Legally Blonde

2001 Director: Robert Luketic

Starring: Reese Witherspoon, Luke Wilson, Matthew Davis, Jennifer Coolidge

On this perfect day, there’s something absolutely wonderful about “Legally Blonde.” One reason for this is its rejection of the “dumb blonde” stereotype found in films for decades. Actresses such as Jayne Mansfield and Marilyn Monroe often starred as gorgeous, sexually available platinum blondes, ripe for exploitation and naive enough not to know realize it. They were part of the patriarchal fantasy of passive, receptive females who happily did men’s bidding, often in comical storylines.1 The refusal of the cliché in this film is welcome.

In this romcom, Elle Woods (Witherspoon) is a privileged sorority girl with few worries other than manicures and her chihuahua named Bruiser. She prepares for what she believes is her engagement dinner with her handsome boyfriend, Warner Huntington III (Davis), but he has a surprise for her. He dumps her because his family expects him to go to Harvard, study law, and become a senator. Warner needs a “serious” girlfriend if he is to achieve these goals. Elle is devastated.

As Elle considers her situation, she believes the best way to win him back is to join him at Harvard. She speaks to a college advisor (Allyce Beasley), who cautions her to have backup options, but Elle says she doesn’t need them. With perfect grades, she studies the LSATs, applies and, to everyone’s surprise, she’s accepted. Her tremendous optimism is infectious in the film, in spite of the fact that few take her seriously, including Warren and her parents.

Upon arrival at the university, Elle finds a cold reception in the classroom when Professor Stromwell (Holland Taylor), removes her from the classroom for not knowing the correct answer to her question. A kindly soul (Wilson) helps her learn the ropes around campus. She also sees that Warren is already engaged to a frosty brunette (Selma Blair). And she slowly realizes that Warren really is unavailable to her. Once again, her idealism and good humor win the day: she discovers that she should be at law school for herself and not for him. She works hard and her talent is quickly recognized. The following semester she lands one of the highly coveted internships for Professor Callahan (Victor Garber) and is allowed to work on a high-profile murder case with his team.

Elle views things differently than the others and her problem-solving techniques become an asset. Moreover, her approach to certain situations is commendable. For instance, she befriends a despondent middle-aged manicurist (Coolidge), who confesses that her sleazy trailer-park boyfriend kicked her out for someone else and kept her dog. It’s impressive that Elle doesn’t look down on her; she helps her get her dog back.

The film was a hit with audiences and critics when it came out, which paved the way for two sequels. Its message of empowerment and perseverance in tough times is uplifting and is delivered with quirky fun and flair. This is summed up nicely in the movie poster: Elle, clad in bright pink, advances smiling toward her academic future, with lawbooks in hand and leading Bruiser on a leash; she is optimistic about her adventure. In the background, some of her detractors wince and frown in her direction, but she is undeterred by them. It’s an inspiring story.

Copyright © 2026 by Rosi Prieto, Ph.D.

All Rights Reserved

In 1953, “Roman Holiday,” featuring Gregory Peck and Audrey Hepburn (in her first starring role), made headlines. In this charming comedy-romance, Crown Princess Ann (Hepburn) is on a state visit to Rome. In spite of her lofty title, she holds no power. She is a mere figurehead traveling for public relations with tight schedules and no autonomy.1

No one lets Princess Ann have any fun; it’s all too much work for the adolescent and she becomes very agitated that evening. After her doctor administers a sedative, she escapes the embassy to explore the city. She lies sleepily on a bench that night, as Joe Bradley (Peck), an American reporter, sees her and believes she is drunk. He fails to recognize her but feels sorry for her and takes her to his apartment to sleep it off.

Joe seems a constant liar. As a reporter, he was supposed to cover Ann’s visit but he overslept the next day. He arrives at work and tells his boss that he was there, unaware that the interview was cancelled because she is missing. Seeing her picture in the paper, he suddenly realizes this celebrity is back at his apartment. Joe takes advantage of his luck: he figures he can get an exclusive interview by giving her the city tour she wanted—and asks his photographer friend, Irving (Albert), to take pictures of her secretly with his lighter/camera.

On the tour, Joe takes Ann to the Church of S. Maria in Cosmedin’s portal, where the ancient Roman sculpture known as La Bocca della Verità (The Mouth of Truth), is located. He tells a naïve Ann: “The Mouth of Truth: legend is that if you give it a lie and put your hand in there, it will be bitten off.” He asks her to try it and she does so, hesitantly. She then tells him to do the same. In this famous scene, Joe puts his hand in then pretends it’s been bitten off by hiding it in his sleeve. Ann is initially horrified, unaware he is playing a trick on her.2

The rom-com “Only You” (1994) contains a scene based on “Roman Holiday.” As a child, Faith Corvatch (Tomei), plays on an Ouija board with her brother, who tells her that a certain Damon Bradley is her destiny. In time, a bribed fortune teller “confirms” this lie for Faith (who is aptly named in the film for her blind trust and belief in what she has been told). She grows to adulthood and—although engaged—travels to Rome to find this man. While there, she stumbles upon Peter Wright (Downey), who falls instantly in love with her and tells her many untruths, including that he is Damon Bradley, to win her over. Peter is even more of a liar than Joe.3

These two films merit some scrutiny, particularly in regards to the scenes with the enigmatic sculpture and the issue of dishonesty. The Bocca della Verità depicts a shaggy, bearded visage and represents the titan god Oceanus (Ocean). It is carved from Phrygian marble, the most coveted luxury stone of the early Roman Empire. In antiquity, this work served as a large drain cover, most likely on the floor of a round temple with an oculus (circular opening) on its dome, dissipating any rainfall and returning it to the sea. Its exact original location, however, is elusive. As noted above, today it is found at the portico of the Church of S. Maria in Cosmedin and, since at least the year 1120, it leaned against this building’s façade.4

The enormous face of the Bocca has gaping eyes and lips. Its expression is ominous, as if the god—in a trance-like state—is about to speak, divulging some terrible truth or prediction. Its original location was likely near the Ara Maxima in the Forum Boarium (the Great Altar in the ancient cattle market) in Rome, where oaths were taken and agreements were made by those wishing to transact business.5

At this point, the issue of taking an oath in Ancient Rome is worth exploring. An oath was a ritual act. It expressed a particular intention towards others, often as a promise for the future. An oath (or sacramentum) of fidelity was taken upon marriage. It was also often required of religious and government leaders and soldiers.6 In the painting, The Oath of the Horatii (above), we see this rite taking place. According to Roman legend, the leaders of the warring cities of Rome and Alba decided to resolve their differences in a series of skirmishes by three representatives from each side, rather than through war. The three Horatius brothers (at left) swear on their swords held aloft by their father to win or die for Rome. In the dramatic painting, the men stand before a temple and vow to sacrifice themselves as the father summons a blessing from the gods.7 In returning to the Bocca della Verità, the notion of telling the truth in front of it (or at least in the precinct), might be a relic of such vows.8 The severity of the Bocca‘s countenance suggests its disposition to judge and eliminate liars.

If this is true, the issue of Joe and Peter’s frequent lies in their respective films is a curious one. We might question their true intentions toward Ann and Faith. Can the women trust them? This is difficult to know. Peter, in particular, seems most credible because of his earnest and repeated efforts in winning Faith’s heart; however, some people seem honest but are not. Since these films are romantic comedies, and not real life, we might be inclined to believe Joe and Peter’s sincerity, especially because the Mouth of Truth did not bite their hands off.

Copyright © 2026 by Rosi Prieto, Ph.D.

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Airplane II: The Sequel

1982 Director: Ken Finkleman

Starring: Robert Hayes, Julie Haggerty, Lloyd Bridges, Chad Everett, Peter Graves

“Airplane II” is perhaps even more ludicrous than its predecessor. In this comedy, set sometime in the future, approval for a commercial lunar shuttle is rushed for its maiden voyage to the colonized moon. Lacking government approval because the shuttle failed to meet safety requirements, its directorial board conceals this information from the public so as to keep its launch on schedule.

Another problem is that when Ted Striker (Hayes) crashed a test flight for the mission, he suffered a mental breakdown and was institutionalized at the Ronald Reagan Hospital for the Mentally Ill.1 Striker warned the board that the shuttle was unsafe. His warnings not only went unheeded but were also buried. When he finds out about its impending flight, he escapes the institution, determined to save the passengers, including his former love, Elaine Dickinson (Haggerty), who is the shuttle’s computer officer. Compounding Striker’s credibility issue is the sham trial he received after losing his squadron over “Macho Grande” during the war and suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder: he was blamed for everything. This comedy was less than well-received by critics. This is unfortunate, I believe, because of the film’s pointed message: authority figures sometimes hide the truth in order to fulfill their agenda.

