Revisiting “A Place in the Sun” and Its Costumes

Montgomery Clift in “A Place in the Sun”, 1951. Paramount Pictures

 

It is the film that was hailed by Charlie Chaplin as “the greatest movie ever made about America”. George Stevens’ A Place in the Sun is certainly one of the bleakest tales of the American Dream. Montgomery Clift plays George Eastman, a restless young man who comes from an impoverished environment and dreams of making it big. We know this because he tells us so. Not in words, but through pure visual means. Dressed in a white t-shirt and black leather jacket – before it became the symbol of the new teenager and of rock ‘n’ roll rebellion and before Marlon Brando and James Dean made it an icon of cool, the t-shirt was just a standard piece of clothing, as it is in this case, but paired with the leather jacket here it already starts to question the place of the individual, of the teenager, in the American society – he is walking along a wide open road and stops for a moment to look towards a billboard that reads “It’s an Eastman” next to an image of a lovely smiling lady advertising products made in the factory of Charles Eastman, George’s industrialist uncle. It’s the promise of all the prosperity and social mobility achieved through hard work that is the American dream, a dream George aspires to when he starts working for his uncle.

But little does he know that he is doomed to remain an outsider looking in, in a society with far greater barriers than it advertises. He soon becomes reluctantly engaged to a young woman who works alongside him in his uncle’s factory, but after being invited to a smart soirée, George meets a beautiful, wealthy debutante, Angela Vickers (Elizabeth Taylor). They fall in love with each other and George finds himself thrown into a life of privilege that his rich Eastman kin had denied him. But the ending is far from a fairy-tale end. It doesn’t even come close to a successful tale of the American dream.

Just as that shot of Stanley Kowalski and Blanche DuBois in A Streetcar Named Desire encapsulated the clash of two different ages of Hollywood, the two opposing sides of American cinema, the intuition and revolution that Brando brought along and the theatricality of the old Hollywood that Vivien Leigh represented, this shot below from A Place in the Sun encapsulates the clash of classes in American society, all the yearning for the good life. He, in an ill-fitted suit, a slouched posture and a longing and eager look. She, radiant, smiling, unattainable, wearing a white dance dress and a white mink stole on top. He is a blue collar man. She comes from privilege. They are worlds apart. You root for him.
 

“A Place in the Sun”, 1951. Paramount Pictures

 
Montgomery Clift was the first to play the vulnerable shy young rebel, the powerful fragile, the sensitive beautiful type, before James Dean and Marlon Brando. He was the first actor of his generation to bring such naturalness on the screen. He brought something exiting on screen. And he was making films with something to say. And Brando looked up to him, because, as William J. Mann remarks in his book, The Contender: The Story of Marlon Brando, “Monty’s career was evidence that quality work could be done in Hollywood“. Clift went to Hollywood before Brando. In 1948, he made two films, The Search and then Red River, and, with the latter, he became the first alienated rebel hero. Loneliness runs through many of Clift’s characters, but in no film is it so visible as in A Place in the Sun. The title of the film alone plays as a bleak comment on American capitalism. Despite his ambition, George Eastman remains a naive would-be social climber. He isn’t allowed to overcome the feeling of deprivation and exclusion he has felt his entire life.
 

Montgomery Clift and Elizabeth Taylor in “A Place in the Sun”, 1951. Paramount Pictures

 
February 27 marked the 90th anniversary of the birth of Elizabeth Taylor. She was 19 when she made A Place in the Sun, the film that propelled her from family movies – she had been a child actor – to serious roles. She also became one of the most celebrated beauties in the world. The film was also the first out of the three movies Elizabeth and Montgomery Clift would make together. “I think that was the first time I started taking acting seriously, that was when I first began to act”, she said, referring to the impression Clift made on her on the set of A Place in the Sun, to the way he could transform himself completely to get into the George Eastman character. “All my teachers, because I never had an acting lesson in my life, were the people I acted with, the people I was directed by, the experience of my life one-on-one with the people on the set and that is how I learned whatever was my technique. It was purely instinctive.” The film also marked the beginning of a life-time friendship between the two.

