Duck You Sucker

“Duck You Sucker” was the title Sergio Leone gave to the second-to-last film he made, a story about the Mexican Revolution: he chose it because for some reason he got it in his head that it was a common expression in America, even though his two stars, Rod Steiger and James Coburn, told him it wasn’t. Actually it was called “ Fistful of Dynamite” between 1972-2003, until the original title was brought back for the film’s restoration in 2003. The 2-disc DVD special edition only became available in the States in 20

I saw it when it was first released in the early seventies. I was impressed then and I still am, and I have long wondered why it doesn’t get the recognition that it deserves. The film has a more serious intent and tone, thematic complexity, character development, and authority than the Spaghetti Westerns he made with Clint Eastwood in the sixties; movies that were made strictly for entertainment, which did not try to make a statement within the Western genre, although they certainly revived the western as subject matter for film. His final two films, “Duck You Sucker” and “Once Upon a Time in America,” are darker, full of melancholy, and more focused on consequences. I also think Leone was very much aware of Sam Peckinpah’s “The Wild Bunch,” as for example, both narratives take place in approximately the same time period, 1913, prior to the First World War, a time of transition between the closing of the frontier and the modern urban world. There is also a similar attention paid to technology: Sean Mallory (James Coburn), the Irish revolutionary, shows up in a cloud of dust riding a motorcycle not a horse, just as the Wild Bunch are utterly amazed when they see their first motor car. Both General Mapache and Juan Miranda (Rod Steiger) have to learn their way around a machine gun, a new weapon of mass destruction. There are set pieces in both films dealing with spectacular blowing up of bridges--shades of “The Bridge Over the River Kwai.” Both films were considered too long by their producers and vital parts were cut out; they were later put back in. There are two versions of “Once Upon a Time in America,” a butchered 2-hour version and a 4-hour version, which is a great film.

The Eastwood trilogy was extremely popular and made Leone a lot of money. But the trio of films that came afterwards--“Once upon a Time in the West,” a saga that had Henry Fonda as a steely-eyed ruthless killer, “Duck You Sucker,” a title that seemed to suggest a comic western, and “Once Upon a Time in America,” a long movie about Jewish gangsters in New York City in the 1920s—did not do nearly as well. However, over time their quality has been recognized and all three are now considered by many to be his best work.

The movie opens with a scene that once again evokes “The Wild Bunch.” Peckinpah opened his film with a bunch of kids playing with two scorpions being smothered by thousands of biting ants within an enclosure; they eventually burn the insects by piling straw on them. Leone has Juan Miranda, a poor peasant who looks poor, scruffy, and sweaty, piss on a tree trunk crawling with ants, destroying them not by fire but by a deluge. A large fancy stagecoach filled with members of the ruling class picks up the bare-footed Juan; they treat him like a mongrel dog and speak about him as if he isn’t there. Class issues raise their ugly head, as Leone shows his left-wing sympathies. To these plutocrats the peasants are nothing but animals. Minutes later Juan’s six children stop the stagecoach, kill the driver, invade the interior under the direction of their father,

rob the passengers and strip them of their clothes and send them off naked. For good measure Juan rapes the only woman on board, although she doesn’t seem to mind too much. ‘Animals’ aren’t so bad after all.

Then Sean Mallory shows up, a man who happens to be an expert with explosives, dynamite and nitroglycerine. Juan’s eyes light up when he meets Mallory, who he calls ‘John,’ because he has a dream: to rob the bank in Mesa Verde. Juan feels running into him is an encounter with the perfect collaborator. Sean sees Juan in a similar fashion but with a different agenda. He does help Juan get inside the bank but there is no money inside, which Sean knew, but there are hundreds of political prisoners in rooms in the basement that are released by Juan and his boys. When Juan emerges from the bank he is regarded as a hero. It is his first step away from his original personality. Sean introduces him to other insurgents in Mesa Verde and, although he feels out of place, he throws in with their plans to fight the Federales. The ex-IRA agent mentors the former carefree bandit who starts acting like a revolutionary. But as the tale unfolds we discover there are consequences to this transformation. After John and Juan blow up that bridge, they discover that the Federal troops have killed their compatriots, and that includes Juan’s six boys. It’s not only a devastating loss for Juan; it is a terrible guilt trip for Sean, because he knows he is the agent behind Juan’s change. There is one exchange before they find the dead boys and the others when Juan tells his new friend that the intellectuals come up with the slogans and plans but it is the poor who end up dying while the intellectuals go on alive. “The people who read the books survive.” Sean throws the book he was reading into the mud, as he knows there is an element of truth in what the uneducated Juan said.