An example of this is evident in the movie’s dialog, particularly in the double-speak throughout, such as during Striker’s trial. In one scene, a prosecutor (John Larch) interrogates a witness (Louis Giambalvo) about Striker’s “incompetency” over Macho Grande. The confusion it causes is actually hilarious, but it speaks of twisting people’s words in an official setting.

Witness: I flew with Striker during the war. I’ll never forget the night we bombed Macho Grande. Striker was the squadron leader. He brought us in real low. But he couldn’t handle it.

Prosecutor: Buddy couldn’t handle it. Was Buddy one of your crew?

Witness: Right. Buddy was the bombardier. But it was Striker who couldn’t handle it. And he went to pieces.

Prosecutor: Andy went to pieces?

Witness: No! Andy was the navigator. He was alright. Buddy went to pieces. It was awful, how he came unglued!

Prosecutor: Howie came unglued?

Witness: Oh, no! Howie was a rock, the best tail-gunner in the outfit! Buddy came unglued!

Prosecutor: And he bailed out?

Witness: No! Andy hung tough! Buddy bailed out. How we survived was a miracle.

Prosecutor: Then Howie survived?

Witness: No. Afraid not. We lost Howie the next day.

Prosecutor: Over Macho Grande?

Witness: No. I don’t think I’ll ever get over Macho Grande. Those wounds run pretty deep.2

Clearly, whatever happened at Macho Grande was terrible. And Commander Buck Murdock (William Shatner), who flew with Striker on that mission, also harbors ill will towards him. Murdock, who now commands the Alpha Beta Lunar Base, agrees to help him land the shuttle when its computer malfunctions. I appreciate Shatner’s appearance in the film. His legacy as Captain Kirk in the original “Star Trek” series makes him symbolic of space travel in general and of being a good decision-maker under fire. Here, he pokes fun at himself and his legacy. The confusing double-speak is present here, too.

Comdr. Murdock: Who’s in control of that bucket, Lieutenant?

Lt. Pervis: A guy by the name of Ted Striker, Sir.

Comdr. Murdock: Ted Striker. . . .

Lt. Pervis: Do you know him, Sir?

Comdr. Murdock: Never heard of him. That’s not exactly true. We were like brothers. We flew together during the war. We were close; we were close.

Lt. Pervis: Until, Sir?

Comdr. Murdock: Until that day over Macho Grande.

Lt. Pervis: Over Macho Grande, Sir?

Comdr. Murdock: I’m afraid I’ll never get over Macho Grande.3

Rosi: I won’t either.

Copyright © 2026 by Rosi Prieto, Ph.D.

All Rights Reserved

The Artist

2011 Director: Michel Hazanavicius

Starring: Jean Dujardin, Bérénice Bejo, James Cromwell, John Goodman

“Speak!” “Speak!” Some horrific device resembling earphones shoots electrical currents to George Valentin’s ears—he is being tortured by mad scientists. One of them turns up the voltage until George faints and military guards then drag him to an isolation cell. But this is a silent picture! How can he possibly speak? It’s 1927 and George (Dujardin) is at the height of his game. Everyone loves his movies and he is a great celebrity. The issue of speech is an important one in this film because, as we soon realize, the “talkies” are coming and George is reluctant to change. His resistance is reminiscent of Norma Desmond’s (Gloria Swanson) in “Sunset Boulevard” (1950): another silent film star unwilling to adapt.1 Why mess with success? What if the public is wrong? And when faced with this concept, arrogant Norma has a great line: “I am big. It’s the pictures that got small.” But time marches on in spite of what any of us would prefer.

And it certainly does. And Peppy (Bejo), the young beauty George meets among the crowds at one of his film premieres, is someone who is definitely willing to change with the times. Peppy was just a fan, then an extra, then a dancer who eventually gets lines, and then she rises to stardom. Both work for Kinograph Studios and the studio boss (Goodman) tells George that talkies are the future, but he rejects this. George leaves Kinograph to write, produce, direct, and star in another silent film that becomes a flop as audiences embrace sound in the movies, and particularly those starring Peppy. George is in a downward spiral as he loses his wife and even his fortune in the Crash of 1929. He is on a great losing streak. But Peppy, who always admired him, comes to his rescue. Her efforts recall Vicky’s (Judy Garland) in “A Star is Born” (1954), although Peppy is more successful.2

Life sometimes delivers a great blow when we least expect it. And “The Artist” makes us aware of this fact in clever ways. In a brilliant scene, after rudely mocking an early talkie, George hears noises (as does the viewer) all around him, apparently for the first time: glasses clinking, traffic in the street, and objects thudding, but he himself cannot make a sound. He has no voice. He is silenced. And the worst part is that he did it to himself by refusing to embrace the future. But other passages give us this message too; near the beginning of the film, a sign backstage tells actors to be silent, and they all comply. And after he screens his old films at home, his own reflected shadow walks away from him in a bittersweet moment.

“The Artist” also reflects aspects of the silent film era with great visual imagery (in black and white, of course). The story unfolds mainly through title cards3 that provide the characters’ dialogue and expressive gestures. For instance, a star-struck Peppy charmingly steals an embrace from George’s coat, as if it were actually him. And Bejo as the flirty, cheerful ingenue is adorable. Dujardin as George often wears an infectious smile that dazzles the viewer, but his face is heartbreaking when his luck changes. The lavish Art-Deco sets reflect films of the period accurately.

Certainly, this film cautions against clinging to old ideas and foolish pride. We find that sometimes we must change our mind just to survive. Writer/director Hazanavicius challenges the notion that an artist does not compromise his vision or works in isolation (à la van Gogh), rejecting advice, particularly in filmmaking, which is a cooperative enterprise. Another important lesson in this film is that George is lucky that he has at least three true friends who believe in him: Peppy, Conrad the Chauffeur (Cromwell), and his faithful dog. We should all have friends like this.

Copyright © 2026 by Rosi Prieto, Ph.D.

All Rights Reserved

Only Murders in the Building

2021, Season 1, Episode 8 Director: Cherien Dabis

Starring: Steve Martin, Martin Short, Selena Gomez

Murder mysteries have been an important, engaging genre in film and television for many decades. Notable, fictional sleuths include Sam Spade, Philip Marlowe, and Frank Columbo; two of these are hard-boiled detectives; the third is an unassuming and unlikely hero.1 In addition, we often encounter dilettante investigators that brilliantly outwit seasoned detectives and crack difficult whodunnits. Examples are Jessica Fletcher, Nick and Nora Charles, and Veronica Mars.2 In “Only Murders in the Building,” a mystery comedy-drama miniseries, Charles-Haden Savage (Martin), Oliver Putnam (Short), and Mabel Mora (Gomez) are three improbable amateur sleuths who connect over their desire to solve a homicide.

The trio lives at the Arconia,3 a large, elegant apartment building in Manhattan’s Upper West Side. Charles and Oliver are aging show-business has-beens, both seeking to be admired and remembered for their minor accomplishments in TV and the theater. Mabel is a millennial artist-slacker, who needs to get her life together.

In the first season of the series, a tenant, Tim Kono (Julian Cihi) is discovered dead in his apartment. Charles, Oliver, and Mabel become friends and bond over the unfortunate circumstance. When NYPD Detective Donna Williams (Da’Vine Joy Randolph) closes the case, ruling it a suicide, the trio doubts the rushed, official pronouncement. They decide to examine the many clues of his demise and believe that Tim was murdered. They then work together to unravel the crime and discuss their findings in their eponymous podcast, “Only Murders in the Building.”

In episode 8, entitled “Fan Fiction,” the podcast is a success and groupies start gathering in front of the Arconia, awaiting a new episode. They sit at the building’s entrance and wave signs, “Who killed Tim Kono?” and “Oh no, Kono!” They also speculate as to who the murderer might be and begin to idolize the three new celebrities. Many of the tenants are certainly suspicious, and sorting through them is a big job for the trio. In fact, it is too big and they ask their fans for assistance.