Clift and Taylor appeared together in two other films, Raintree County (1957) and Suddenly, Last Summer (1959). In my interview with Christopher Willoughby, the son of one of the greatest Hollywood photographers, Bob Willoughby, he told me: “During production on Raintree County, Montgomery Clift was in a serious car accident coming home from a party at Elizabeth Taylor’s and the lower part of his face was badly damaged. It delayed the production for months, Monty never really got over it and became increasingly eccentric. My father was very impressed with how maternal and caring Elizabeth was towards him.” There is a line in A Place in the Sun when Elizabeth is trying to bring comfort to a troubled George, saying: “Tell mama… tell mama all.”
 

Montgomery Clift in “A Place in the Sun”, 1951. Paramount Pictures

 
It was Edith Head who designed the costumes for Elizabeth Taylor’s character, Angela Vickers. The challenge of costuming George Steven’s A Place in The Sun (1951) was that it was not going to be released for more than a year from the time the costume designs had been completed. According to Jay Jorgensen, Edith Head went along with the newly launched New Look, confident that it would survive the fashion trends of the times. We get to see Angela in full skirts throughout the film and, as the story advances, her wardrobe keeps reminding us that she is a woman of privilege. But Angela Vickers not only comes from class, she is charming and bright and filled with a magnetism hard to resist. And her looks in the film set the trends that year. Edith credited Elizabeth with helping her understand the teenage point of view on fashion. With the advent of blue jeans for day and Dior’s New Look for evening, the rules had changed for young people. Even with the day-time outfits, Edith Head went for a fresh and youthful take on the New Look, depicting the carefree and fashion-conscious 1950s high society teenagers holidaying on Lake Tahoe.

As for Montgomery’s George Eastman, he wears a Hawaiian shirt with his leather jacket when he starts hanging out with the rich teenagers. It was a sign of rebellion against the buttoned-up postwar fashions. Monty would often sport one, off and on screen – in From Here to Eternity (1953) he will wear an Aloha shirt again when his character, Private Robert E. Lee “Prew” Prewitt, stationed on the island of Oahu, Hawaii, is on leave.

 

Montgomery Clift and Elizabeth Taylor in “A Place in the Sun”, 1951. Paramount Pictures

 
Elizabeth was totally in sync with Edith Head’s designs and she kept trying to persuade Head into making the waistline of the dresses as tiny as possible to compliment her beautiful hourglass figure. Taylor’s costumes included “a terry cloth ’sunner’ with knit waist and bra bands accompanied by a matching fringed stole”, “a knitted boucle sweater, whose hood formed a collar when worn down”, accessorised with knit gloves, and “a sweater and stole of heavy white lace with double circular skirt of sheer white organdy”. There was also “a black velvet gown with a heavy lace that had been encrusted with pearl beads laced into ribbon bands cross the bust”. But it was the gown “employing six layers of white net over pale mint green taffeta, studded with single velvet violets and a bodice covered in white velvet violets” that would cause a sensation among prom-going young ladies the year the film was released. This dress is still considered one of the most iconic dresses of the Golden Age of Hollywood. And the one wearing it was a star that had just been born.
 

Montgomery Clift and Elizabeth Taylor in “A Place in the Sun”, 1951. Paramount Pictures

 

editorial sources: Edith Head, The Fifty Year Career of Hollywood’s Greatest Costume Designer, by Jay Jorgensen / The Contender, The Story of Marlon Brando, by William J. Mann / The special features on the dvd edition released by Paramount Home Entertainment

 
 

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Beyond Ernest et Célestine: The Art of Gabrielle Vincent. In Conversation with Fondation Monique Martin

“Ernest et Célestine”, Gabrielle Vincent/Monique Martin. Duculot/Casterman. Courtesy of Fondation Monique Martin

 
 
She became known worldwide under her nom de plume, Gabrielle Vincent, author of the much loved children’s books Ernest et Célestine. The simple stories about the unlikely friendship between a big bear with a kind heart and a little mouse with a strong personality, two different worlds that beautifully come together, told gently and poetically, and so tenderly and expressively rendered through the minimalist hand-drawn watercolour brushstrokes, have had the power to capture the hearts of the young and old everywhere for 40 years.