The explosions become bigger and more spectacular as the story goes on. First it is the stagecoach, then it’s the bridge, and finally a train loaded with explosives rams another train loaded with a thousand Federal troops. Juan is in the thick of the battle and as Sean runs to join him he gets shot in the back by Colonel Ruiz, the Nazi-like bad guy behind all the killings of compatriots. Juan kills him and rushes to his friend who is mortally wounded. Juan runs for help but when he is out of range, Sean blows himself up with his remaining dynamite in his duster. It is a spectacular blast of swirling red and yellow colors, a fit end for a man like Sean. The last image in the film is Juan’s face looking back at the blast and then straight at the audience. He mutters, “What about me?”

There is much in the movie that I haven’t touched on; there are many layers of meaning and some cross referencing to paintings by Goya and Manet, to other movies, and to Leone’s experience during World War II. If I had any problem with the film it was with some of the editing and with Rod Steiger’s performance. Steiger was chosen over Eli Wallach because he was a “hot property” at the time. Leone had to temper Stieger’s tendency to over emote and to use too many baroque gestures. He was well known as a method actor. But the two men worked it out and were satisfied with the end product. His expansiveness and garrulousness worked in counterpoint to Coburn’s more introspective and quiet interpretation of Mallory’s personality. Jason Robards was Leone’s first choice to play Mallory, but he was busy with a film already. It was Henry Fonda who persuaded Coburn to go after the role because it was such a treat for an actor to work with Leone. I’d say the main theme of the movie is the nature of friendship between men, and there is very good chemistry between the two American actors. They became ‘blood brothers’ despite their enormous differences, real human beings, not icons like the no-name gunslinger of the Spaghetti Westerns. The friendship takes place within a political context. The bandit with a family who was only interested in money becomes transformed into a fledgling revolutionary that must go forward without his mentor. He is left in an ambiguous state but it’s real. I thought of that wonderful last line in “The Wild Bunch,” when Sykes come back to “the bloody porch” to find Deke Thornton, the last survivor of the original gang. Sykes has joined the Mexican revolution and invites Thornton to join too. He says to him, “It ain’t like it used to be, but it’ll do.” Juan Miranda could agree with that sentiment.

The last gesture that Sean/John made toward Juan was to return to him a chain with a crucifix that he had ripped off his neck when his children died. Meaning: keep the faith, baby.

Journal Notes: 5/17/08

Journal Notes. 5/17/0

It seemed pretty obvious from the beginning that the Chinese’s government’s quick response to the catastrophic earthquake was conditioned by the negative worldwide response to the slow, callous and largely indifferent reaction of the repulsive Junta to the cyclone in Burma, and to China’s ham-fisted response to the Tibetan insurrection and their difficulties with protesters in the Western world in regard the carrying of the Olympic flame. They have softened their attitude somewhat and have scored some points with the international community with their response to the earthquake. I would not call it altruism exactly, but everyone is ready to salute them for getting to the region swiftly and with thousands of troops. It has everything to with the upcoming Olympics and how desparate they are for it to come off without a hitch and for it to be a showcase for a positive China in the world’s eyes. Three weeks after the horrendous cyclone in Burma the cruel Generals that rule in that unhappy land have still not allowed international aide workers into the Irrawaddy delta, their fear of foreign intervention is that great.