Two possible suspects are residents Teddy Dimas (Nathan Lane4) and his son, Theo (James Caverly). Teddy is a successful entrepreneur; he owns the Dimas Deli chain and also sponsors the podcast. When Charles and Mabel break into their apartment, they discover a room with funeral urns. A search at a funeral home leads Oliver and Mabel to realize that the father and son are secretly stealing jewelry from the dead. Additionally, some time back, Theo argued with a girl on the building’s rooftop, which led to her accidental fall and death. Tim Kono witnessed the event, which causes the sleuths to believe that the Dimases silenced Tim by killing him. In their podcast, they accuse the Dimases of the crime, which leads to their arrest. One of the podcast fans wonders why the family would sponsor a show that would expose them. A very good question!

Later, a toxicology report on Tim’s body reveals that he was poisoned and then shot. Moreover, a time-stamped security photo of the Dimases proves that they were not in the building when Tim was murdered. So, then, our dynamic trio fingered the wrong people! How embarrassing! They also rushed to complete their investigation, making a terrible mistake. Their error is a refreshing change from the typical, effortless solutions delivered by amateur sleuths on TV and film. And this unexpected faux-pas is not only logical—after all, they are beginners who lack the necessary training and important clues—it is comical. . . mortifyingly comical.

So, will the trio actually solve Tim’s murder? Can their listeners absolve them from such a blunder? Will we find out in the following episode?

Copyright © 2026 by Rosi Prieto, Ph.D.

All Rights Reserved

All About Eve

1950 Writer, Director: Joseph L. Mankiewicz

Starring: Bette Davis, Ann Baxter, Celeste Holm, George Sanders

SPOILER ALERT

“All About Eve” (1950) is a great film about the gritty world of the theater, in which actors contend with fleeting fame, jealousy, and backstabbing. The story depicts a prominent middle-aged actress, Margo Channing (Davis), who is at the height of her career. A young, unassuming fan, Eve Harrington (Baxter), worms her way into Margo’s life and work to near disastrous ends. Written and directed by Joseph L. Mankiewicz, it is easily his crowning achievement. Among its many accolades, it was nominated for 14 Academy Awards and won six. It received two awards at the Cannes Film Festival and was nominated for six Golden Globes. In 1998, it was ranked number 16 on the American Film Institute’s list of the 100 Best American Films.

We might say that this great movie is about greatness. And, interestingly enough, it begins and ends with the theme of an award for greatness, a small statuette presented at a banquet by the “Sarah Siddons Society.” The film’s narrator (Sanders) informs us that it is “the highest honor our theater knows.” The fictitious award is presented to Eve Harrington (Baxter); she is lauded as a new actress with great potential. The ingenue is grateful for this honor. The playwright (Marlowe) and director (Gary Merrill) have already received their awards and can be seen at the table before them.

The small statuette in the film depicts Sarah Siddons (1755-1831) and is based on her portrait by Sir Joshua Reynolds (1723-1792) at the Huntington Library and Art Museum in Pasadena. The prize was perhaps inspired by the Tony Award (the Antoinette Perry Award for Excellence in Broadway Theater), which was founded in 1947. The choice of Siddons is an apt one for the trophy. She has been described as “the renowned tragic actress who dominated British theater during the late Georgian era and thrilled audiences throughout her fifty-year career with performances that seemed to surpass human ability.” And although at least 400 of her portraits survive—including the famous one by Thomas Gainsborough (1727-1788)—, the one by Reynolds is the most acclaimed, as it helped elevate the profession of acting in her time and also her own status to that of a cultural icon. The portrait, lauded as “most sublime,” at its exhibition in 1784 at the Royal Academy of Arts in London, where it stole the show, was titled by critics at the time as Mrs. Siddons in the Character of the Tragic Muse.1

The notion of the Tragic Muse is appropriate in the film, and Mankiewicz aims the story toward a sophisticated audience who will be aware of at least some of its erudite references. In Greek mythology, Melpomene (the Tragic Muse) is the daughter of Zeus and sister of the other muses. Aristotle defined tragedy as a genre in which a noble hero (or heroine in the case of Margo) goes from good fortune to bad and his downfall is brought about not by vice or depravity, but by some error or frailty. The point of tragedy, then, is to focus on this character flaw to create an emotional response in the audience, which Aristotle termed “catharsis.”2 Since at least the time of Milton (1608-1674), tragedy was considered superior to comedy.3

Reynolds’s portrait presents Mrs. Siddons seated majestically on a throne floating upon clouds as she gazes sadly heavenward. She raises her left index finger and, with lips parted, seems about to deliver her anguished lines. Her face and hands are lit theatrically while all else is in darkness. In the film, a small, framed reproduction of the painting hangs in the stairwell of Margo’s home. And although many paintings can be seen hung on the walls in her home, it is the only one upon which the camera focuses—if only momentarily—to make an important point in the story.

The painting comes into view at a critical juncture of the film, during a party hosted by Margo. This is a watershed moment during which Margo says her famous line: “Fasten your seatbelts; it’s going to be a bumpy night!” And it is. Margo has now become fully aware of Eve’s betrayal and, significantly, her best friends brush off her attempts at convincing them of such. Indeed, they become Eve’s unwitting accomplices. And although played on a stairwell, this is also an important scene about the nature of the theater, as it becomes the main topic of discussion by the protagonists, including Eve. Here, a drunken Margo serves as theater critic when the arguing ensues and challenges the dramatist (Marlowe) when he suggests everyone go home instead of feuding: “And you pose as a playwright! A situation pregnant with possibilities and all you can think of is everybody go to sleep!” And as the guests depart, Eve targets his wife, Karen (Holm), to ensure success. Karen sweetly acknowledges that she will help her, unaware that she is being manipulated. As Karen descends the stairs, the camera momentarily focuses on the Siddons portrait, reminding us that tragedy will soon strike.

As noted earlier, Greek tragedy requires that the protagonist be a good person whose downfall is caused by a fatal flaw. Eve takes advantage of Margo’s vanity—she is a star accustomed to being adored. Eve pretends to idolize Margo, and Margo falls for it. Ancient Greek actors wore masks that personified types and we might say that Eve wears a mask that most of the others are unable to see through. Roger Ebert correctly observed that “The movie creates Margo Channing as a particular person, and Eve Harrington as a type.”4 Eve is a generalized idea of malevolence (Eve = evil), seeking the accolades and awards Margo has, without realizing the emptiness of such trifles.

So Eve receives the Sarah Siddons trophy in the movie. Two years after the film’s creation, the Sarah Siddons Society was established and the fictitious organization and award became a reality in Chicago. Coming full circle, Mankiewicz was awarded the trophy he conceived. His purported response to this honor was, “I invented it to put down all this fatuous prize-giving, and now there’s some outfit in Chicago actually promoting a Sarah Siddons Award every year.”5 Clearly, they were unaware of the irony of their actions.

Copyright © 2025 by Rosi Prieto, Ph.D.

All Rights Reserved

My Man Godfrey

1936 Director: Gregory La Cava

Starring: William Powell, Carole Lombard, Gail Patrick

As the introductory credits roll for “My Man Godfrey,” the names of the players appear, almost like neon lights atop the New York skyline at night. A cheery instrumental accompanies the glamorous visuals, until the camera pans toward a garbage dump next to the East River and the Queensboro Bridge. The song then turns tragic and ends. At the dumpsite, a man in a raincoat and hat—a “forgotten man”—warms himself by a fire. Soon, trucks dump garbage nearby and two other men scramble up the refuse pile, presumably looking for food.

Suddenly, a shiny black car arrives and a man in a tuxedo and top hat and two women wearing elegant gowns emerge from the vehicle. Cornelia (Patrick) rushes toward the forgotten man, Godfrey (Powell), and offers him five dollars to go with her to the Waldorf Ritz Hotel and take part in a scavenger hunt. Godfrey rejects this; he is upset by her arrogance and pushes her into a pile of ashes. Her sister, Irene (Lombard), is pleased that, for once, Cornelia didn’t win. Irene is much nicer; she explains to him that they were taking part in a game, in which the participants search for “something that nobody wants.” She then realizes that she “doesn’t want to play any more games with human beings as objects; it’s kind of sordid, when you think of it.” Irene is a spoiled but naïve rich girl who has never seen adversity. She asks Godfrey why he lives at the dump when “there are so many nice places.” Her innocent question underscores the ignorance and apathy of the idle rich during the Great Depression.