Gabrielle’s illustrated stories go beyond the adventures of Ernest et Célestine though. From Un jour, un chien (A Day, a Dog), the story, in black and white and with no words, of the suffering of an abandoned dog on the side of a road, to the visually powerful and unsettling L’oeuf (The Egg), another wordless work and her most enigmatic, a hopeless revolt towards man’s actions against nature, Gabrielle Vincent’s drawings reveal a rich artistic mind and an innate sense of image.

But before she made a name as an illustrator, the Belgian artist had gained recognition as a painter, under her birth name, Monique Martin. Never the conventional type, never willing to explain her work much, Martin was a singular artist, one who was not afraid to free herself of what was expected of her, and changed career paths resuming to illustration. She never lost touch with her childhood passion, her child imagination and the simple drawing line, never lost the confidence, innocence and freedom of drawing as she aged. Maybe that’s why she created one of the most beautiful stories for children ever told, Ernest et Célestine. Because the images alone could tell the story. The warmth the storyteller has for her characters, the warmth and joy they have for each other, the friendly complicity, humour and tolerance they use to overcomes every situation, the way they draw lessons through mutual listening and understanding from their everyday life adventures and misadventures… these are values that should enter a child’s world early and never leave him as he grows.

I have recently had the pleasure to talk to Fanny Husson-Ollagnier from Fondation Monique Martin, the foundation that so beautifully carries on the artist’s legacy and the values she stood for, about Monique Martin the painter and Gabrielle Vincent the illustrator.
 
 

“Ernest et Célestine musiciens des rues”, Gabrielle Vincent/Monique Martin. Duculot/Casterman.
Courtesy of Fondation Monique Martin

 
Monique Martin is best known worldwide for her illustrated books for children Ernest et Célestine, under her pseudonym, Gabrielle Vincent. It’s an incredible story for children, for its ability to convince with few words, but kind and the right gestures, that also derives from that style of illustration. Did she become interested in drawing from an early age?

Drawing had always been part of her life. She had been drawing everywhere from her earliest age, even on her school copy books.

As an upset lefty, she was writing at school with her right hand, and while writing she was often drawing at the same time with her left hand. Drawing portraits as well as nature or illustrating traditional tales.

Later, when she was an arts student, drawing illustrations for postcards became a student job.
 
 

“What she really enjoyed in children’s illustration
and meant with it was the line drawing thing.”

 
 
She was already an appreciated painter when she started to focus on illustration. Where did her interest in children’s illustrations originate?

As I’ve said, she began drawing as she was a little girl and found illustrating children postcards was a good way to earn some money as a student, but when she really came to a sort of full-time children illustrating job, what she really enjoyed in it and meant with it was the line drawing thing. She had always been very good at line drawing and children’s illustration was a great opportunity to do a job out of this art and be a sort of unique artist in it.
 
 

Monsieur Dasnoy, Monique Martin. Fondation Monique Martin

 

Why did she change her name to Gabrielle Vincent for her illustrated works?

Her name as a painter was her birth name, Monique Martin. With this name she had made a good reputation and her works of art were often exhibited in Brussels galleries. In the 70’s, she began being tired of mondanities and thinking of how to escape it all she started drawing illustrations under a new name Gabrielle Vincent, which were in fact the first names of two of her grandparents.
 
 

”Not only did the images carry the stories, they WERE the stories.”

 
 
When she started painting, she had a black and white period, then she started using colour. Why do you think she started with black and white?

She was encouraged in black and white drawing by her professor and mentor Mr de Smet, at Les beaux arts in Brussels. He had seen how talented she was and thought she would learn a lot and better her style with this economy of means.
 
 

Homme du désert, Monique Martin. Fondation Monique Martin

 
 
Is it true that she exhibited little as a painter, because the idea of ​​separating from her works and giving them a market value repelled her?

It was not a problem for her to seperate from her works, but she was not really interested in what people thought of them and she hated mondanities. She liked to exchange ideas with artists from other fields as she exchanged letters with the French writer Daniel Pennac for about ten years; he was asking her what she thought of his texts and she was asking him about her drawings.
 
 
What other artists did she exchange ideas with? Or was there any other artist she was particularly inspired by?

