Eras Defined

Two films from long ago, themselves half a century apart.

MIKEY AND NICKY (1976) (B+) - Elaine May injects a dark, easy-going comic twist into this gangster version of "Husbands," using John Cassavetes and Peter Falk to pay homage to John Cassavetes and Peter Falk, as well as to the classic noir thrillers. May is subtle and clever throughout, rationing her one-liners wisely, preferring to give these acting legends wide berth in which to develop their characters (the camera lets them vamp often) and build the terror to a slow boil toward a devastating ending.

Nicky (Cassavetes) is holed up in a hotel room, knowing he is a marked man because he stole from the local mob boss. (One bookie has already been gunned down.) And, indeed, a lazy assassin (an understated Ned Beatty) has a contract to fulfill. Nicky calls Mikey (Falk), the only person he could possibly trust, and even Mikey is clearly not his pal anymore. But Mikey comes to meet his friend, given vague directions but signaled to the exact location by a booze bottle wrapped in a towel launched out of a window and sent crashing down in the street. (I laughed out loud at Falk's line-reading when he first knocks on Cassavetes' door: "I came as soon as I got your towel.")

The two embark on a rambling journey through the city, and it's clear early on that Mikey is tipping the mob boss off to Nicky's proposed whereabouts (not as simple in the days before cell phones, texting and Google Earth) and that Nicky is serpentining his way to his apparent doom. They scrap with a bus driver (the eminent M. Emmet Walsh) who won't let them exit out the front door; they visit the grave of Nicky's mother; and they pop in on Nicky's mistress, a sad but assertive woman who is used to being pushed around. (The real and threatened violence to women here is raw and disturbing.) Much smoking and drinking and bantering take place.

Beatty's hit man, meanwhile, provides an existential touch, as Death with a '70s sense of timing and a flair for the random. The film opens and closes with a raving man pounding on a door begging to be let in. This whole exercise demands attention. At times it feels redundant to the Cassavetes films and gritty American New Wave fare that preceded it; at other times, it has a profound sense of delirium and unraveling, as if the world and all its absurdity are doomed before the next sunrise -- somehow simultaneously chilling and comforting. 

THE GENERAL (1926) (A-minus) - Widely considered the greatest of the silent-era comedies (were there many of them?), Buster Keaton's personal masterpiece is storytelling, movie-making and entertainment at their finest.  Keaton writes, directs and stars as Johnnie Gray, a lowly train engineer who is rejected from Civil War duty (he thinks it's because of his slight physical stature, but the true reason is he's more valuable to the South as an engineer), thus lowering him in the sights of the manly men surrounding Johnnie's true love, Annabelle Lee (Marion Mack). But when Keaton's beloved train, The General, is hijacked by soldiers from the North -- with Annabelle as hostage aboard -- Johnnie springs into action to save the day.

Keaton, the premier physical comedian of his day, exhibits feline agility and expert timing. The comedic, Rube Goldbergian elements of the locomotive chases are a marvel to behold. Soaring above the typical Damsel in Distress tale, Keaton spins a compact, compelling yarn (this was the 78-minute version). It was the template for cinemative narrative for decades to come. It is funny, sweet, heroic and a hoot to witness with a group of other film fans of all ages in a darkened theater on a spring afternoon. A true treat.