Barefoot in the Park (1967)

WAKE UP! MAKE LOVE! FALL OVER LAUGHING!!!

Neil Simon is probably one of the most successful writers of the 20^th Century. The man behind numerous Broadway plays, films and some TV series, Simon built much of his career on own his life, creating a very particular style of writing comedy that has since been translated as the template for sitcoms as we know them. At one point in the 1960s, he actually had four successful plays running on Broadway simultaneously: Barefoot in the Park, The Odd Couple, Sweet Charity, and The Star Spangled Girl. He’s won Golden Globes, WGA awards and the Pulitzer, and been nominated for Emmys, Oscars and Tony awards. His third play, written in 1963 and based on his experiences of his first marriage, was Barefoot in the Park, which was then adapted by himself for the screen in 1967.

Paul Bratter (Robert Redford) is a stodgy young lawyer; Corrie Bratter (Jane Fonda) is a fun-seeking free spirit; and the pair of newlyweds are just starting their lives together in their new apartment. Their new home is small, cold, has a hole in the skylight, and is at the top of a five-storey building with no elevator, and all of their neighbours are eccentrics and oddballs. It’s here that they have to start their new lives.

I first saw Barefoot in the Park many years ago, and whilst I remember enjoying it, the only thing I could remember clearly was a brief back-and-forth between Robert Redford and Jane Fonda. He needs to get to work, but she wants him to stay and have fun (which is essentially the whole dynamic of their relationship). She says they should do something wild and crazy, but he says they’ll do it tomorrow night. “Like what?” she asks. He answers, “I’ll come home early, we’ll wallpaper each other.” I think that’s a funny line, classic Neil Simon and Redford delivers it just right. Now, it may just be due to my fondness for dry, absurd humour, but it made the whole film stick in my head. As such, it’s one of the many I’ve acquired over the years. Having given it a viewing today, there is one thing that is clear… it’s aged terribly.

When I said that Neil Simon helped to perfect the standard form of the sitcom, I’m not kidding. Many of his comedies are based on bringing together two personality types that are diametrically opposed, having them share the same space, and surrounding them with a succession of quirky characters and off-the-wall situations. There would also be no real story to drive them, instead having them simply react to each other and whatever happened to come through the door. The Odd Couple is often regarded as the standard to measure such projects against… well, Neil Simon wrote that. In fairness to him, this was just his style and he built a very successful career on it, and it was a method adopted years later by studios looking to create the most easily exploited situation for comedic purposes. Sit-com, get it? Anyway, this is exactly the format of Barefoot in the Park, however there is just no getting past the fact that this is too much a product of its time to be watchable today.

Like I said, there is no story to the film, since it’s meant to be character driven. Two newlyweds begin their new life in a new apartment, but they find out that living together may not be as easy as they think. This is indeed a situation, but there’s nothing that occurs externally to push things along. Oh, some of you out there may be thinking to yourself, “hang on, this all sounds very much like Dharma & Greg.” You’re not alone in that. Many people have since made that particular connection, and it’s no small wonder. I can only imagine that Chuck Lorre caught Barefoot in the Park on TV one night and decided to do his own version. Hell, the film even got its own brief sitcom spin-off, which lasted for 12 episodes in 1970. This is basically what you’ve got in Barefoot in the Park, a feature-length episode of a sitcom with any laughter, applause and funny material removed. So, sure, things happen to them, but nothing more serious than their furniture not being delivered until the next day. As such, it’s entirely down to the characters to create the conflict. So, what are the characters like?