I am not sure whether she exchanged ideas with other artists, but she was very fond of the British illustrator Arthur Rackam (1867-1939). She also often spoke of Ernest H. Shepard, the Winnie the Pooh illustrator.
 
 

”Un jour, un chien”, Gabrielle Vincent/Monique Martin. Fondation Monique Martin

 

In 1982, she published Un jour, un chien (A Day, A Dog), the story in black and white of a wandering and the suffering of an abandoned dog on the side of a road. As I mentioned earlier, Monique’s stories were of few words, but this one is images alone. She believed in the power of the images. Did she always seek for the images to carry the story?

She did always seek for the images to carry the story and, even more, I would say she did not like words. If it had been her decision and not the publisher’s, Ernest and Célestine would have been stories without words. Not only did the images carry the stories, they were the stories. Maybe (that’s my interpretation), she accepted to put words on them to allow adults with a lack of imagination to also enter her world.
 
 
I like your interpretation. I was actually leafing through my son’s Ernest & Célestine books and was thinking how the story would have stood without the words. It almost feels she was reluctant in attaching words to the story. What do you think is the biggest mistake parents are prone to making when it comes to the creativity of their children?

In Monique Martin’s case, I think it really came from her personality. For what concerns the parents’ mistake about creativity, I would say it often comes from the parents’ desire that their children practise arts in a certain way without being free of choosing their own way, and with the aim of an outcome.
 
 
Did she mostly draw from imagination or did she also like to observe and be inspired by the world?

She mostly drew from real life; when she drew people at the tribunal in Brussels, she spent hours there every day for months; to draw gitans she was wandering in the Marolles district in Brussels; for Ernest and Célestine, she inspired herself from the moments with her nephews in her house Place du Chatelain in Brussels.

All the landscapes were hers, be it the parks in Brussels, the Foret de Soignes or the desert landscapes she visited many times in Egypt, Morocco, etc.
 
 

”L’oeuf”, Monique Martin. Fondation Monique Martin

 

Could you tell me a little about the album titled L’oeuf, a story that reflects only too well the modern society and remains incredibly current today?

L’oeuf is both very interesting and intriguing. It’s quite different from the rest of her work. It’s the reflection of what she feared would happen to the world if humans went on badly using the planet. It was really a precursor book; and she used the drawing line once again.
 
 
I would like to return to Ernest & Célestine. Why do you think these stories have been so successful worldwide?

There were and are so successfull because they are what we call “classics”. They are not getting old, they are not linked to any fashion. They have universal values, with a very unique way of drawing that has inspired so many artists.
 
 
I am thinking of a line from one of the books, from Musiciens des rues, when a leak in the roof causes worries to Ernest because he has no money to pay for it, and when Célestine asks him if he’s upset, he answers: “No, I’m just thinking.” And that is in fact the right answer a caring parent would give to a child asking about a grown-up problem. So I think you are absolutely right, Gabrielle not only chose the words for parents, but she chose the right words. Do you have a favourite Ernest et Célestine book?

My absolute favourite is La chambre de Joséphine. It’s the one when they are waiting for a boring and snobbish auntie of Ernest’s, and preparing a room for her whereas they have no money and no furniture and it’s raining in the room, and they find ways of installing a nice, cosy room and don’t stop having fun while doing it.
 
 

”La Montgolfiére”, Monique Martin, 1996. Fondation Monique Martin

 
 

Note: You can find the Ernest et Célestine books here, or you can check with your favourite independent local bookshop. If you don’t have a favourite indie bookstore, here is how to find one you can support.

Ernest et Célestine the film / Fondation Monique Martin

 
 

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Read Instead…in Print


 
A photo of a good book about cinema. No discursive, pretentious analyses, no verbose scrutiny. Because the idea is to invite you to read the book, not read about it here. But instead of using social media, I use my journal. Back to basics. Take it as a wish to break free of over-reliance on social media (even if it’s just for posting a photo of a good book) for presenting my work, cultural finds and interests. These are things to be enjoyed as stand-alone pieces in a more substantial and meaningful way than showing them in the black hole of Instagram thronged with an audience with a short attention span. This is also a look through my voluminous collection of books about film that I use as research in my adamant decision to rely less and less on the online and more on more on print materials.

Read instead…in print #9.