A part of me wants an intervention, as it seems the only answer to helping the people in the badly effected area. But that’s the heart’s response not the head’s. My wife chided me for even contemplating such a thought, as another military invasion. In my own mind I saw intervention as Humanitarian not as a military takeover. Perhaps those two things would ultimately be hard to distinguish. Like in Iraq. But to my surprise the author Robert Kaplan, whose books I have read, except the latest ones on the military, has written an op-ed piece in the New York Times that advocates a military intervention in Burma on Humanitarian grounds, but at the same time he realizes such a thing would probably bring about the downfall of the Junta, which would undoubtedly involve us once again in nation-building. He would need some Western partners in this effort; they could join with forces we already have in the region. Sounds great. It would be like Iraq: The first phase would be the quickest and easiest; the aftermath of ‘Mission Accomplished’ is the burr under the saddle and why nothing of the sort will happen. The U.S. Military is so stretched as it is, and the repercussions with China could be huge; as it is their sphere of influence. It would be viewed as a move only an empire would think about making. The motives to help may be anchored in good intentions, but the Bush Administration would not be trusted. If Obama was President it might be perceived differently.

Still, it is irksome to have to accept the situation as is. Thinking of the Generals one says to oneself, “What’s wrong with those people?” But that’s a cry in the wilderness with no echo. Neither does Kaplan have good things to say about Aung San Suu Kyi’s democratic movement. In his judgment they are not capable of running the country.

Big Media has convinced the country that Obama is the Democratic candidate. It’s a bit curious, and paradoxical, that the final switch took place right after Hillary’s trouncing of Obama in West Virginia. It’s the math, stupid! That’s what they all say. Bush and McCain believe it too, as they are in full-throttle attack mode already. In the last couple of days they have indicated how they will stress National Security and treat Obama as a know-nothing junior officer still wet behind the ears. Yesterday they both tried to label Obama an “appeaser,” in the same camp as the likes of Neville Chamberlain in 1939 and a U.S. senator who advocated talking to Hitler to prevent the war—a Republican I might add. This is a criticism that is hoary with age, but a favorite with the G.O.P. They still believe it has some clout behind it; to their base it might, but not much beyond it. It has worn thin in recent years. You can cry wolf only so many times. Nonetheless, Obama and his handlers need to deal with that kind of crap for the next 5 months. “McBush” oppose any discussion with enemies or radicals, as if it is like getting cozy with the devil. Of course it is all right for Bush to walk hand in hand with King Abdullah of Saudi Arabia, and kiss his ring pleading for Saudi Arabia to pump more oil. We have also talked to the North Koreans and Condi Rice has talk to Iranians through proxies. McCain, sounding disingenuous and cynical, said, “It would be a wonderful thing if we lived in a world where we don’t have enemies. But that is not the world we live in, and until Senator Obama understands that reality, the American people have every reason to doubt he has the strength, judgment and determination to keep us safe.” Obama’s response to McBush was they were “replacing strategy and analysis and smart policy with bombast, exaggeration and fear-mongering.”

New York Times columnist, David Brooks, took a broader view of Obama’s attitude about terrorists and radicals. He sought out the senator to get his views up close and nuanced. He told Brooks he flat out rejects the notion that diplomatic moves are equivalent to appeasement and surrender. “Those are the terms of the debate that have led to blunder after blunder,” he said. Obama’s stance in regard talking to radical groups does not pivot on “moral disgust,” (Brooks) but rather on “an argument between ideology and foreign policy realism.” He believes nothing ventured is nothing gained. Brooks sees something of the first Bush in Obama, who has no quarrel with Desert Storm, and that there is also something of James Baker in his make-up. That sounds like a begrudging approval from a sane Republican.

The Diving Bell and the Butterfly

Tucson (5/4/08)

“The Diving Bell and the Butterfly” won an Academy Award as the Best Foreign Film for 2007. And its director, Julian Schnabel, won the Best Director Award at Cannes in 2007. Schnabel is better known as a painter, the one who used to attach dishes to the surfaces of his canvases. But “The Diving Bell and the Butterfly” is his third movie and all have been critical successes. The other two are “Before Night Falls” and “Basquiat.” I am not sure if he is still painting or not. If not, his second career is well launched.

