Howard Hawks (1939)
I don’t have any kind of understanding of Hawks as an auteur but some of his most celebrated films leave me cold and I can’t easily explain why. I was bored by The Big Sleep and I walked out of this one. (Where I am interested in a Hawks film it tends to be for a reason – like Montgomery Clift in Red River – other than his direction.) Even I can see that the plane sequences in the Andes in Only Angels Have Wings are remarkable – more than remarkable for their time – but I don’t care what’s happening. (I’ve only a vague understanding of what that is and I lack the will to pay more attention to try and find out more). As for the fast witty dialogue (by Jules Furthman) and the Hollywood legends delivering it, I’m just staring at the screen, getting nothing back from it – except liking one or two of Jean Arthur’s comedy bits (though not her frustrated-in-love ones) and admiring Cary Grant when he was downplaying (which was by no means all the time). Angels supplied one of Rita Hayworth’s first big film roles and I found her as uncomfortable to watch here, because she’s such an awkward and inept actress, as I’ve found her in roles stretching over the next twenty years – from Gilda through to Pal Joey and Separate Tables. The cast also includes Richard Barthelmess, Sig Ruman, Thomas Mitchell and Noah Beery, Jr. The cinematographer was Joseph Walker and the editor Viola Lawrence. At the start I was trying to get into a position in my seat that meant that the head of the big man in front didn’t obscure the screen. Once I woke from my usual preliminary slumber, which I didn’t fight, I was almost hiding behind that head but it couldn’t shut out the noise of the plane engines. There was only half an hour to go when I exited but I thought it was right to do that in order to express some kind of reaction.
6 June 2013