Bertrand Tavernier’s Amis Américains: Entretiens avec les grands auteurs d’Hollywood (at the second edition) is a beauty of a book that makes me shout with joy. It’s, hands down, one of my all time favourite books about film, and, by that, I refer to books that treat the world of cinema at large, not deal with just one film. I do believe that the French write the best books about film and their passion for cinema can hardly be equaled. And, further more, this one is the most expansively and expressively illustrated, with posters, beautiful film stills (so carefully chosen and exquisitely reproduced that these alone make you want to watch or re-watch those films), film magazine covers. Tavernier talks about so many films and so many filmmakers with the sheer enthusiasm of a cinephile and also with the broad and deep knowledge of a filmmaker, but he wears that knowledge lightly. His dialogues about movies are like dialogues between friends, which, in my experience (and not only), are better than any official, critical review. But probably the most satisfying part of this book is that it’s not just about the past, but about contemporary filmmakers (his favourites), too. It’s a treasure of films, past and present. Bertrand Tavernier had hope in the future of cinema, and that should give us hope, too.

This is how Tavernier explains to Thierry Frémaux, the editor, why he released a second edition of the book: “The book had become untraceable and I wanted this new edition to be enriched. Having never ceased to deepen my knowledge of American cinema, I had the possibility to complete one text or another, to annotate here, to adjust there, to add a chapter on André De Toth. I don’t consider myself a historian, but I try to make my approach empirical, scholarly and transparent. Nothing is final and showing that a critical opinion or a historical interpretation can evolve seems like a healthy approach to me. Therefore, this book becomes the testimony of my permanent relationship with the American cinema.

I always try not to fall into nostalgia or into the arrogant evocation of a past to which nothing would be comparable today. I don’t have a collector’s spirit, I don’t consult my archives, I see very little of my films. In fact, I’d rather look at other people’s pasts than my own. And I look to the future: then my doubts dissipate. This is why I wanted this book, which opens with John Ford, to end with a visit to contemporary filmmakers, who are also cinephiles, such as Quentin Tarantino, Alexander Payne and Joe Dante.”
 
 

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Bring Back a Sample of Dirt: Costuming “Once Upon a Time in the West”

“Once Upon a Time in the West”, 1968. Paramount Pictures

 

Historical realism or film history? Confirming to the idea of dynamic roles and narrative function or spectatorial statements? I always ask myself this predicament when it comes to film costumes. I think it has to be both. But nobody has achieved this quite like Sergio Leone. And the creative mind behind the look of his films was Carlo Simi, who was production and costume designer. His costumes for Sergio Leone’s films had a comic-book panache, were astounding, cool, just like the characters were larger-than-life, but without being out of place, without being fake-looking. They were original, but accurate as well. They are iconic, but not in the sense of being pop culture pervasive and influential – a successful film costume doesn’t have to translate well in everyday life, despite modern-day filmmakers who believe everything must relate to the modern audiences even if the story is decades old. They are iconic because they are an intrinsic part of the iconography of his films. Sergio Leone’s film costumes have no life outside the world in his films. They were made to live in those stories. That’s what makes them real for the characters. There’s a moment of truth in all Sergio Leone’s films, even if it’s through the filter of cinema.

The dusters in Once Upon a Time in the West belong to that film alone. “The dusters were a mania of his,” Carlo Simi recounted Sergio Leone’s interest in the long coats of his characters to Christopher Frayling. “We went to look at costumes kept in the Western Costume house in California, and we happened to find these beautiful dusters, which were dustcoats for riding. They had also been shown in the film by John Ford, The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance, in the flashback. They were white, so we changed them to chocolate brown. Before we changed them, they looked like they were worn by ice-cream vendors.” The Man who Shot Liberty Valance was, as it’s well known, a big influence for Leone and his favourite John Ford film. “Because Ford finally, at the age of almost sixty-five, finally understood what pessimism is all about,” Leone said in an interview in 1982. “In fact, with that film, Ford succeeded in eating up all his previous words about the West – the entire discourse he had been promoting from the very beginning of his career.” Paul Duncan endorses this view in John Ford: The Complete Films: “In movies as disparate as The Grapes of Wrath, My Darling Clementine and The Searchers, Ford had nudged his characters toward a final ascendence to myth; now, he begins the film with the myth and methodically deconstructs it on the way to a mournful irony.”

