Reviews

Historical accuracy is not very likely in an epic like this, but that's not the point, especially after so many years have passed since it was made. Considering 'Genghis Khan' now, it stands out as a dandy museum piece, not only in the 'they don't make 'em like this any more' category, but because it's such a full-blown try at making a splash in the epic film sweepstakes of the 1960s.

Yeah, it's a tinker-toy epic, but great fun, despite aiming at serious drama. Only 'Marco the Magnificent' outdoes it for 'Mutinational Production Prize' of its era.

Interestingly, it's a 'gap-filler' epic. That is, in the years when every ancient or legendary subject/culture seemed to be tackled by producers, hoping to strike 'Ben-Hur' gold, filmmakers shopped around history, looking for unique subjects to make an impression. Sooner or later the great Khan's number was going to come up. 'The Conqueror' with John Wayne seems more like a western (duh!), while 'Genghis' actually has a central Asian feel to it. Like its mate, 'The Long Ships', this is a Yugoslavian-filmed venture, a mini attempt to emulate Sam Bronston's epic production efforts over in Spain.

After Bronston's great empire unfortunately folded, other attempts to take up the epic gauntlet were made. This is one of the most sincere. A great cast, pretty respectable art direction, a sense of epic sweep, and a predictable but often witty script, they're all here. I'm sure the distinguished cast did it for the money, but at least they probably had a good time doing it. At its best it's a decent try at being epic. At its worst, it's a curiosity, but a pretty amusing one.

Highlights: - Dusan Radic's fantastic score. He achieves a Rosza-like standard, I think.

• Michael Hordern yelling 'TEMM-U-JEEN!!!' endlessly.

• Omar Sharif's yoke. Enthusiasts can see who wears his longer: Omar or John Wayne.

• James Mason's Mandarin parody. Politically correct it ain't.

• Bob Morley steals the show (as usual), as the effete emperor. The only character in cinema history who is killed just by WATCHING fireworks. Best line, as he hands a featherweight fan to a servant: 'Take it, it grows heavy'.

• Orson Welles WASN'T in this one, but should have been.

• Francoise Dorleac is of course very Euro, but not bad to look at.

• Any picture with Geoffrey Unsworth behind the camera is going to have some stuff going for it. Seeing it in full Panavision on the big screen would certainly give this picture more respectability.

I await its' much-deserved DVD appearance.

This picture has long been denigrated, and for the slightest of reasons. No need to list them here, as this comment is overwhelmingly positive. It's not even a case of 'a bad Ford movie is better than most anything else.' Simply put, this is an impressive, cogent, intelligent and epic film, which is more than worthy of the Ford filmography.

The pace is stately, but there is much to absorb, and the rewards are steady and certainly Fordian. The only element which is distinctly different from Ford's previous westerns is the Alex North score. Cerebral, brilliant, martial and passionate, the music elevates the film to a unique level. Perhaps this was a factor in the critics being discombobulated when they first reviewed it. Ford was still evolving as a director, despite his running out of gas physically. The semi-comedic Wyatt Earp sequence works perfectly amidst the gravity of the Trail of Tears. This is because it accurately portrays the superficiality and buffoonery of the whites regarding Indian matters. Though he appears trivial, Stewart's Wyatt is indeed canny in diverting the drunken impromptu army away from the hungry Cheyenne in their exodus. The scene ends right before Intermission. After the Entr'acte, the seriousness of the saga is resumed, right up to the Pyrrhic victory at the end.

It is to Warner Home Video's credit that 'Cheyenne Autumn' is presented in as intact a version as possible. The Overture is also included, which I had never heard before. The title sequence is magnificent. Full realization is made of the 70mm visuals. Ford said, 'Forget about the camera. Just get a good cameraman to capture what you have in mind.' Bill Clothier was such a cameraman, and he is as responsible for the splendor seen as much as John Ford.

In the final analysis, 'Cheyenne Autumn' stands firm, and by itself. It is not a perfect film, nor is it what many viewers hoped it would be. But it is still an outstanding picture. Restored, at least to 156 minutes instead of 170, it is nothing short of a triumph.

This is an action/adventure picture to really get excited about. That is, if you want something refreshingly different from the assembly line-produced high impact/plot twisted/irony-obsessed schlock in the mainstream.

Like the MTV animated series, audiences should know from the get-go that 'Aeon Flux' is going to be different. While it is plainly inspired by Truffault's 'Fahrenheit 451', and its wonderful production design is torn from the pages of 'Wallpaper' magazine, 'Aeon' achieves a whole universe of its own, largely devoid of cliché and full of invention and development of all kinds. There is dialog to grab onto, characters to care about, but without anything cutesy or pandering to other more banal formula films. Karyn Kusama's direction is well disciplined, the cast are right on point, and there is both style AND substance everywhere. Naturally, Charlize Theron is both tantalizing and touching in her lonely role. Her character is deep and meaningful, and egads, does she look the part. In the supporting cast, Sophie Okondido, Paterson Joseph, and Amelia Warner particularly stand out.

Everything in the picture makes sense and is well explained. Audiences should have no cause to complain that it is too cryptic or over their heads. Yet, everything about it is sophisticated, intelligent and superbly executed. Some of the acting is a tad lacklustre, or, to use a better term, understated. But when we know more about the characters, we know why this might be so. One line uttered by Aeon Flux tells it all (one SPOILER only): that the generations of cloning/inbreeding have resulted in an intellectually deficient populace.

