark's head conies bursting through the surface, the first attack, by an unseen predator — our primal fears are tweaked incessantly. This last factor, the unseen element, is crucial. For despite a 27-year old Spielberg publicly asserting that, "I watch hundreds of old movies but I haven't learned that much from them," there was undoubtedly one lesson he took on board. And where better to study than the school of Alfred Hitchcock?

"A bomb is under the the table, and it explodes: that is surprise", the auteur famously observed. "A bomb is under the table, but it does not explode", that is suspense.

Spielberg's decision to follow suit, not unleashing his demon for over an hour — although there is the argument that endless technical difficulties with Bruce (the nickname, based on that of his attorney, he gave Robert Mattey's mechanical sharks) one, two and three contributed to the process — pays off handsomely.

Some say, however, that Jaws is essentially Duel 2. Certainly there are similarities (mirrored by Spielberg employing the same dinosaur sound effect for the deaths of truck then shark), but this later work thrives in the defter touches that pepper its perfect three-act chronology. The famous reverse zoom; Brody looking through the shark book; the confrontation between him and Mrs Kintner; the use of fences on land, in comparison with empty horizons at sea, to convey our protagonists' isolation; the use of the colour yellow (the lilo, the barrels, the torch) and the primary visual stimulus, to suggest impending danger.

If the cast also gels seamlessly, such harmony didn't come without a struggle. Zanuck wanted Charlton Heston as Brody ("What?" shrieked Spielberg. "Moses? You want Moses? Everybody'll know he'll win!") and Sterling Hayden as Quint. Spielberg's ideal for the role was Lee Marvin, and thought Jon Voight spot-on for Hooper. Benchley meanwhile (who, it has to be said, had been awkward throughout, having seen his three original drafts radically re-written), frankly, wanted shooting for his egotistical dream troika of Robert Redford, Paul Newman and Steve McQueen.

And if the equally problematic Dreyfuss, who complained constantly that he'd, "rather watch this movie than shoot it," took some convincing, it's unthinkable that the final result — including cameos from Spielberg (the voice on Quint's radio) and Benchley (a reporter), as well as sublime turns from Gary and Hamilton in support — could have been any more masterful. Add to that the timeless script, by Howard Sackler, Carl Gottlieb and John Milius (said to be largely responsible for the Indianapolis monologue, though Shaw's input is acknowledged); John Williams' score (even though Spielberg laughed on first hearing it), and the equation is complete.

An equation all the more impressive considering that both bigger budgets and time frames were needed in the wake of a disastrous shoot, nicknamed "Flaws" by its crew, in Martha's Vineyard.

Zanuck and Brown's suggestion of, "We'll get a trained one!" hardly helped solve the shark issues, Gottlieb and Spielberg were nearly killed in seafaring accidents and a sinking Orca had expensive consequences, despite the director's reputed order to: "Fuck the actors! Save the sound department!" Rendering Spielberg's vow on wrapping what arguably remains his finest moment, perhaps not altogether surprising. "My next picture will be on dry land," he said solemnly. "There won't even be a bathroom scene."

Grade - A+

Rightly lauded, Jaws has lost none of its power to terrify. A film of immense, visceral and psychological power.

The Godfather - What's the fuss?

Well this is it, the big one. This is one of the most-praised films in history, so I’ll just hit the highlights. It won Oscars for best picture, actor (Marlon Brando), and adapted screenplay, and was also nominated for THREE best supporting actor awards (James Caan, Robert Duvall, and Al Pacino), as well as director, editing, costume design, sound, and musical score. It rivals Citizen Kane for the most frequent appearances on “best movies of all time” lists. When the American Film Institute compiled its list in 1998, The Godfather ranked third, after Citizen Kane and Casablanca; on the 2007 revised list, it moved up to second place. Entertainment Weekly and Empire magazine both declared it the greatest film of all time.

In the late 1940s and early 1950s, the head of a powerful New York crime syndicate (Marlon Brando) sees one of his sons (Al Pacino) gradually rise to the challenge of taking over the family business — a destiny in which the son is not initially interested. Also: gunshots, dead fish, horse heads, cannoli, etc.

What did this influence you may ask? Well first of all, a thousand hack comedians whose impression of Marlon Brando is really an impression of Vito Corleone. Along those same superficial lines, we have bits of dialogue that have been referenced countless times: “I’m going to make him an offer he can’t refuse.” “Leave the gun, take the cannoli.” “Luca Brasi sleeps with the fishes.” “Don’t ever take sides with anyone against the family.” And who can forget the unequivocal message sent by a severed horse’s head?