Leone brought cynicism and irony, craziness, boldness and machismo to the clichés of Western cinema, letting a picaresque spirit intrude on dramatic events, where no true hero is represented by a single character in the story that sees rapacious civilization take over the wide open spaces of the West. In Leone’s unique vision, historical reality and the realistic settings give us the conviction of fantasy. The style was brave, but the tone was pessimistic. The movie was a western, but it not only rewrote the conventions of the Western, but became a new language for cinema, embracing purely cinematic elements of filmmaking. Sergio Leone even had the flair to use in the title of his film the stock phrase that introduces the narrative of fairy tales and folk tales, and the title alone already carries a legendary, fantastical air. Once Upon a Time… And the greatest award for the viewer is that the film rises up to that myth and timelessness.
 

“Once Upon a Time in the West”, 1968. Paramount Pictures

 
“The costumes pop before the characters,” Quentin Tarantino writes in the forward to the book Once Upon a Time in the West: Shooting a Masterpiece. They do, but they further attract the attention onto the characters.
 
Cheyenne: “Are you interested in fashions, Harmonica?” Jason Robards asks Charles Bronson when the latter takes an interest in one of Cheyenne’s men’s dusters.
Harmonica: “I saw three of these dusters a little while ago. Inside the dusters there were three men.”
Cheyenne: “So?”
Harmonica: “Inside the men there were three bullets.”
Cheyenne: “That’s a crazy story, Harmonica. First, nobody in these parts have the guts to wear those dusters besides Cheyenne’s men. Second, Cheyenne’s men don’t get killed.”
 
“Leone once said they were like suits of armour,“ Tarantino continues. “The dusters in Once Upon a Time in the West are their suits of armour. And they have this pop cultural zeitgeist to them. Like the pink shirt and the tan vest that were populating the American westerns don’t have. When you think that all of Sergio Leone’s westerns and most of Sergio Corbucci’s were the work of Carlo Simi – as costume designer and production designer: the man who came up with the Django costume and the Man with No Name costume, the man who found the circular graveyard and the bullring at the end of The Good, The Bad and the Ugly… I mean, it’s unfathomable… The dusters in Once Upon a Time in the West, like the trenchcoats in Melville’s films, are timeless…”
 

“Once Upon a Time in the West”, 1968. Paramount Pictures

 
And just like in Melville’s films, Leone’s characters have no time for women because they are too busy trying to survive. And you kind of feel their urgency. Cheyenne’s men’s dusters are a signature for them and a trick Henry Fonda’s Frank uses to frame them for the massacre. “And those long coats, those dusters. He had a pile of books of photographs of ranch hands wearing dusters to protect themselves from all the dust,” Mickey Knox, who translated the script in English, himself rememberers. “So he had to feature them. In American Westerns, they all wore tight pants with gun belts. But scripts are funny things, you know. It sounds great when you write them, and you are sitting there reading them to yourself. But then the actors have to speak the lines! They are different for some reason.”

And if there was any doubt why these characters come across as mythical creatures, Leone’s words clarifies it: “Once Upon a Time in the West was from start to finish a dance of death. All the characters in the film, except Claudia, are conscious of the fact that they will not arrive at the end alive…”
 
Frank: “Morton once told me I could never be like him. Now I understand why. Wouldn’t have bothered him, knowing you were around somewhere alive.”
Harmonica: “So you found out you’re not a businessman after all.”
Frank: “Just a man.”
Harmonica: “An ancient race. Other Mortons’ll be along, and they’ll kill it off.“
Frank:“The future don’t matter to us – nothing matters now, not the land, not the money, not the woman. I came here to see you, ’cause I know that now you’ll tell me what you’re after“,
Harmonica: “Only at the point of dyin’.”
Frank: “I know.”
 