Godfrey decides to help Irene beat Cornelia at this scavenger hunt by going with her. At the hotel, Irene submits Godfrey as a forgotten man; the game’s judge determines he is legitimate and she wins the prize. Irene is instantly smitten with Godfrey and she offers him a job as the family’s butler. He becomes an outstanding asset to the household.

Godfrey, we later find out, became homeless when a woman rejected him. He considered suicide but the men at the shanty town taught him a lesson about living. We learn this at a tea party. There, Tommy Gray (Alan Mowbray) recognizes Godfrey as a school mate from Harvard, and as a member of one of the oldest families in Boston. Godfrey wishes to maintain the ruse and Tommy abides. Godfrey becomes an excellent butler, who must tolerate the frivolities and nonsense from his employers. There is no discipline in the house, mostly chaos. And this becomes worse when Irene’s father, Mr. Bullock (Eugene Pallette), announces that the family is nearly broke. Godfrey then steps into action with Tommy’s help. He does more than this, he also helps the men back at the shanty town.

In addition to being a sweet romantic comedy, the film makes an important social commentary. The wealthy frequently amuse themselves with mindless frivolity and stupidity while the poor suffer needlessly. The U.S. (and the world) emerged from one of the worst financial crises several years after this film was created. Roosevelt’s New Deal policies and World War II helped create a recovery. “My Man Godfrey” does not delve into politics. Instead, it focuses on the efforts of individuals to create change. The film warns of the dangers of arrogance, pride, and greed. The story is timeless. It encourages viewers to look within themselves and offer what they can to improve the lives of those around them, particularly the unhoused, those who are most often forgotten, but should not be.

Copyright © 2025 by Rosi Prieto, Ph.D.

All Rights Reserved

Before the Devil Knows You’re Dead

2007 Director: Sidney Lumet

Starring: Philip Seymour Hoffman, Ethan Hawke, Marisa Tomei, Albert Finney.

Blame it on Rio. Everything that happens, happens for a reason, as people say. And perhaps this is because there is often plenty of blame to go around. And sometimes blame can be assigned because problems weren’t handled when they should have been. This is the case with Andy Hansen (Hoffman), a New York City executive who longs to return with his wife, Gina (Tomei), to their vacation spot in Brazil, a place where everything, including their sex life, seemed better. Unfortunately, Andy has been embezzling funds from his company and allowed the situation to deteriorate. As he faces an audit, he ponders his options.

Andy decides that a “victimless crime” is the solution. He manipulates his younger brother, Hank (Hawke), into helping him, and uses Hank’s insolvency as leverage so he will do it. Hank will rob the jewelry store in the suburbs owned by their parents. Hank strenuously objects to this, but he is not the type to stand up to his brother and not smart enough to find other alternatives. So, he should just go in on a Saturday morning, point a toy gun at the elderly employee and walk out with cash and jewels. What could be easier? Hank decides that he can’t do it alone and enlists a waiter to do the job while he drives the getaway car. But the waiter is also the domineering sort and brings a real gun to the store. Hank’s mother (Rosemary Harris) had to mind the store that morning and, unfortunately, she and the gunman shoot each other.

The story is not told chronologically. It jumps back and forth in time and is told from various points of reference. The brutality of the shooting is an uncomfortable sight. Hank can’t see it from his car, but he is visibly shaken, before and after the gunshots, and leaves in a hurry. We then go back three days before the event, when Hank watches his daughter play baseball; in returning her home, his angry ex-wife reminds him he is late with his child support. Then we go to the day before that, focusing on Andy, a worthless worker who won’t attend an accounting meeting and, instead, goes to a drug dealer, who administers an injection. Is his drug habit the reason for all this? Is this where we lay the blame? We are not told. By telling the story out of sequence, we already know the outcome: we have the benefit of hindsight, which the characters do not. Further, by examining the story from several viewpoints, it helps the viewer realize what went wrong and when. We benefit also from a godlike all-seeing presence that again allows us to see their mistakes and place blame as we choose.

Sidney Lumet’s characters are often pathetic. In his films, they are frequently filled with self-loathing and can rarely solve their own problems. They are seldom intelligent enough to figure out how to get out of their own way in life. Hank is a particularly interesting case: he is easily rattled and we see him drinking much more than we see him working. When faced with Andy’s intimidation, he freaks out and is constantly rattled by all this. He is clearly just a deadbeat who can’t live up to anyone’s expectations of him. But Lumet does not seem to judge or reproach them. Eventually, Andy grabs his passport and suitcase. Will he go to Rio? The scene recalls an earlier one, when he and Gina are in bed and discuss returning there to live. She tells him that there’s no extradition agreement between Brazil and the United States and he laughs at her. Even when presented with various options, these people fall into the traps they have set for themselves.

Copyright © 2025 by Rosi Prieto, Ph.D.

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WALL-E

2008 Director: Andrew Stanton

Starring: the voices of Ben Burtt, Elissa Knight, Jeff Garlin, Fred Willard

Perhaps one of the best openings to a film is the one in “WALL-E.”1 Before we see anything, as this animated feature begins, we hear someone say, “Out there, there’s a world outside of Yonkers,” and we realize we are in outer space. He continues singing, “Way out there beyond this hick town, Barnaby; there’s a slick town, Barnaby. Out there, full of shine and full of sparkle. Close your eyes and see it glisten, Barnaby. Listen, Barnaby.” By this point we, the viewers, travel through the galaxy, seeing the stars, then the moon and sun, and eventually the earth.

With the next phrasing of the song, we plummet precipitously toward New York City. This tune, becomes identifiable as “Put on Your Sunday Clothes” from the film “Hello, Dolly!” (1969), sung by Michael Crawford as Cornelius Hackl. But the exciting city Cornelius has been singing about is unrecognizable. We drift above it in a dusty atmosphere, through a maze of ruined skyscrapers, . . . or are they canyons?

Cornelius, a young man in 1890, sings about the thrilling excitement of visiting the big city, seeing its lights, riding through town in “one of those new horse-drawn open cars” and “finding adventure in the evening air.” But the air we see seems unbreathable! There is no excitement in the brown, solitary structures. We can’t have fun—let alone exist here!

Little by little, we continue our descent to this barren location. And the symphonic show-tune now sounds tinny, as if played through a muffled speaker. We also become aware of wind blowing through an arid wasteland as a tiny vehicle maneuvers through some winding roads. And a remaining building is visible among what appears to be enormous amounts of trash. Then we find that the vehicle is actually a robot called WALL-E (Waste Allocation Load Lifter: Earth-Class) assigned to collecting and compacting the trash humanity left behind 700 years earlier. WALL-E is working as he listens to Cornelius’s song.

We soon realize that the world is uninhabitable in this, the 29th century. No humans exist here and only this robot and his pet cockroach reside in these badlands. We come to understand that a thousand years span between Cornelius’s song in the 1890’s and its playback in the 29th century. The excitement and anticipation we hear in his voice is incongruous with the visuals we encounter. His song is paradoxical. We realize that the great city of New York, which in the 19th century had not yet developed its full potential—just like Cornelius—is destroyed and abandoned. And the innocence we hear as Cornelius sings “and we won’t come home until we’ve kissed a girl,” suggests a youthful optimism at odds with the desolation and hopelessness in this landscape.

Futuristic films often come with a warning. This one begins by predicting our own destruction. But it advocates a solution through critical thinking and the avoidance of mass consumerism. It also contains a charming love story. And just as Cornelius stresses to his companion, Barnaby, in “Hello, Dolly!” that he listen, this movie does the same: it admonishes us to listen to its message.

Copyright © 2025 by Rosi Prieto, Ph.D.

All Rights Reserved

Demolition Man

1993 Director: Marco Brambilla

Starring: Sylvester Stallone, Wesley Snipes, Sandra Bullock

“Demolition Man” is a rare cinematic hybrid that tries to be everything to everybody, and impressively, manages to succeed more often than not. With Stallone’s gruff, misunderstood cop John Spartan, Snipes’ gleefully anarchic villain Simon Phoenix, and Bullock’s charmingly quirky Officer Lenina Huxley, the film is a genre-bending rollercoaster that delivers action, comedy, and social satire.

Set in the seemingly utopian Los Angeles of 2032, the film flips the script on the usual dystopian future. Instead of a grim, ruined world, we’re thrown into a society so sanitized that swearing is fined, physical contact is taboo, and Taco Bell reigns as the sole surviving restaurant. Much like the mystery meat of past fast-food franchises, the Taco Bell of the future is vegan, though no one seems entirely sure what’s actually in the food. It’s a sly wink at both fast food’s reputation for questionable ingredients and the film’s obsession with purity and safety.