The opening sequence to “The Diving Bell and the Butterfly” is a challenge to the audience: it’s frightening because you are locked inside the skin and perception of a man who is discovering he has had so serious a stroke that it has turned him into a quadriplegic. His only connection to the outside world was one eye. It was a terrible shock to discover you have what a doctor calls “locked-in syndrome,” and since the viewer is seeing within the framework of that one eye and hearing the patient, Jean-Dominique Bauby, talk to himself since he can think but not vocalize his thoughts, one has a real feel for what kind of isolation goes with the syndrome. In short, it is scary and profound. As viewer you have to overcome your own fear of a stroke, where it can leave you, like stranded alone on that desert island of the mind. (Bauby was 42 when he had his stroke.) But, fortunately, the film moves on to other perspectives, making it somewhat easier to watch.

Instrumental in Bauby’s summoning his will to live and to accomplish something despite the his handicap are ‘Three Graces,’ three women, all therapists, who vow to help him communicate and even to write a book about his experience. They do it by means of his blinking eye, a binary system of one and two blinks that identify the letter he wants the therapist to write down and thus how they build words, sentences, and paragraphs—a book. They use a chart that arranges the alphabet according to letters used the most and the least in a three-tier arrangement. It was a tedious system but they had nothing else to do. Bauby would wake at 5 AM and figure out what he wanted to say that day, and the therapists would come in at 8AM, and the two of them would work the rest of the day. The movie also makes clear that his memory and imagination were not crippled in any way, providing him with a lively and stimulating inner cinema on his desert island of the mind.

The movie was just released on DVD.

And now I feel compelled to include a personal note. The movie made me reflect on the women who helped me get through heart surgery a year ago. First of all there were the professional women, the nurses and nurse’s aides. Secondly, but not less in importance, were my ‘Three Graces,’ my wife and two daughters.

Several of the nurses were so kind and sweet I can’t say enough about them and how their care and attitude lifted my spirits when I sorely needed a healing boost. The surgeon was, at best, a peripheral figure, someone I saw for 10 minutes the week I was in the hospital after quadruple by pass surgery. It was the support of the women that got me through the experience AFTER the surgeon did his thing. A few were young and attractive too, which was a definite bonus, as it was for Bauby. Two were older matrons with plenty of savvy. I nicknamed them all ”The Love Squad.” I was glad to see any of them night and day. They gave me massages, they were at my beck and call, they took walks with me, and they talked to me about many things. Two of the gals had an art background, which was a real surprise. I had one of my daughters bring in some of my drawings. Naturally, they all praised me to the sky to make me feel good.

There was one gal I don’t think I’ll ever forget. She was a nurses’ aide; let’s call her Carol. She was 36 years old, raven haired, and had an irresistible bubbly personality, one of those women who light up a room when they enter. She was a real look-a-like of the French actress Juliette Binoche, a little heavier perhaps, but by no means Rubenesque. Her background was a surprise: she fought in the Bosian war for five years, against the Serbs. Five years! She’s lucky she got out alive after that long. She was married to a Tucson man, a Mexican American, probably a soldier she met during the war. Her sunny personality might have resulted from surviving the war. From here on out life was gravy. I will always be a little bit in love with her. She was a definite curative influence, a balm for body and soul.

My Three Graces were wonderful too. It was a trial for my wife, Carolyn Sue, because she dislikes hospitals and the medical establishment. But she was a trouper and came every day for at least a couple of hours. She was suspicious of doctors and had had some angry run-ins in the past, when I was in the hospital with a bleeding ulcer in 2000. But she brought me whatever I wanted from home and her quirky humor was always a pick-me-up. I appointed my oldest daughter, Nasima, who has a Masters degree in Medical Sociology, as my chief advocate. She had made it her business to know about doctors and hospital and procedures, and she did a great job for me. My younger daughter, Kaia, came to see me often and stayed as long as she could. She was 8 months pregnant at the time. All three of them were a pleasure to have around and buoyed me up every time they walked into my room.

One of the first things I did when I went home was write a letter of appreciation to the Supervisor of Nurses, telling him how great the staff had been. I mentioned each woman by name and I was pleased to hear that my letter was included in the nurse’s monthly newsletter. Those women made an experience I was not looking forward too much better than I expected it to be. When I reconsider the experience in my memory, I don’t think so much about the fact my chest was ripped open and strangers poked around inside, or about the pain and discomfort I felt for a month, but what is my paramount memory is ‘The Love Squad’ and what they did for me. Bauby and I were both very lucky to have been served so well.