This is a film that really works. It is not overdone or meant for candy-like consumption. It is as lean and shapely as Ms. Theron. It is multi-dimensional, and it sets a great example in bringing action/adventure-seeking audiences back from the hog-trough of over-indulgence.

What sort of film would have resulted if, in the mid 1960s, Busby Berkeley, fresh from his gig on 'Jumbo', had been invited by none other than Chairman Mao to realize a project styled 'a song and dance epic', for the benefit of the entire People's Republic of China to digest as a picture show entertainment? Something flashy, but with a message. Something to enliven and uplift the people in ways that even the 'Little Red Book' could not achieve. Well, Buzz never took up the 'offer', but the film which emerged, 'Dongfang Hong' (aka 'The East is Red') certainly ranks as one of the most impressive musicals ever made, despite being buried in obscurity. Film critic Elvis Mitchell, upon seeing clips of 'Dongfang', thought first of Vincente Minelli as far as style is concerned. It's true, there's more of 'An American in Paris' here than '42nd Street', but that's where the film's message comes in: wow the people.

The music? Alfred Newman or Johnny Green could have scored it! A lavish, full-blown symphonic soundtrack, with ancient and modern folk instruments expertly integrated. A huge Robert Shaw-ish chorus provides vocal bulwark duty. The music is properly grand, yet frequently touching and even moving. The camera-work, in mural-like anamorphic widescreen (probably old Bausch & Lomb CinemaScope lenses, obtained via Hong Kong) is marvelously fluid and competent, even stately. Hal Rosson or Leon Shamroy might have shot it! The art direction, settings (ostensibly in the mighty Great Hall of the People), and costumes have all the panache of a Metro or 20th-Fox production, coming at you in blazing 'People's Color'.

Can we assume that, in the almost total absence of cultural and commercial exchange at this time between the West and China, bootleg reels of, say, 'The Goldwyn Follies' or 'The Dolly Sisters' or 'Invitation to the Dance' were smuggled into deepest Red China and dissected as far as style and technique are concerned? In the absence of teachers and colleagues, film viewing itself is an amazingly effective instructor. If one has the hardware, the on screen talent, and the cash, certainly the rest is do-able by example.

But it isn't all just showy technique. The collective performance by the anonymous actors, dancers and musicians is utterly sincere, totally professional, and undoubtedly dedicated. It's as if their lives depended on it(!). Some of the moments of drama brought forth in this cinematic instrument of persuasion beggar description as far as epicness is concerned. The exaggerations employed are both glorious and have a traditionally ancient quality. They are not so much preposterous when one considers all the extreme travails that China went through in the first half of the 20th century. On the other hand, it's really quite hilarious to see machine gun-toting partisans frolicking in and out of marsh grass to the bouncy rhythm of a coy song, and the goofball depictions of the Western-ish slave owners and merchant creeps are basically pretty silly. But most of the picture is sheer wonder, and the pace does not let up. One sequence is particularly inspired: followers of the Chairman grow in number; they carry torches in the form of neat little oscillating 'bubble-lamps', which increase exponentially as they progress across the vast landscape of the painted backdrop, 'spreading the word', all done with thrilling stagecraft (and not cinematic) technique.

The profoundly serious pronouncements by the on screen 'narrators', which usher us from scene to scene, look like something out of 'The Ten Commandments' (1956), what with the stylized lighting and portentous tone in which they are done.

At the end, the conductor of the orchestra, who has been herculean in his efforts to guide this massive entity through its course with all the confidence of a Bernstein or a Stokowski or a Toscanini, is able to give one final gesture: a grandiose rendition of the 'Internationale' to wrap up the show, and bring down the house.

With the knowledge that China's Cultural Revolution was such a tumultuous and horrific period in which untold numbers of Chinese suffered and died, it is perhaps awkward to praise such a propaganda piece such as 'Dongfang'. For those who know Chinese or, if one is watching a subtitled version, there is the predictable anti-Western and naturally pro-Communist rhetoric woven throughout the whole, but the film is actually quite accurate in the story it tells. Glorifying the regime of Mao is certainly the imperative. This is accomplished by sheer epic theatricalism. A touch of Hollywood, a touch of Peking Opera, and lots of great tunes, tableaux, acrobatics, and triumphalism accompany the mega-powerful purpose of this picture: propaganda. Nevertheless, 'Dongfang' is no 'Triumph of the Will'. It is indeed a 'song and dance epic', which brings far more fascination and sheer entertainment qualities with it, rather than the baggage of uneasy guilt. It is important to remember that this picture was shot before the Cultural Revolution really got started, and its message is downright innocent compared to what was to follow. The only real similarity with 'Triumph' (besides propaganda as choreographed showbiz) is that the director of 'Dongfang was also a woman. Ping Wang was respected enough to be given this prestigious assignment in a climate where certain women, despite everything else that was going on, attained opportunities of consequence. Chairman Mao's wife was heavily involved in motion pictures.

The film has a lengthy text prologue which is accompanied by a much-repeated rendition of the 'Internationale'.

Fans of 'Dongfang' will note that there exists a companion piece, 'The Long March Melody' (aka: 'The Red Army - No Afraid of Long March (sic) - Song Series of Long March (Documentary of Stage Art)', also directed by Ping Wang (1976). It is a 'song series program re-edited and acted according to "Song Series of Long March" composed by comrade Xiao Hua', (and presumably, Ding Shande).