Into this world are thawed two relics from the violent 1990s: Spartan, a cop with a reputation for collateral damage, and Phoenix, a criminal mastermind with a penchant for mayhem. Their explosive reintroduction to society sparks a hilarious and action-packed culture clash, as the authorities, utterly unprepared for real violence, turn to Spartan for help.

One of the film’s sharpest satirical edges is its lampooning of political correctness. This future Los Angeles is so obsessed with safety and civility that even uttering a curse word triggers an automated fine, and “offensive” language is all but extinct. The police force, more accustomed to issuing citations for bad manners than stopping real crime, is hilariously inept in the face of Phoenix’s rampage. Even the radio is sanitized, playing nothing but commercial jingles. The film takes the idea of a perfectly “safe space” to absurd extremes, poking fun at the notion that society can regulate itself into harmony by simply outlawing anything unpleasant or controversial. It’s a world where the greatest threat is not violence, but the possibility of being “unfriendly.”

The action is classic Stallone: big, brash, and unapologetically over the top. Yet what truly sets “Demolition Man” apart is its razor-sharp wit and self-aware humor. The film is packed with top-tier one-liners and clever jabs at everything from consumer culture to the cult of self-improvement. It’s both a loving spoof and a pointed satire, never taking itself too seriously but always keeping the audience engaged.

Sandra Bullock is a standout as Lenina Huxley, the wide-eyed officer who idolizes the “wild” 1990s and serves as Spartan’s guide to the future. Bullock’s comedic timing and infectious enthusiasm make her one of the film’s most memorable elements. Notably, she’s also featured in one of her rare sex scenes, though, true to the film’s playful spirit, it’s handled in a way that’s more awkwardly funny than erotic, lampooning the very idea of intimacy in a sanitized society.

As the story barrels toward its climax, the film doesn’t shy away from graphic, high-stakes confrontations. Without giving too much away, the final showdown between Spartan and Phoenix is both visually striking and thematically satisfying. The battle takes place in a futuristic cryo-prison, where the environment itself becomes a weapon. The scene is intense and inventive, featuring a memorable moment where the tables turn in a literal and metaphorical flash. Fans of explosive finales won’t be disappointed.

“Demolition Man” isn’t just an action flick, a comedy, or a sci-fi satire; it’s all of these and more. You’ll either love its wild, genre-blending ride or find it too much to handle, but one thing’s for sure: you won’t forget it. For those who appreciate a film that can poke fun at itself while delivering genuine thrills, “Demolition Man” is a cult classic worth revisiting.

Copyright © 2025 by William O’Neill

All Rights Reserved

Chicago

2002 Director: Rob Marshall

Starring: Renée Zellweger, Catherine Zeta-Jones, Richard Gere, Queen Latifah, John C. Reilly

Musicals, as a film genre, went out of favor with modern audiences some decades ago. They were very popular in the 1940s and 1950s but the “magic” they once had seems to have expired. It seems that one rarely hears about a new musical that audiences can’t wait to see these days.

Perhaps the problem with movie musicals is that they lack veracity. Let’s face it: how often has it happened that someone broke out into a song in anyone’s life as in “Oklahoma!” (1955) or “Camelot” (1967)? Personally, I’ve only seen such a thing happen in films or at the opera. The problem with musicals—as I (and perhaps modern audiences) see it—is authenticity.

One movie musical that handles this issue well is “Chicago.” In this film, set in 1924, Roxie Hart (Zellweger) is a young housewife who is bored with her life and her marriage. One night, she visits a Chicago nightclub, where she sees vaudevillian Velma Kelly (Zeta-Jones) sing and dance. She is enthralled by Velma’s performance and wants to become a star, just like her. This is implied subtly: as Roxie watches Velma’s act, the camera eventually goes to an extreme closeup of Roxie’s eyes, then Roxie—rather than Velma—sings on the stage. We witness a transformation as Roxie continues and finishes Velma’s song.

This metamorphosis, however, is only in her imagination. Its consequence is that Roxie starts to plan her new career. She begins an affair with Fred Casely (Dominic West), who promises to help her with her crusade. But Casely—a furniture salesman—has neither connections nor good intentions; he only wants to have sex with the beautiful Roxie. Unfortunately for him, Roxie shoots him dead near her bedroom when she discovers the truth. And, of course, she goes to jail.

Once in lockup, Roxie transforms everyone she meets through her imagination. One by one, they all become performers who tell their stories through song and dance, as part of their character development. The first is Matron Mama Morton (Latifah). Mama becomes a burlesque singer with colorful feathers, a sparkling tiara, and a glittering low-cut gown. The elegant, mysterious, pianist/master of ceremonies (Taye Diggs) introduces Mama, as if part of a nightclub act. In fact, he introduces almost all the acts. Latifah is sex-appeal personified in her act, and her song is filled with double entendres. And she sings her story to us “Ask any of the chickees in my pen; they’ll tell you I’m the biggest mother hen. . .”, suggesting that she takes care of her charges. But, in reality she actually “charges” them for any kindness or benevolence.

One night, Roxie witnesses an interesting performance: “The Cell-Block Tango,” by the Six Merry Murderesses of the Cook County Jail.1 These women, who killed their mates, tell of how they ended up in prison in their revue. In reality, the women relate their stories in various ways, one in a card game, another speaks to the press. And most of these women have no regret, as they sing, “He had it coming; he only had himself to blame. . . .” One by one, the women disclose their stories through song and dance. But they also do more than this: they also fictionally demonstrate their crimes toward their men: a stabbing, a poisoning, a choking, etc.

In the “Cell-Block Tango,” the women each use a subtle, but effective, prop in telling their tales—a long, red cloth, which comes to symbolize the men’s blood and death. The best of these performances, of course, is when Velma recounts her husband’s (and sister’s) death. She caught them cheating and shot them. She explains then that she was in a state of shock, blacked out, and couldn’t remember anything until she washed the blood off her hands. Two red cloths unfurl as streams from her hands; they are gory reminders of the gruesome act. And although she claims innocence here, the film’s viewers know otherwise from what they’ve already witnessed and from her rage-filled dance.

Two charming musical numbers in the movie must be mentioned here. As attorney Billy Flynn (the best criminal lawyer in Chicago), Gere performs the song: “All I Care About is Love.” Here, he tells us he doesn’t care for money, although in real life, he’s not interested in defending Roxie unless she can pay his exorbitant rate. Fortunately for Roxie, he is willing to take a pay cut and agrees to represent her. Perhaps the best musical number in the film is “We Both Reached for the Gun.”2 In this scene, Roxie and Billy tell her highly sanitized story to the press to curry favor in her trial. Billy previously coached her in her answers so she appears as a sweet, innocent young girl. In this scene, Billy is a ventriloquist and Roxie is a wide-eyed, doll-like dummy. Thus, he provides her statement for her. And the press—carefully manipulated puppets with red strings—simply write down what they are told. Her lies go unquestioned.

This film has many surprises in the way Roxie’s story is told. And much of it goes back and forth between reality and her fantasy. Her deep desires to be a star are guided by her wild imagination, which takes the viewer for a fantastic ride.

=-=-=-=-=

POSTSCRIPT

In returning to my original premise, the idea of people breaking into song, I must cite one Honorable Mention here. In “My Best Friend’s Wedding” (1996—which is not a musical), Julianne Potter (Julia Roberts) suddenly realizes she’s in love with her lifelong friend, Michael O’Neal (Dermot Mulroney), when he says he’s getting married and seeks to break up the couple. She hopes to make him jealous by saying her publisher, George Downes (Rupert Everett), is her fiancée. At the seafood restaurant, where the wedding party’s luncheon takes place, George embarrasses Julianne, stating he instantly fell in love with her when he met her at a mental institution while visiting “Dionne Warwick.” George supposedly says to “Dionne”: “Dionne, I’m in love. Could this siren love me? Are the gods that kind? And Dionne turned to me, opened her lovely eyes, and said, ‘The moment I wake up, before I put on my makeup. . . .’” The wedding party—and then the whole restaurant—begins singing Warwick’s hit, “I Say a Little Prayer”3 This includes elegant harmonies, piano accompaniment by a waiter, and other staff waving lobster mitts to the beat. One could only hope such musical merriment would spontaneously occur in real life. But don’t forget, this is also a movie.