The film’s enormous box-office success had the usual effect, i.e., suddenly everybody wanted to make a movie about organized crime. Coppola got to write his own ticket; Brando was cool again; Pacino’s career took off. Real-life gangsters reportedly loved the movie, and by some accounts altered their speech and mannerisms to imitate it. What had been intended as an imitation of a real subculture wound up influencing that subculture.

Every movie about organized crime made since The Godfather has been compared to it, and with good reason: it’s impossible to believe that any director working in the genre since 1972 hasn’t seen The Godfather. The smart films have acknowledged the inspiration rather than try to fight against it. HBO’s seminal series The Sopranos is an obvious descendant, and its characters openly declare their affection for the Godfather films.

The Mafia is a common element in pop culture now, but that wasn’t the case in 1972. Most of what we “know” about the Mafia comes from The Godfather, the same way most of our Santa Claus lore comes from “‘Twas the Night Before Christmas.”

You must think I love this movie. However, I have a secret shame as a film enthusiast and writer: I’ve never been able to get into The Godfather as much as everyone else. I just can’t do it. I just start watching it and I immediately feel an overwhelming sense of total apathy for what is going on. There’s a wedding and some guys in suits and Marlon Brando’s mumbling and Al Pacino is brooding and everyone is breaking the law and there’s a horse head and people kill each other and eventually Diane Keaton’s character becomes interesting and they go to the mattresses and Marlon Brando has a cat and then in the third movie there are flashbacks to when the family immigrated to America and Sofia Coppola ruins everything. I don’t know. Did I miss anything?

Obviously, I’m missing something major because The Godfather is the cornerstone of American cinema. It’s constantly referenced in film, TV, books, and in everyday life. I know that the first one is great, the second one is just as good, and the third one is just there.  And I’ve seen enough of the films and know enough pop culture references to stay afloat in most conversations. I also understand how beautifully the film is shot and how exquisite the performances are. This is a great film. However, there is still always an awkward moment when people who are my peers bring up one of the Godfather and I have to say, “Ugh, I’ve never been able to get into The Godfather.” And then everyone hates me.

Let me be clear: I’m not saying The Godfather suck. Rather, I am admitting on the Internet that I suck because I’ve never found a way in to The Godfather.

I think my biggest issue with The Godfather was that I was too into other movies when I first tried to watch it. I was a precocious young adult who loved to watch Sci-Fi films, novel adaptations, and Marvel Movies. So, when my Dad showed me The Godfather, I decided that this would be my big chance to see what all the fuss was about. Let me remind you that I was just starting Sixth Form at school. Think of the teen girls in your life — would they go crazy for The Godfather? Naturally, I found the film tedious to watch and I didn’t think of putting closed captions on so I could decipher what was going on. So, after about 30 minutes, I began to lose interest.

The next time I tried to watch The Godfather, I was in Sixth Form. I assumed that now I would be able to understand the nuance. I wasn’t. Every time I’ve tried to watch the film since then, I’ve been wary because I remembered how bored I was the first two times I tried. And I have not liked it. I’ve developed an emotional callus against these films.

In Nora Ephron’s You’ve Got Mail — a film that I like a lot even though I know it’s nowhere close to being the critical achievement of The Godfather— Kathleen Kelly (Meg Ryan) suggests that men are obsessed with The Godfather and that its appeal is a mystery to women:

It’s an amusing idea, and one that offers me some sort of excuse, but I reject Nora Ephron’s theory that it’s a gendered thing. I know a lot of women who love The Godfather, so it’s not about men versus women. I would instead argue that it’s a matter of sheer taste.

We have to acknowledge that there is a gap between what is empirically excellent and what tugs on our heartstrings. This is why people go bananas for poorly written drivel like Fifty Shades of Grey but will avoid delving into James Joyce. And there comes a moment in one’s life when you realize that just because you like something, it doesn’t mean it’s good, and just because something’s good, that doesn’t mean that you will like it. For me, this can be boiled down to my disconnection with The Godfather. It’s my Godfather gap. And I think we all have our own Godfather gap. There’s that one work of art in which you can recognize greatness, but you still want nothing to do with it.

That said, I will once more try to watch The Godfather in its entirety and I will try my best to like it. If nothing else, I’m tired of having to account for taste.

Grade - B

This may well be controversial, but in my eyes The Godfather eats it for breakfast. The Godfather falls in to the good rather than great category for me, despite me having seen it from start to finish three or four times.