Outcast of the Islands

Outcast of the Islands consistently managed to defy my expectations on what kind of film it was going to be, mostly because I never thought a 1952 British production would be so faithful to Joseph Conrad (Heart of Darkness)and his darker impulses. I haven’t read the book on which the film is based, but I’ve read enough of him to know his general obsessions.

Love of the sea and exotic locales would, of course, be there, but I suspected more in the form of a rousing adventure. I also expected marginalized natives just as part of the inherent prejudices of the film industry of the time. Instead, this was Conrad style “racism” where it’s unclear whether the prejudice originates from the filmmakers/author or is a reflection of the white character’s perceptions of their exotic surroundings, as Conrad generally has little sympathy for them either.

Carol Reed (of 3rd Man fame)deserves credit for sticking with Conrad’s bleakness. The only likeable character (Ralph Richardson) is off screen for the majority of the running time. Trevor Howard, the ostensible lead, is never portrayed as anything less than loathsome and it’s some kind of accomplishment that Robert Morley’s character comes off even worse. Speaking of Morley, I certainly didn’t expect to see him tortured by swinging him over a fire, tied up in a hammock (shades of the Scarlet Empress).

Then there’s the forbidden romance, shown about as frankly as one could expect in 1952. The native girl is silent, but described as fierce and brave and by the end, by Howard himself, as evil. She gives angry glaring looks, but we don’t know why. Until the last shot, she is a dehumanized caricature, but then comes that wonderful ending shot that makes Outcasts a better film than it would have been otherwise.

Themes of Altman's "Nashville" - The Songs

There are many who cite Robert Altman’s Nashville as the pinnacle of New Hollywood’s rise in the ‘70’s. It’s ironic that the very same summer would see the release of Jaws, which would eventually derail the movement by creating the template we still live with today.

There are so many angles from which to approach Nashville that it can be a bit overwhelming. There’s the innovation of having 24 characters and no leads, thereby rendering the entire community as the protagonist. There’s Altman’s improvisational style and use of overlapping dialogue. We can discuss the parallels brought up between celebrity and politics or Altman’s symbolic use of color (the ever-present red, white & blue and the ominous yellow.) There’s the relation of the film to the
'70’s and, of course, what it says about America.

Many of the songs are written by the actors who sing them and most are thematically connect to the film itself. SPOILERS AHEAD!

Two Hundred Years – That Nashville is about the state of the nation is made clear right off the bat with this patriotic to the point of parody hymn sung by Haven Hamilton. Just a few years after Watergate and with the troops leaving Viet Nam, such sentiment is set up for mockery, reinforced by Haven’s comic arrogance. Haven, however, is nothing but sincere as he sings of America’s history and Altman does not dismiss such old-fashioned ideas as this character will be redeemed.

Bluebird – Tommy Brown is not a character we get to know well in Nashville. He’s the only African-American star in this very white country music culture. Perhaps Bluebird is meant to fill in some biography as it’s about the unlikely climb from poor and humble beginnings.

For The Sake Of The Children – More Haven Hamilton schmaltz, but the lyrics are a fierce defense of family at all costs.

Keep A-Going – While the kids are singing “It Don’t Worry Me” all over town, Haven’s generational anthem is this. Optimistic, conservative, naïve and seductive, it shows an understanding of the status quo that Altman seeks to change.

Memphis/Rolling Stone – These songs are written by Karen Black who play’s Connie White, Barbara Jean’s chief competitor. Not sure they’re meant to advance any particular themes.

I’m Easy – Folk singer Tom’s chief trait is his womanizing and this is the song he sing’s to the one woman he loves, although his other conquests are sure it’s about them. It represents Tom vis-à-vis his feelings towards Lily Tomlin’s character, but could also be from the point of view of Mary or any of the other women he’s seduced.