Copyright © 2025 by Rosi Prieto, Ph.D.

All Rights Reserved

Victor/Victoria

1982 Writer & Director: Blake Edwards.

Starring: Julie Andrews, James Garner, Robert Preston, Leslie Ann Warren, Alex Karras

Drag-themed brunches have become popular in Palm Springs and elsewhere, bringing food, music, and smiles to customers. These events often headline local performers, many of whom are very talented. But a recent advertisement for a “Victor/Victoria” Brunch, in which Julie Andrews is dressed as a flapper and performs “Le Jazz Hot!” suggests the quintessential importance of this movie. “Victor/Victoria” examines gender roles and the gay underground culture of 1930s Paris. As such, it an early example of a mainstream Hollywood film that takes on these issues with humor and sensitivity.1

Victoria Grant (Andrews) is a talented but destitute soprano in Paris of 1934. When she is declined for a singing job, Carroll “Toddy” Todd (Preston) sees her potential, takes her in, and mentors her. A rainstorm that shrinks her clothing obliges her to don a man’s suit in Toddy’s closet. This occurrence inspires him to pass her off as a female impersonator, and she becomes Count Victor Grazinski.

Deception and gender-bending are charmingly accomplished in this film. Victoria and Toddy work to pass “Victor” off as a gay Polish performer. Toddy, who is gay, has them pretend to be a couple to avoid suspicion. The pair finds success through their scheme and audiences love “Victor’s” nightclub performances. Only King Marchand (Garner), a Chicago gangster on holiday, doubts this scenario. A dance number in which two couples alternatively “become” male or female depending on which way they face the audience highlights the powerful role that illusion plays in perception.

LGBTQ+ themes and characters have become commonplace in movies since the 1990s, but this was not always the case and when they did appear, it was rarely done with benevolence or empathy. “Cabaret” (Liza Minelli, Michael York, 1972) features two gay characters, but as with much of the film, it seems mostly for shock value. Perhaps the same could be said of “Rocky Horror Picture Show” (Tim Curry, 1975), a musical parody of horror films, which was not well-received initially.2 In “Dog Day Afternoon” (Al Pacino, 1975) the pathetic protagonist robs a bank for his partner’s sex reassignment operation. In these three films, sexual orientation is a secondary theme. And with the exception of Michael York’s character, the rest seem intimidating, immoral, or scary.

“Victor/Victoria” is different. Its characters are likeable and charming. Andrews is well-known for playing wholesome characters and it is no different here. And Preston is endearing as his character nurtures Victoria. The film also challenges stereotypes: “Squash,” King’s macho bodyguard, is played by a former football player (Karras).

This film appeared before the AIDS epidemic, which was initially blamed on the gay community. It might not have had a similar success if it had been released in the late 1980s because of the stigma. Perhaps because of its endearing characters and its setting in Paris of yesteryear that it suffered no backlash.

Copyright © 2025 by Rosi Prieto, Ph.D.

All Rights Reserved

The Birdcage

1996 Director: Mike Nichols

Starring: Robin Williams, Nathan Lane, Gene Hackman, Hank Azaria

Hank Azaria plays one of his funniest (and most fun roles) as Agador Spartacus in “The Birdcage,” opposite Robin Williams and Nathan Lane. He became famous for lending his voice to the animated TV series, “The Simpsons,” for which he received many accolades. He has played in many films and television shows, and received a Screen Actors Guild Award for “Birdcage.”

“The Birdcage” is an American remake of the French film, “La cage au folles” (1978). In both movies, a gay couple’s straight son wishes to marry an ultra-conservative politician’s daughter. Both are delightful comedies that describe the difficulties of pretending to be someone one isn’t in order to please another. In “Birdcage” Armand and Albert Goldman (Williams and Lane) live above and operate a drag nightclub in South Beach, Florida. Their son, Val (Dan Futterman), comes home from college and announces his engagement. The couple eventually comes to terms with the engagement, until Val wants them to meet his fiancé’s parents (Hackman and Dianne Wiest; their daughter is played by Calista Flockhart). Val also wants them to pretend they are straight to avoid problems.

In “Birdcage,” Armand and Albert are successful enough to have a live-in housekeeper in Agador, although he’s more like a family member that a servant. Agador is perhaps the most flamboyant character in the film. He is of Guatemalan descent and wants to be a part of the couple’s drag show. So he frequently dons outlandish outfits and sings and dances as he does his chores. At one point, he cleans the pool in a thong. While mopping the kitchen one day, he dances to Gloria Estefan’s “Conga,” and wears cutoff shorts, a pink bra, a redhaired wig, a necktie, and a large flower on his left shoulder. When Armand wonders what he’s doing, Agador tells him he is a combination of Lucy and Ricky. In essence, he is auditioning for the show, but in reality, Agador’s drag performance gains a much wider audience with film viewers than he ever would have had in the nightclub.

Agador, like Armand and Albert, must tone down his customary outfits and mannerisms when Val’s guests arrive. It’s hard to be someone one isn’t, but they all try to keep up appearances for Val’s sake. As in “La cage,”Agador becomes the family’s butler, but refuses to wear shoes because “they make me fall down.” His ill-fitting jacket and trousers and bare feet reveal how miscast he is as such a servant. But he tries anyway. With the visitors he adopts a deep voice, makes grand gestures, and even bows towards them in deference. Agador charms us because he defies our expectation of what a butler must be as he tries to fit the cliché, and in doing so, he makes us question the generalizations we hold as truths.

In essence, the whole point of “The Birdcage” is to confront and challenge stereotypes. When it was filmed, its message about a gay couple who just want to be themselves was groundbreaking. The movie pokes fun at its own era, when dire statistics about the AIDS epidemic were constantly in the news and the nation was deeply divided politically over gay rights. Its characters are charming, believable, and endearing. “Victor/Victoria” (1983), which appeared over a decade before “Birdcage,” also depicts gay protagonists that mainstream audiences could care about. But “Victor” takes place in 1930s Paris, safely removed in time and place from contemporary U.S. culture wars.

But let’s return to Azaria’s Agador, who steals all scenes he’s in, in spite of playing against heavyweights such as Williams and Lane. He often provides comic relief that breaks the tension when everyone is upset and, at times, he’s even more over-the-top than both of these great actors, with his lines, costumes, and mannerisms. When he opens the door as the guests arrive, he changes his name and introduces himself, “I am Spartacus, the Goldmans’ butler.” I believe that his sudden shift to an alias is significant here: it is more than comedic subterfuge. The first half of that line, of course, comes directly from “Spartacus” (1960; Stanley Kubrick, director), a story of a legendary military leader, who led a slave rebellion against the ancient Roman Republic. Spartacus fought for freedom against slavery and, in a sense, “The Birdcage,” did something similar. It sought freedom for people to be themselves.

Copyright © 2025 by Rosi Prieto, Ph.D.

All Rights Reserved

O Brother, Where Art Thou?

2000 Director: Joel Coen

Starring: George Clooney, John Turturro, Tim Nelson, Holly Hunter, John Goodman

Joel and Ethan Coen’s many movies range from horror to drama to comedy, including “Blood Simple” 1984, “Raising Arizona” 1987, “Fargo” 1996, “The Big Lebowski” 1998, and “No Country for Old Men” 2007. Some of these films have even reached cult status. All of their movies are considerably different, exemplifying their great talent and range. One of their best works is “O Brother, Where Art Thou?”

“O Brother” is a comedic tale of three prison escapees in Mississippi during the Depression. As the title sequence informs us, however, it is a modern adaptation of Homer’s Odyssey, a Greek epic poem written around 700 B.C. This Coen production rethinks and updates the ancient adventure. Curiously, though, in an interview, the Coen brothers claimed that they never read Homer’s poem. They asserted that, “Between the cast and us, Tim Nelson (who plays Delmar and was a Classics major at Brown University) is the only one who’s actually read the Odyssey.1 Their assertion is misleading because it suggests unfamiliarity with the epic and, if so, how could their film possibly be based on the poem?