Paul is a stodgy lawyer type, young and looking to make his way in his new firm. That’s pretty much it. He loves his new wife, but clearly finds her eccentricity to be a bit much every now and then. Well, when I say every now and then, I mean pretty much constantly. Every time they’re together, she clings onto him like a leech, and he tries to drag himself away because he has a job to go to. Frankly, given his reaction to her, and hers to him, it is virtually impossible to believe that they actually met before the film started. Physical attraction aside, they have nothing in common. This ultimately becomes the thing that comes between them and is conflict to be resolved - they are so unlike each other. Apparently he’s so straight-laced that Corrie has only ever seen him drunk once, and she didn’t find that out until the next day when he told her he was. He claims that he can have fun and be wild, that he once got so drunk he punched out an old woman and… wait a minute, what? He got drunk and punched out an old woman? This is the example he uses to prove that he can get drunk and have fun? Was that meant to be funny? That’s not funny, that’s horrible. He may act like the mature one in the relationship, but he apparently can get quite abusive when drunk… but it’s okay, that just means he’s having fun… Christ. As it is, Redford does a fairly good job in the role. He’s a likable guy, and makes Paul somewhat relatable, and he understands the rhythm of Simon’s writing very well. He’s no Jack Lemmon, but he works… when he’s not punching out old women.

Corrie’s mother, Ethel, is the most (read as: only) sympathetic character in the whole film. She’s patient and kind, if a bit melodramatic at times. She also seems to be a bit sickly, needing to sleep on a board for her back, and suffering from some mystery ailment that seems to be exacerbated by the incredibly long climb to her daughter and son-in-law’s new place. To some degree, she actually gets a bit abused by the film, having her endure discomfort, illness and a fall down the stairs (you see, it’s funny cause she could’ve been killed) in the interest of creating conflict. Mildred Natwick was the only person to receive an Oscar nomination for her work her, and whilst it wasn’t worth a win, it’s still a fine performance she gives.

Victor Velasco is the upstairs neighbour to Paul and Corrie, living in the attic of the building. He’s meant to be a kind of charming foreign guy, polite, gracious and possessed of the same lust for life as Corrie. However, he is also incredibly creepy, giving the first impression of a sex pest. Seriously, he first meets the couple when he tries to enter their apartment so he can climb through their window to get onto the roof to get to his place because the landlord changed the locks because he hasn’t paid rent in four months… wha-oh, never mind. Now, picture the scene – it’s 2am, the doorknob rattles as if someone is trying to enter. Corrie, dressed in a shirt and some socks, opens the door (I know, I know) and finds a well-dressed older man at her door. Now add the following dialogue:

Victor: Tell me... does your husband, uh, work during the day?

Corrie: Yes.

Victor: In an office?

Corrie: Yes.

Victor: Good. I work at home during the day. I predict interesting

complications. Am I making you nervous?

Corrie: Very nervous.

Victor: Ha! Wonderful. Once a month I try to make pretty young girls

nervous just to keep my ego from going out.

Now, question for the ladies out there, at what point would you have called the police on this thoroughly unsettling fellow? Honestly, this is all meant to be endearing or quirky or oddball or funny? No, this is the preamble to a sexual assault. Suffice to say, Victor does little to redress the balance in the rest of the film, only showing up to act crazy again. Charles Boyer portrays Victor Velasco and, although he certainly never intentionally projects any kind of disquieting predatory aspects, the facts of the character speak too loudly to be overcome. Boyer does what he can to make Victor worth liking, but it was a losing battle from the get-go.

