I grew up watching movies. I was influenced by so many of them--from The Wizard of Oz to Gone With the Wind, Gigi, Singin' in the Rain, Cyrano de Bergerac, and even Anchors Aweigh when I was about five and watched with fascination as Gene Kelly danced with Jerry the Mouse. My interest only grew as I grew up and saw movies that were designed to do more than entertain. Looking back, I can think of many that literally changed my attitude toward life.
Ninotchka was my introduction to the phenomenon that was Greta Garbo. I knew about her, of course. She was the subject of jokes and parodies throughout the 1940s, following her iconization as the queen of cinema for being distant and inaccessible. I had heard she was great, but when I saw this one I was astonished at her acting ability. I was a student actor at that time, sincerely hoping for success onstage and in films, so when the local arts society offered a look at this movie I attended happily and with great anticipation. I was not disappointed; Garbo showed great ability in creating a real, amusing character, and, although later I was to see many of her earlier films in which she was more than beautiful--she was always luminous, graceful and somehow the essence of femininity. In Ninotcha she was bold, playing a cold Russian leader whose life is opened up on a trip to Paris. I had seen Melvyn Douglas before, but not as he was here, dashing, sexy, and totally smitten by the Soviet creature Miss Garbo portrayed. Her scene drinking her first sip of champagne was like a master class in acting, and her playful approach to the serious nature of her character was a delight. This one made me want to be that kind of an actress--determined, wise, and full of wondrous surprises.
Fast forward a few years, when I was a young wife living in New Orleans with a sweet young husband who was a full-fledged cineaste. Tommy was also from a small town in Alabama, and he had spent his life escaping from a smothering life by going to the movies. He'd graduated from Tulane, and wiled away many hours going to movie after movie. If a movie was bad he'd go to the theater next door to see if what they were offering would "get the bad taste out." He took me to La Strada, a tale that I suspect might make any young wife question her choice of mate, but one that made me weep openly and relentlessly. I had seen Lili years before, and Leslie Caron was my idea of an innocent attracted to the circus. I had identified with Lili--but Giulietta Massini as Gelsomina knocked me off my pins. Anthony Quinn, the heartless strongman who bought Gelsomina from her mother for $10 (or maybe it was ten lira, which would be about a dollar, I guess), denied her her humanity as she charmed his audiences and did his bidding. Richard Basehart was never better than in this part--the whimsical tightrope walker who tried to advise her. All this hit me very hard at the time and I've never stopped thinking about this movie. It colored my thinking about everything. I've seen the movie several times since and even went to a costume party as Gelsomina a few years ago--only to learn that few people had seen the movie or had any idea what my costume and makeup was.
The Seventh Seal was a movie I saw in the same time period. I have never seen it again, but it was unforgettable--stark and symbolic--and unlike all other movies I'd ever seen. I remember the chess game with DEATH, and the traveling circus (I do love to see a traveling circus in a movie). I have this one recorded and shall watch again when the mood arises. I remember it as dark, bleak, and beautiful--but challenging. I'm seldom in that mood these days.
Two marriages later I was still in my 30s, and a film called Annie Hall came along. I was dating the man I would marry next, and this romantic comedy elevated the genre, probably more than its star and creator Woody Allen ever realized. It was sophisticated, clever, full of topical jokes and tender emotions, and featured a young actress named Diane Keaton in a role she was born to play. She introduced a style of dress that many of us tried to emulate--but I couldn't quite pull it off--and she had an offhand approach to this part that was unique and the character she created was indelible. There was an element of mutual joy in the script. Woody and Diane were forever caught in time in the film, although their own love affair was in the past and they were just friends enjoying a romp when they made it. Its effect on me was to cement the love I had for my upcoming husband, even though it could have been deceptive. He and I both loved the movie, and there's no doubt the movie itself was a factor in our romance; however, as I was to learn, he was not really a fan of almost-all movies. I was.
In the 1990s, I had relocated to my hometown in Alabama, had a new best girl friend, and was reviving contacts with people from my past. The movie Passion Fish, a gentle heartbreaker, captured the sense of place, time and circumstances, and still resonates with me. I'm not sure it changed my life but it helped me examine what I was going through. Like Mary McDonnell in the film, I had once performed in soap operas, (but for me, only as an extra) and was retiring, in a way from the larger world, while confronting the ghosts that surrounded me. The McDonnell character had one of those impossible Southern double-first names, as I do, and she was cantankerous and profane, as I can sometimes be. She has lost the use of her legs in a NY taxi accident and is having to reevaluate her life when the wondrous Alfre Woodward comes in to help. In the complex story, McDonnell meets up with a man who, years ago, had a crush on her but was too shy to approach her. As played by David Strathairn, he warms her heart (and won mine completely). My new friend said, "Mary Lois, is it just me, or did he somehow get better looking?" and indeed he had by the time of the dream sequence. I won't reveal any more spoilers here; this is a John Sayles beauty that should be seen, and seen again. It validated so much of my life that had gone unexamined and touched my heart in a special way.
The documentary Searching for the Sugar Man was a film I saw about six years ago, once I had moved to my new digs in upstate New York, at the Rosendale Theatre. It was a powerful story about an extraordinary singer who lived like none other. It is breathtaking to watch--entertaining, educational, spiritual, and delightful in every way. One way it changed my life was that I reacted to it exactly like my friend John Wackman did, and we began a bond that will literally never die. Scroll down this blog to see who John was, if you don't know, and if you can get your hands on it, see the movie.
I was going to title this post "Movies That Changed My Life." But that would have required more space, more time, and more motivation that I have just now. Movies themselves change my life and I'm never sure I can see the ways or accept that it was a movie that did it. I wouldn't say every movie changes my life, but I experience some of them down to my toes and never forget them. These are a few examples.
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