Homer’s Odyssey tells the story of Odysseus, King of Ithaka, who undertakes an adventurous ten-year journey home after the Trojan War, so he can return to his wife, Penelope, before any of her suitors marry her. “O Brother” makes many references to the epic, an example of this is evident in the names of the protagonists. George Clooney’s character, Ulysses Everett McGill, is meant to be Odysseus (Ulysses is the Latinized version of Odysseus). His hometown is Ithaca, Mississippi, and his wife is Penny (a nickname for Penelope, played by Hunter). There’s also Governor Menelaus “Pappy” O’Daniel (Menelaus, King of Sparta, led an army in the Trojan War; Charles Durning plays O’Daniel) and there’s even a Homer Stokes (Wayne Duvall) in the film. Moreover, “Big” Dan Teague (Goodman), who wears an eye patch represents the Cyclops, a one-eyed gigantic monster who attacks Odysseus and his crew; Big Dan beats the trio mercilessly with a stick. In the film, Everett leads his partners in crime, Pete (Turturro) and Delmar, in an escape from a chain gang (similarly, Odysseus was held captive for seven years). Everett seeks hidden treasure (the Phaeacians offered Odysseus treasure) and he ventures homeward before his wife marries her admirer. Other references to the original text abound, including the men’s encounter with the blind seer and the sirens.

The Coens’ supposed unfamiliarity with the Odyssey is misleading. And their film demonstrates more than a casual acquaintance with the poem; also, their attempt to deceive the interviewer is perhaps based on the fact that Odysseus is a constantly deceitful trickster. The character uses deception and misdirection frequently to achieve his goals.2

On his journey, Odysseus often deceives his followers so they can become a strong fighting team. He lies to strangers to protect himself; he also disguises himself several times, not only for his safety, but also to check if Penelope is still in love with him. And Odysseus is not the only one who lies, the gods Zeus and Athena also do it frequently. Everett follows suit in “O Brother” by telling many falsehoods. Perhaps the worst is when he eventually confesses to his men that there really is no treasure. Delmar despairs upon learning this. In that case, he escaped prison for nothing; he only had two weeks to serve on his sentence. This particular scene is one of pathos—a hallmark of Greek tragedies.

Another example of such deceit is when the three men go to record a song at a recording studio. As the lead, Everett sings, “I am a man of constant sorrow. . . .” Is Everett really a man filled with sadness? Hardly! He is happy-go-lucky. His great optimism and constant smile are an inversion of the song he sings twice; in contrast, Odysseus is often sorrowful and cries frequently.3 I suggest that this inversion of Everett and Odysseus shows how well the Coens know the poem and that their film subverts the original narrative. More than this, this subversion is reminiscent of their disavowal toward the interviewer: yes, they have read the poem, and more than once.

One might say that the Coens “freestyle” with the original text frequently in the film. For instance, Odysseus is a flawed character; according to some scholars, his worst failing is his pride. Everett is self-assured to the point of arrogance; his constant focus on his hair shows his conceit; his lack of concern for his companions makes him an egotist; his use of arcane language and Latin terminology (e. g., he calls himself the paterfamilias) make him pretentious. Everett also believes he is much smarter than Delmar and Pete, often stating, “You guys are dumber than a bag of hammers,” and the pair never argue the point; they really are that dumb! When the Coens stated that they never read the Odyssey, many critics naively believed them. We might even ask the question: are the Coens insulting their critics (and audience) through Everett’s statement? Are we dumber than a bag of hammers?

“O Brother” is an inversion of the Odyssey in another important way: it is a comedy. The jokes never stop coming in this film. The Coen brothers turn an epic adventure into a comedy and, I believe, the Homeric poet would not have been pleased. Comedy was considered the lowest form of entertainment in ancient Greece.4 This would have been akin to turning Hamlet into a series of toilet jokes. One could even say that the Coens essentially “debased” one of the greatest poems in Western literature with this film, and they are probably still laughing about it. And I have a feeling that in interviews, they were frequently asked if they had read the poem; they probably thought it was a silly question, and people often get tired of answering silly questions repeatedly.

Copyright © 2025 by Rosi Prieto, Ph.D.

All Rights Reserved

The classic rom-com invented the “high-maintenance” woman. Its reductive diagnosis lives on, Megan Garber wrote in 2019.⁠ https://theatln.tc/NJcIgBZD
⁠
According to the Random House Historical Dictionary of American Slang, it was “When Harry Met Sally” that popularized the term “high-maintenance” in American culture. In a scene from the film, Harry describes Sally as “the worst kind … You’re high-maintenance, but you think you’re low-maintenance.” The term “high-maintenance,” Garber wrote, “serves as an indictment of women who want. It neatly captures the absurdity of a culture that in one breath demands women do everything they can to ‘maintain’ themselves and, in the next, mocks them for making the effort … The designations are often unfalsifiable, because they live in the eyes of their beholders. And they are often popularized in the context of comedy, which gives them another kind of impunity: Calm down, we’re just telling jokes.” ⁠
⁠
“When Harry Met Sally,” courtesy of the brilliant mind of Nora Ephron, insisted that Harry’s assessments of things were not callous, but simply reflections of how things were. “‘When Harry Met Sally’ is ultimately the story of Harry’s arc: The question it asks, in the end, is not whether women and men can be friends, but whether a guy who hates almost everyone can open himself up to a single someone. That he proves able to evolve suggests an absolution,” Garber wrote. “Sally may have gotten a happy ending; she waited so long for it, though. And waiting is not as romantic as her movie believes it to be. Maybe there were times along the way when she almost said something to Harry but didn’t, understanding how easily her preferences could be dismissed as inconvenient. Maybe she questioned herself. Maybe she knew that, despite it all, women who just want it the way they want it are still assumed to be wanting too much.”

The Brady Bunch

Season 3 Episode 20 Director: Jack Arnold

Starring: Robert Reed, Florence Henderson, Ann B. Davis, Maureen McCormick, Eve Plumb, Susan Olsen, Barry Williams, Christopher Knight, Mike Lookinland

In an episode from “The Brady Bunch,” Alice (Davis) plans to go on vacation for a week, but she worries about leaving the Brady family unattended. She offers that her cousin Emma (also Davis) take care of the clan in her absence.

Cousin Emma was a sergeant in the Women’s Army Corps, where she happily served for 20 years. She loved her role and the discipline it provided, and she brings all of this with her. Daily at 06:00 hours, she blows a whistle so the children will rise and do calisthenics. Inspection of quarters (making sure the kids’ rooms are tidy) happens directly after that. Breakfast occurs only after both of these events are performed satisfactorily: these are the regulations. At one point the children line up for dinner. What is served? Potatoes MacArthur, Beef Eisenhower, and Succotash Pentagon. She is very enthusiastic about her work, but the children resent the exertion and structure, so they complain frequently.

One day, Emma has the family jogging instead of doing calisthenics. As they jog, an instrumental theme can be heard: “The Caissons Go Rolling Along.”1 Later, Emma sings this song as she cleans house, “. . . as we hit the dusty trail, as those caissons go rolling. . . .”

As I was watching this episode recently and hearing its song, I was suddenly transported to my fifth-grade classroom. Every morning, our teacher played this and other war songs for her students before we performed any work. As I write this, the only other song I recall her playing was “Sink the Bismarck.” Interestingly, I have found myself humming or singing these two songs to myself over the years. And “Bismarck” was the one that most frequently stuck with me.

Of course, I didn’t know what caissons were at the time. And only in writing this have I learned that they are chests or wagons for holding or conveying ammunitions. Moreover, I also find that this song was written during World War I in 1908 and that it is the official song for the US Army.2 The Bismarck— one of the largest battle ships built by the Nazis in Germany and commissioned during World War II—was widely considered unsinkable and a great threat to the Allies.3 The line from the second song that always stood out to me is: “. . . we’ve got to sink the Bismarck ‘cause the world depends on us.”4

Our teacher never explained why she always played these war songs to us. This was simply the beginning of our school day in the fifth grade. And none of us had any context for these songs. To my knowledge, no other teacher at our school presented such a ritual to her charges. Perhaps her father or some other family member had served in the military and she found comfort or inspiration in them. Oh, well!

At ease, troops!

Copyright © 2025 by Rosi Prieto, Ph.D.

All Rights Reserved

Cleopatra

1963    Director: Joseph L. Mankiewicz

Starring: Elizabeth Taylor, Richard Burton, Rex Harrison

The epic “Cleopatra” made headlines upon its release in 1963.1 This costly production, the most expensive film created up until then, nearly bankrupted Twentieth Century Fox. And although some critics disliked it, it received mostly favorable reviews and was nominated for nine Academy Awards, earning accolades for art direction, cinematography, visual effects, and costume design. It is an opulent, lengthy film about grandeur, power, and ambition.