Easily the most grating character of the film is Corrie, who is irritating as all hell. She’s whiny, clingy, immature, and kind of nuts. This is all meant to have her come off as kooky, fun-loving, and ultimately loveable for all her zest for life. However, it’s simply annoying and incredibly off-putting. One of the first things she wants to do in her new building is go to every one of her neighbours, pound on the door and scream for the police… what? What the hell kind of utter fruitcake actually does this? That’s not funny or charming or cute; that’s just a great way to instantly piss off everyone who lives in your building. She’s also got a habit of thinking that people that don’t constantly want to experience life and try new things are wrong and should be dragged into doing so. For example, when Corrie, Paul and Ethel have gone round to Victor’s for drinks and food, she chastises Paul for not wanting to eat some eel (“Paul, you have to try everything!”). In fairness, this is really down to Fonda’s weirdly intense delivery. When Victor suggests that they go somewhere “unusual” for dinner, a clearly unwell Ethel expresses some concern, which Corrie completely ignores: “That’s what we want… the unusual, right, Mother?” Oh, and if you’re wondering why the three accepted the invitation from Victor to visit, it’s because Corrie wants to set her mother up with him… that’s right, Corrie wants to set her mother up with the creepy guy that she met when he tried to enter her apartment at 2am, expressing delight at how nervous he was making the mostly undressed young woman. What in God’s name is wrong with this woman? Honestly, I could go on, but I’ll just move on. Jane Fonda’s performance is a bit awkward. Whilst she does commit to the peppy energy and excitement of her character, she doesn’t have the same feeling for Simon’s dialogue as the others do. As such, she often goes too far, turning what’s meant to be excitable and upbeat into crazy and strangely accusatory. Fonda has given some fine performances in her life, but this simply is not one of them.

Just to add one final blow to proceedings, Gene Saks’ direction is really very lacking. As is a typical problem when adapting a stage play to the screen, the director has treated it liked he’s filming the stage play, rather than making a film, so things just look blocky. Now, to be fair, this was Saks’ first directing gig, and it’s certainly not as bad as it could have been. However, the film still looks flat, stagey and lacking any decent form of composition. That Saks’ would go on to direct three more film adaptations of Neil Simon plays, with Simon doing the scripting duties, including The Odd Couple, is kind of weird since it is by no stretch a good job.

Barefoot in the Park is an incredibly infuriating film to watch. Though it was received much better at the time of its release, time has been very unkind. The characters are annoying, creepy or just insane; the direction is stagey and unpleasant; and it’s simply not funny. Some of the lines are okay, and the performances from Redford, Natwick and Boyer are varying degrees of good, but Fonda has no feel for the material, making an unpleasant character pretty much unbearable. Sadly, this will always be regarded as one of those "forgotten classics" or "overlooked gems" that never gets as much recognition as it deserves, but it just isn’t good enough to warrant that kind of reputation.

All the President's Men (1976)

THE MOST DEVASTATING DETECTIVE STORY OF THIS CENTURY.

Journalism. Freedom of speech. The search for the Truth in a sea of ambiguities, doubts and “non-denial denials.” In the early part of the 1970s, two Washington Post reporters began an investigation into a seemingly rather innocuous event and ended up lifting the lid on a conspiracy which eventually led to the resignation in disgrace of President Richard Nixon just two years later. Facing an incredible uphill struggle, the reporters Woodward and Bernstein forged through the morass of dead-ends, evasions and rejections and, placing the reputations of themselves and their paper at stake, fought to get the story told. It’s the stuff political thrillers are made of and, in 1976, the tale was told in All the President’s Men.

In the run-up to the 1972 US elections, Washington Post reporter Bob Woodward (Robert Redford) covers what seemed to be a minor break-in at the Democratic Party National headquarters at the Watergate. When he finds top lawyers on the defence case, and the names of Republican fund organisers amongst the accused, he teams up with Carl Bernstein (Dustin Hoffman) to follow the trail of evidence behind the break-in higher into the Republican Party and the White House itself.

Woodward and Bernstein wrote the book from which the story was adapted, so it was rich in the detail of the graft of journalism and the manner in which they conducted their investigation. William Goldman was the one who adapted the story and it is a superb script. It captures the characters of Woodward and Goldstein and the people they worked with, the heavy dramatic weight of the subject matter and the great complexity of the story. Every scene is solid as drama and small touches that are included bring a superb level of detail to the whole affair, like the initial lack of trust in Woodward’s abilities given his relative rookie status at the paper, or the near chaotic round table discussions of the paper’s various editors, or even the fact that someone Woodward speaks to mentions that his neighbour’s wife was kidnapped. That actually happened. Both reporters are evoked superbly. Though they are both possessed of the same dogged relentless thirst for the truth, their styles vary. Bernstein will keep notes on anything he can get his hands on, so his pockets are stuffed with napkins and matchbooks and strips of toilet paper, and he is a little more prone to trickery; Woodward is more straight-lined, but no less tenacious. The film itself only covers a certain amount of the book, since to cover more would involve a film of several hours. Honestly, to some degree, I don’t think I would have minded much.