But Leone did put a woman in Once Upon a Time. In fact, Claudia Cardinale’s Jill is the character that is at the center of the story and “accorded a kind of existential solitude and strength normally reserved to the men in Westerns,” John Fawell comments in The Art of Sergio Leone’s Once Upon a Time in the West: A Critical Appreciation. Women had usually been allotted stereotypical parts in Westerns – wife, saloon showgirl, prostitute, or rancher daughters (with some notable exceptions, of course, of female gunfighters, outlaws and gamblers, like Marlene Dietrich in Rancho Notorious, Barbara Stanwyck in Forty Guns, Joan Crawford and Mercedes MacCambridge in Johnny Guitar). In Once Upon a Time, Claudia is, too, at origins, a prostitute from New Orleans, but she becomes a western pioneer woman, a fact also symbolised through costume, when Harmonica tears her Eastern finery, the white bright lace, off of her black crinoline dress. And by that, he also makes her “a less easy target for Frank’s assassins,” John Fawell concludes, signaling instead the arrival of a new era and the driving force in American life that women would play from then on.
 

“Once Upon a Time in the West”, 1968. Paramount Pictures

 

 
When Henry Fonda reveals his face in Once Upon a Time in the West, another big American movie cliché was capsized. Fonda had thus far been associated with the family man, with the good guy, with the classic hero, with Wyatt Earp, and that’s what the audiences were expecting to see. But there is nothing good about his stone-faced, piercing blue-eyed Frank – “He played a gunman like no-one else could,” Leone said. “Icy cold, very stiff, merciless. You could tell immediately that he and never attended the Actors’ Studio.” – and watching Henry Fonda in this film is one of my most satisfying experiences for a cinephile.

Fonda declared that Leone had chosen him specifically “to heighten the anticipation of his character’s entrance,” as Ennio Morricone tells Alessandro de Rosa in the book Ennio Morricone: In His Own Words. “The viewers were supposed to see a strange figure stooping over the little boy paralyzed by fear. At that point, the camera would pan around the actor’s back and with a circular movement it would reveal his face.” The distorted electric guitar that introduced the theme of the character was used to further heighten that suspense. It was as shocking as the kid seeing his family killed and being himself killed thereafter. And as shocking as Henry Fonda playing the villain. Clad in black (a black covered in the dust present everywhere in that wide desert), his presence not only portends bad things to come, but represents death itself.

They filmed Hank’s hideout both in America and Rome, at Cinecittà, and they had to match the colours of the exterior to the interior. To make sure Simi remembered the exact colour, Leone sent someone to America to bring back a sample of that earth and dust. Mickey Knox remembers how Leone was concerned with every detail: “I can remember Henry Fonda trying on over twenty hats until they were both satisfied with the right one. I didn’t think the hat was so special…” That was the idea, I believe, not to be special, but to belong. In her book, Watt Matthews at Lambshead, about one of the great last Texas cattlemen and one of the most important figures of the Texas frontier culture, photographer Laura Wilson explains what the hat means to a cowboy, whose authority comes from meeting things head on: it “is soft so the brim will give if he hits brush; the crown is not high. On a new hat, he has the brim cut down to two and three-eighths inches so it’s perfectly proportioned to him. Then, before he wears a hat for the first time, he holds it over a steaming kettle in the cookshack, pinching and bending the felt to shape the hat into a style that’s all his own.”

Frank’s hat has plenty of close-ups, because Leone loved to shoot his actors in close-up, and you always have that uneasy feeling when those baby-blue eyes are piercing from under that Stetson. Leone said that the greatest difficulty he encountered with Fonda was that of dressing him. “No matter what I put on him – even the most worn-out old rags – he always seemed a prince, with his ‘noble’ walk and his ‘aristocratic’ bearing.” That walk does have its moments in the film, and the boots have some close-ups, too. Long, elegant, well-worn, dust-covered, black boots. We see a great close-up of them when Frank comes out of the saloon and patrols back and forth on the porch, suspicious of what’s to come, right before Harmonica kills Frank’s men who had come to kill him. The way he walks, that walk, demands attention and makes you aware of the tension. We get another close-up of the boots a little later on in the duel with Harmonica, when Frank’s boots walk the dance death.
 

“Once Upon a Time in the West”, 1968. Paramount Pictures

 
But there’s another character who is often introduced by his boots. Cheyenne. “He represents in the film the same type of character as Eli Wallach in The Good, the Bad and the Ugly,” Leone explained. “But with him, there is more warmth, more humanity, which, with a mixture of drollery and sadness as well, gives him a certain philosophy of life.” And “boots, along with hats and guns, are one of the most essential ingredients in the uniform of the cowboy, so as usual Leone is taking advantage of items with iconographic weight for his visual schemes,” writes John Fawell.