In 48 BCE, Julius Caesar (Harrison) pursues his enemy, Pompey the Great, to Egypt and discovers he was killed in Alexandria. Once there, as Rome expands its imperial ambitions, Caesar arbitrates between sibling corulers Ptolemy XIII (Richard O’Sullivan) and Cleopatra VII (Taylor). Cleopatra convinces Caesar that her brother should be deposed, a task that Caesar undertakes, and she becomes queen of Egypt. Cleopatra and Caesar become allies and she seduces him, promising him many sons. Later, as they meet at the tomb of Alexander the Great, she proposes that they emulate the great conqueror, explaining that as a couple they would be unstoppable in dominating the known world.

As with the rest of the film, this scene is marked by great splendor. Alexander’s impressive tomb stands at the center of a mausoleum flanked by images of his exploits. The filmmakers took pains towards historical accuracy in this scene and throughout the film. The translucent sarcophagus is made to resemble rock crystal, as legend suggests, revealing Alexander’s body inside. The conqueror is dressed in armor and his face might be covered by a gold mask, perhaps as a reference to the gold burial masks discovered at ancient Mycenae.2 The sarcophagus is based on Roman models, particularly in its tub shape, volutes (scroll-like ornamentations) at top, and seated griffins (mythological beasts that signified the deification of emperors in the Roman world).3

It’s worth noting that Caesar and Cleopatra are not the first to visit the tomb of a famous warrior. Alexander is said to have sought out the burial sites of Cyrus the Great and the legendary Achilles to pay them homage.4 Moreover, several Roman emperors apparently visited the tomb of Alexander, among them, Augustus, Caligula, and Septimius Severus.5

Tombs were of great importance for many centuries, as this was one of the ways prominent individuals would be remembered. Ancient Greek and Roman funerary practices for the elite could be elaborate, costly affairs and could include public feasts, processions, and even entertainments.6 Pilgrimages to Christian and Islamic sacred sites are well known. Popes and cardinals spent much time planning and creating their own memorials; for example, Michelangelo created funeral monuments for Pope Julius II and Cardinal Jean de Bilhères (the famous Pietà in Rome).

The Alexander tomb depicted in “Cleopatra” is an impressive Hollywood construct. It not only inspires Caesar and the Queen of Egypt, but also of the modern viewer. For these two leaders, it serves to motivate their ambitions and the possibilities they could pursue. As a memorial, it assures Alexander’s immortality, if only in the imagination of the spectator.

Copyright © 2025 by Rosi Prieto, Ph.D.

All Rights Reserved

I’m someone who needs to read subtitles when I watch a movie; if not, I find that I miss some parts of the film’s dialog. This is especially true if the movie is on TV. There’s something about the sound quality of any television set, or even computer, that seems to be the cause of this. I don’t believe I have a hearing impairment; I seem to have no problems with films on the big screen, or when I hear people in person. Contemporary audiences are lucky that movie subtitles are widely available, particularly if they do have any hearing impairments. But I would argue that not every sound needs to be accounted for in the captions.

In watching “Good Will Hunting” (1997) recently, I noticed that the sounds at the beginning of the film were documented in the subtitles. For instance, as the credits appear and Matt Damon and Ben Affleck are first seen, we see the words, “Dog Barking In The Distance,” and “Airplane Flying Overhead.” As they walk towards a car, Affleck turns to say something to Damon, and “Murmuring” appears. Then “Bell Tolling” is announced as an aerial view of Boston is visible. Thus far, no dialog has developed, but the viewer has been made aware of random noises that have occurred and that will add nothing to the storyline. This is unnecessary.

Most movies are approximately two hours long. That means that viewers will be subjected to lots of subtitles, particularly when all the sounds present are reported to the viewers. At times the captions mention repeated phrases or stuttering—it seems that some of this is not needed. And some films have lots of dialog and its captioning can appear and disappear so quickly that one is forced to rewind the film back to catch what was said; this creates discontinuity. Also, some people read faster than others, which can also be a problem.

And what about music? Music, of course, is often used in film to create a mood. It can give us a sense of lightheartedness, gravity, or another element needed for the story. But mentioning in captions that a light jazz song plays or, what is often less descriptive, telling the viewer that there’s an instrumental at the moment does not help convey the intended mood. It just gives the audience more to read. This would not apply to a song with lyrics because knowing what the words say can certainly help establish the intended mood.

I would suggest that two systems for movie subtitles should be created. For each film, have all sounds and dialog faithfully transcribed. This would be useful for a “purist,” who does not want to miss out on any of the subtleties that completeness can provide. This would be one system. The other system would have much more editing. In this case, the typist would redact the dialog, boiling it down to avoid wordiness, repetitions and vagueness, and creating pithy sentences. Of course, the typist (or the editor in charge) will need to assure that neither context, nor continuity, nor plot is lost when this is done. The viewer would then choose the most desirable option when watching the film. Having these options would certainly make movie watching more enjoyable for some of us, including myself.

Copyright © 2025 by Rosi Prieto, Ph.D.

All Rights Reserved

Parasite

2019 Director: Bong Joon-ho

Starring: Song Kang-ho, Lee Sun-kyun, Cho Yeo-jeong, Choi Woo-shik, Park So-dam, Jang Hye-jin, Lee Jung-eun, Park Myung-hoon, Jung Ji-so, Jung Hyeon-jun

“What’s your plan?” This is what Chung-sook (Jang) asks her husband, Kim Ki-taek (Song), when a neighbor changes the password for the WI-FI they were stealing. They need it so they can use their cell phones to check WhatsApp to see if a job is forthcoming. The Kim family is very poor and lives in a semi-basement in Seoul, Korea. Their son, Ki-woo (Choi), tries a new password and, raising his phone near the ceiling above the toilet, it works.

The camera soon focuses on a framed athletic medal and a photo of a shot-putter; apparently, this is a young Ki-taek, long before he was married with two children. The question his wife poses begs a new one, what was his plan then? At any rate, for now, the Kim family must take a low paying job folding pizza boxes, which they must do very quickly and efficiently, but the boxes’ round shape makes the procedure difficult and their wages are docked for sloppy work. Ki-woo’s friend shows up and offers him a job tutoring a young girl, Da-hye (Jung Ji-so), in English; she is the daughter of the wealthy Park family. Ki-woo is unsure of his skills, but his friend reassures him and he lands the job after his sister, Ki-jung (Park So-dam), photoshops a fake certificate so he can claim that he attends Yonsei University. Ki-taek is impressed by his daughter’s skills, “does Oxford have a major in document forgery?” He is also proud that his son has this interview, “So you have a plan!”, he exclaims, seeing the family’s prospects improve.

As Ki-woo lands the job, the Park’s young son, Da-song (Jung Hyeon-jun), shoots arrows towards his mother (Cho) and Ki-woo as they speak. Da-song is spoiled and strong-willed, and his mother believes he is an eccentric, artistic genius; she hopes to get him into an important art school. Ki-woo recommends Jessica from Illinois State University (actually Ki-jung, his own sister) to tutor him and provide art therapy. She also lands the job. Very quickly, the Kim siblings set up the Park family driver and housekeeper (Lee) for failure so their parents can take their jobs. The Parks are unaware of the ruse being played on them, and since things are running smoothly, they are not suspicious.

The Parks decide on an impromptu camping trip to celebrate their son’s birthday. After they depart, the Kims, take over their beautiful home, which was built by a famous architect. They binge on the Parks’ food and get drunk on their liquor. They are happy. And a plan seems to emerge. Ki-woo will date Da-hye when she attends university. His parents ask, “then this house will be your in-laws’ house?” The daydream goes further, Ki-woo says if they marry, he will need to hire actors to play his mother and father. They comment on how gullible the Parks are and that the rich always have people to resolve problems for them—a telling summation of class inequality in their world. In her drunkenness, Ki-jung lashes out at her father for wondering how the previous driver is faring now; she wants him to worry about his own family, not other people. He says, “this is our home right now.” In essence, he is living in “the now” without a plan. And this is unfortunate because the previous housekeeper, who will soon ring the doorbell in the middle of a great storm, will upend any plans the Kims may have had. Towards the end of the movie, Ki-taek comments on people’s inclination toward making plans; it is a heartbreaking scene. The film garnered many accolades throughout the world, including the Palme d’or, several Academy Awards, A Golden Globe, and two AACTA Awards.

Copyright © 2025 by Rosi Prieto, Ph.D.

All Rights Reserved