Alan J. Pakula’s direction is so visually suggestive that there doesn’t need to be any dramatic speeches about the overwhelming nature of the ever faceless enemy, or for anyone to explain the nature of journalistic responsibility. It’s all rendered in the visuals and the sounds of the world Pakula creates. He shows two vastly contrasting worlds in the film: one of dark (the shady political side); and one of light (the one of journalism). Suspicious deals and murky meetings are submerged in darkness, whereas the reporters exist in a world of full light, where nothing can be hidden. Gordon Willis’ cinematography is so adept at identifying the two opposing sides that, when Woodward and Bernstein are knocking on doors, you can tell who will talk by how much light they live in. The framing of the film is absolutely impeccable, too. When Woodward and Bernstein leave government buildings or drive by them, they appear miniscule in comparison, elegantly underlining that theirs is a monumental task against a huge opponent. The office of the Washington Post is also superbly realised, so bright and open, and it’s all kept in such focus that you can see everything going on around our protagonists. Even inside offices, the doors are open and the windows show the office buzzing behind. Once again, in this place, nothing is hidden. And it’s all kept up with such bustle. There’s no sitting around from these people. They move, they interact, they gather and disperse. Pakula has done a great job with them.

The editing and sense of pace in the film are also excellent. Some shots are held for so long that, at times, it becomes unbearably tense. There is a shot where Woodward is on the phone to Dahlberg, delicately trying to get information from him, though Dahlberg is clearly very nervous about this. It begins as a wide shot, taking in all the activity of the office, but slowly moves in on Woodward as he pushed Dahlberg. It’s all dialogue. That shot lasts for about six solid minutes and runs in a single unedited take. A later one has Bernstein on the phone to another source and in it he counts to ten. That’s it, but it is the most tense ten count outside of a boxing ring. It’s then immediately followed by a single shot tracking shot of Bernstein as he runs through across the newsroom and into the foyer. Good lord, it’s brilliant.

The sound plays such a huge part in the film, too. Listen to the busy newspaper office, the crowded and noisy streets, the eerily quiet government offices. This is a city that’s alive. Even points where we lose our pair in the crowd of a restaurant or the whole city, we never lose their voice. Not just in terms of the filmmaking, but in terms of the story, theirs is the voice we can’t lose. Even if we don’t see them, we need to know that they are out there. There’s also a great emphasis put on the strikes of a typewriter. When the film opens with the hammer of a typewriter falling on the page, they sound more like gunshots. These words are as much weapons as guns. The final shot, a wonderfully framed juxtaposition of the Presidential inauguration and the unremitting reporters at work, brings this idea of guns versus words together with great power and simplicity.

The whole cast is first-rate. Hoffman and Redford work so very well together. Two very controlled performances from two fine actors, and they play such a great game of give-and-take with each other. The pair actually learned each other’s lines so that they could jump in on the other, finish each other’s sentences. It feels like a real partnership between the two. Individually, they hold up really well, too. Just watch how uncomfortable Redford seems to be in the dark of the parking garage meetings. He’s someone who’s not used to being so enveloped like this. It’s not fear, so much as unease, uncertainty. Hoffman has the slightly showier role, but only so very slightly. You can see the excitable tremor he gets when he’s on to something, but he never lets it get the better of him. Also, in the scene where he speaks with Jane Alexander (who is also superb in her understatement), you can see him treading so carefully as he questions her. He needs the answers, but doesn’t want to scare her off. It’s great dexterity on his part. Jason Robards is solid as a rock as the bullshit-free editor Ben Bradlee. He’s the steady reign on the two, giving them enough that they can investigate, but controlled enough that he doesn’t let the thrill of the chase throw him off. He’s a hardass, to them more than anyone, but he knows what he’s doing.