Harmonica was maybe the one who fit the least in this iconography. Just like Clint Eastwood’s Man with No Name in The Good, the Bad and the Ugly, whose poncho was not like anything seen on an American horseman, not in a classic Western anyhow, Harmonica’s checkered coat and off-white trousers are a unique choice of costume. And just like The Man with No Name was coming from nowhere, going nowhere, without a past, without a future, we can not be sure about anything about Harmonica, and can not place him in any particular archetype, except that, as Leone explained his choice of Charles Bronson for the role, “he is the face of Destiny, with a whole world behind it, a kind of granite block, impenetrable but scarred by life“.

Sergio Leone brought authenticity back into the western. Props, sets and characters, and, yes, violence. And the dusters, too. “I haven’t invented anything – I’ve just gone back to the original. The canvas dusters were a practical kind of garment, because they were the only protection a cowboy had, when he stayed away from town out in the desert for several days at a stretch – the only protection against the terrible dust of the desert in the daytime, and the downpours of rain at night. And the dusters were good with whisky stains, too. Sometimes they were covered in buffalo grease, as a protective surface. So when the cowboys took them off, they almost stood up by themselves!” – I saw three of these dusters a little while ago. Inside the dusters there were three men. “American directors depend too much on other screenwriters and don’t go back enough into their own history. Actually, some of the westerns that were made at the very beginning of the century were closer to actuality. But, with the expansion of Hollywood, the films came to diverge more and more from historical reality.”
 

Editorial sources: “Once Upon a Time in the West: Shooting a Masterpiece”, by Christopher Frayling; “John Ford: The Complete Films”, by Paul Duncan and Scott Eyman; “The Art of Sergio Leone’s Once Upon a Time in the West: A Critical Appreciation”, by John Fawell; “Watt Matthews at Lambshead”, by Laura Wilson

 
 

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Read Instead…in Print


 
A photo of a good book about cinema. No discursive, pretentious analyses, no verbose scrutiny. Because the idea is to invite you to read the book, not read about it here. But instead of using social media, I use my journal. Back to basics. Take it as a wish to break free of over-reliance on social media (even if it’s just for posting a photo of a good book) for presenting my work, cultural finds and interests. These are things to be enjoyed as stand-alone pieces in a more substantial and meaningful way than showing them in the black hole of Instagram thronged with an audience with a short attention span. This is also a look through my voluminous collection of books about film that I use as research in my adamant decision to rely less and less on the online and more on more on print materials.

Read instead…in print #8.

Interviews with the director, Sergio Leone, with the screenwriter, Sergio Donati, with Bernardo Bertolucci, who wrote the story on which the script was based, with the cinematographer, Tonino Delhi Colli, with the production and costume designer, Carlo Simi, with the composer, Ennio Morricone, with the actors, Henry Fonda, Jason Robards, Charles Bronson, Claudia Cardinale, Woody Strode, Jack Elam, forward by Quentin Tarantino, words by Martin Scorsese, John Carpenter. Finely and lovingly crafted, filled with the best film stills and artworks, call sheets, production and costume sketches, images of other film influences. The passion, the hard work and the craftsmanship of everyone involved in making the film, and the way all those creative forces emerged, grab you from every page and make you wonder what the hell has happened to filmmaking today. Where is the human touch? And you just remember everything, the music, the wind blowing the tablecloths, the fly caught in the barrel of the gun, Henry Fonda’s baby blue eyes and merciless killer look, everything… This is the film whose director asked the production designer to fly to America do bring him a sample of dirt to be absolutely sure that the colour of the sets at Cinecittà perfectly matched the exterior setting of a scene shot in Monument Valley. Christopher Frayling’s Once Upon a Time in the West: Shooting a Masterpiece is a worthy book, and the definitive work, of shooting a masterpiece. This is how all books about the making of a film should look like.
 
 

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Posted by classiq in Books, Film, Read instead...in print | | Comments Off on Read Instead…in Print