Tapedeck in His Tractor – While the rest of the cast are actors playing country singers, Ronee Blakley is an actual country singer. This casting was savvy on Altman’s part as Barbara Jean is THE Nashville superstar so Blakley’s songs being the best in the film is appropriate. Tapedeck is a high energy romp about falling in love with a modern cowboy.

Dues – Barbara Jean is about to have a breakdown and she has been shown to be fragile and vulnerable throughout. This beautiful heartbreaking song drives home that vulnerability more than any dialogue could.

One, I Love You – An excuse for a Haven / Barbara Jean duet. Can’t find any further significance.

My Idaho Home – Whereas Haven’s tributes to county and family come off as corny, this final number from Barbara Jean is anything but. It’s a poignant recollection of true old fashioned Americana. Family means something in this song. This song about roots also connects to the presidential candidate’s slogan, “New Roots for a Nation.” The flag is prominently featured on screen, connecting personal family with the national family. This is the dream that could have been. Can this dream survive an assassin’s bullet?

It Don’t Worry Me – Who will replace Barbara Jean? As it turns out, it’s Barbara Harris’ Winifred an unknown with dreams of stardom who, by pure chance, is pushed center stage. Was Altman looking into our American Idol future? She sings “It Don’t Worry Me,” the big hit of the day. It’s basically a call to apathy. By the mid-seventies, counter-culture ideals had given way to the Me Generation. The shit may be hitting the fan, but it won’t matter if you’re taking enough drugs.

Brewster McCloud

In 1970, MASH provided Robert Altman with his one and only mega-hit. His choice as a follow up, and he had the freedom to choose anything, turned out to be the strangest and most idiosyncratic film of a career that would always be unconventional.

Which leads to the question, what kind of film is Brewster McCloud? Is it a modernization of the Icarus myth as commentary on the soon to be former idealism of the sixties? Is it a juvenile comedy with a lot of bird shit jokes? It may be kind of both, but I believe it’s also a blueprint, a rough draft of the kind of filmmaker Robert Altman wanted to be.

If Robert Altman would spend much of the seventies deconstructing different film genres, Brewster McCloud would be his “comedy”, but as an Altman comedy, it wouldn’t play by the rules. Its bone dry humor would not come into fashion until Wes Anderson became its spokesman. With a loose structure, it was broad enough to directly parody the Steve McQueen’s then recent hit, Bullet, and provide such Altmanesque touches as using a connective device (here, the lecturer) and introduce such quirky characters as Shelly Duval in her movie debut.

A tight film it is not, but it announces that fact immediately in the opening credits, which Altman often utilizes to instruct an audience how a particular film should be watched. In “A Cinema of Loneliness,” Robert Phillip Kolker describes it in detail:

“The MGM logo appears, but instead of the expected lion’s roar, there is a voice saying, “I forgot the opening line.” The film cannot quite get itself started. No smooth entry into the story is promised. A rather strange man appears, a lecturer who talks to us about birds, men, the dream of flight and environmental enclosures. As he is about to speak of the last, there is a shot of the Houston Astrodome and in it Margaret Hamilton, the wicked witch of The Wizard of Oz attempting to lead a marching band of black musicians in the national anthem. The credits begin. Hamilton stops the band and attempts to get them to sing on key. The credits begin AGAIN, and the band breaks into gospel, completely out of control. This film, which will concern itself with the conflict of freedom and constraint announces this conflict from the beginning, not only in its images, but in the difficulty it has getting its images started. Brewster McCloud parodies itself, its existence as a controlled formal structure from the very start.”

By extension, Kolker seems to suggest that Altman might not just be deconstructing comedy, but film itself. Before we ponder this too deeply, bird shit jokes soon follow. However the low comedy does give way to a consistent Altman theme, the individual’s place in the community. While MASH posited that a sub-culture of hedonists could make wartime bearable, Brewster (played coldly by Bud Cort of Harold and Maude fame) chooses to isolate himself from any sense of community, denying even his guardian angel and single mindedly following his dream of individual flight at all costs. This certainly hints of tragic undertones beneath the silliness.