Did you know that All the President’s Men is often shown to journalism students? It’s true. The reason being that, aside from being a damn good film, it espouses a certain idea of what it means to be a journalist, particularly one in America. Despite the story taking place in one of the shadiest conspiracies of the last 50 years, the film is actually quite idealistic. I mentioned earlier about the contrast between light and dark so brilliantly captured by Gordon Willis. This is something Pakula extends to certain landmarks to be found in Washington, D.C. At night, places like the White House, the Washington Monument, and the Lincoln Memorial are lit up at night as a resolute symbol of the Good shining in the Dark. Pakula brings these monuments into the frame of his film regularly. Despite where the evidence seems to be taking them, these reporters are not out to take down the government; they’re out to defend it. They’re out to uphold the principles of the Truth, Justice and the American Way. It sounds incredibly corny, but it’s quite sincere and not in the least bit flag-waving. In fact, I’m not sure if I can remember seeing a single American flag once in the entire film. The connection is being made, though. Those that hang around in dark, shady rooms are the ones who are in opposition to the ideals of America. Woodward and Bernstein work in the light, which makes them more in line with what the country wants to be.

My reviewing this film is actually rather timely, considering the current state of journalistic affairs. For those of you not aware, or who may be reading this way down the timeline, a mere five days prior to the time of writing, the British tabloid newspaper, the News of the World, produced its final issue before being closed down by its owner Rupert Murdoch amid allegations of phone hacking, corruption and cover-ups by senior executives. Reporters and administrators from the News of the World have been accused of illegally hacking into voicemail services of numerous people, from the Royal Family and politicians to the more unsettling instances of hacking into the voicemails of murder victims and the families of dead soldiers. The outrage over this ordeal forced the paper to be shut down, those accused to be arrested and a public government enquiry being set up to investigate the matter further. It also put a complete halt on the attempt made by Murdoch’s News Corporation to take over BSkyB, first by executive decision, then by government mandate. Claims have also been made that the News of the World is unlikely to be the only newspaper to engage in such activities.

It’s a hell of a thing, isn’t it? In All the President’s Men, an ideal is put forth about journalism, its importance in the search for facts, for truth, for justice. That good, honest and solid investigative journalism into a story are one of the strongest and most important tools a society can have. Around 40 years later, the very world of journalism is shaken to its core by the disquieting actions of certainly a few, perhaps even many of its number. How can it be possible to trust in those who claim to report for the greater good when the manner in which they obtain their facts is as underhanded and occasionally sickening as the ones they seek to expose? What story are they trying to tell that could warrant this? Freedom of speech is probably the most guarded right that Americans hold (it’s their First Amendment, for God’s sake) and it certainly holds equally true to others who have it. However, with that power comes the grave responsibility of knowing how and when to use it. When you speak without thinking, without considering consequence, without caring how you say something, you devalue not only your own words, but the very system that allows you to speak them in the first place. Freedom to speak is a right, but it should be treated as a privilege. In the end, it’s your job to police yourself, not someone else’s. If this means taking an extra minute or two to think about what you’re going to say, then so be it. This is the idealism that exists at the heart of All the President’s Men. Woodward and Bernstein know they must speak, but do everything in their power to make sure they're ready before they do. Words are not meaningless or inert; words are powerful. Words have impact. Whether used properly or improperly, words can do more damage than people are really willing to admit. As corny as it may seem, sometimes the pen really is mightier than the sword.

All the President’s Men is an absolutely superb thriller, made stronger and more sinister by the fact that it’s all true. The direction is outstanding, as is the script, the editing, the sound and the cinematography. Redford and Hoffman are also on top form as the intrepid pair of journalists fighting for truth. More than just an excellent film, though, it’s got ideals and hope, without coming across as being naive.