Close-up Madness

Gloria Swanson’s famous, “I’m ready for my close-up, Mr. DeMille,” in “Sunset Blvd.” (1950) gives us a slow, blurry and grotesque zoom-in on the tortured, dream-like expression of a woman gone mad. We already knew her trolley was a bit derailed early in the film when she is introduced as a lonely, self-important eccentric. The final close-up tells us nothing new about her, it just slashes away that discrete personal space between us and the unfortunate victim.

The extreme close-up to illustrate madness is also used very quickly, and most startlingly, in “The Most Dangerous Game” (1932) when we are forced almost literally down the evil Count Zaroff’s throat as we stand, with Fay Wray at the top of the stone staircase of his fog-enveloped castle on the uncharted island, a place where he hunts humans. She is going off to bed, while her drunken sot of brother, played comically by Robert Armstrong, assures her that their host will look after him, “The Count’ll take care of me all right.”

“Indeed I will,” the Count, played by Leslie Banks, replies heavily as the tracking shot zooms effortlessly down those stairs from Miss Wray’s vantage point, and ours, and smacks into Mr. Banks’ hollow gaze. It is our first clue of his madness. Until now we have no reason to believe he is, like Gloria Swanson’s Norma Desmond, nothing more than a colorful eccentric. A colorful character, but not a loony. This close-up tells us there is something more sinister and off balance to him, and removes our comfortable distance from him.

Another even more brief, but insightful close-up indicating emotional disturbance is used, unexpectedly, in the holiday family favorite, “It’s a Wonderful Life” (1946). James Stewart, in deep trouble, wishes he was never born and Clarence the angel arranges it. Through a wild exploration of a hometown he no longer recognizes, confronting friends and family who no longer know him, we first have a hint that Stewart’s character George Bailey is losing it when he prays in the noisy bar and confesses to God, and to us, two important bits of information. One, he is “not a praying man” and two, “I’m at the end of my rope.”

Later, when his own mother, now a destitute and bitter widow in this bizarro world does not recognize him and refuses to shelter him, George runs away not more than a few steps down her sidewalk and runs smack into us. We do not come to him in his close-up, he comes to us, and stops, and slowly turns his head, searching from one direction to the other, and pauses a brief moment to look with horror into our faces. It is a personal moment for George, a Twilight Zone moment where his world is gone, and he is lost, and he is now a man on the very edge of sanity. His brings his horror to us, much as he has just brought it to the doorstep of his mother. She has sent him away, but what are we to do?

Unlike Count Zaroff and Norma Desmond, George Bailey’s madness is brief, a nightmare that clears and we have a happy ending. The rest of the film is long shots of George in his happy environment, his town’s streets, his big old house. He is always with other people, often a lot of them in each scene. The close-up he shares only with us.

Movie madness can often take the form of wild ranting and aggressive behavior, but it is ironically most chilling, and most personal, when it is still, silent, and very close.

This blog entry is part of The Eyes Have It Close-up Blog-a-Thon at The House Next Door. Have a look at this website for more interesting blogs on the art of the movie close-up.

Robert Armstrong

Robert Armstrong was the kind of character actor who left an impression. He seemed to invent types, rather than play them. Carl Denham, the pushy, greedy, but always imaginative impresario who dragged King Kong back from the South Pacific to exploit as entertainment, and Max O’Hara, who tried to work similar magic with “Mighty Joe Young” were fellows acutely identified with the nimble talking Armstrong.

A much less enterprising, but still out for number one kind of guy was his character in “The Most Dangerous Game” (1932). The brother of the character played by Fay Wray, who later played his discovery Ann Darrow in “King Kong,” Martin Trowbridge was killed off early in the movie but still managed to stand out as one of the highlights of the film. He is a drunken fool, who disgusts the disciplined if utterly crazy host Count Zaroff with his dissolute ways and casual attitude toward hunting. He invites Zaroff, played memorably by Leslie Banks (see entry March 29th ) to go hunting in the Catskills, where the guides “will make the deers behave.”

Mr. Armstrong’s acting career began when left college for vaudeville and a touring stock company, and eventually made it to Hollywood just in time for the waning days of silent film. His smart aleck snappy delivery and comic timing was perfect for sound film and he made the transition easily, though “King Kong” was probably the most notable role he had. He never got out of B-movie parts, though he played a role against James Cagney in “Blood On the Sun” (1945), an interesting look at Japanese military in the days just before Pearl Harbor. Armstrong improbably played Colonel Hideki Tojo, but through this and other roles, and his eventual TV guest spots, one gets the feeling that the intrepid and exasperating spirit of Carl Denham never left him, and was always somehow just under the surface. It was a role he was born to play.

The Most Dangerous Game - 1932

The Most Dangerous Game (1932) makes the point that “less is more” in a film dependent on a little bit of psychology, a little bit of horror, a little bit of vodka, and a memorable journey in only 63 minutes.

The story of shipwreck survivors hunted for sport on the island “no bigger than a deer park” owned by a madman is by now well known and has been resurrected on several occasions. 

It’s hard to discern just what alchemy provides the irresistible quality of adventure in this short movie, with a setting like a Terry and the Pirates cartoon. The hunter’s horn theme haunts the film, but what defines the study of hunters and the hunted, of civilization and savagery is illustrated in the most simple ways. The survivors share cocktails as they recount the harrowing tales of their shipwreck experiences to their mysterious but charming host, Count Zaroff, who entertains them with panache and dignity in his evening clothes. He is well educated, well read, and plays classical music on a grand piano in the great hall of his medieval fortress. 

The movie really belongs to Leslie Banks, in only his second film, as Count Zaroff, who masterfully seduces the funny buffoon played by Robert Armstrong, the good guy and fellow hunter Joel McCrea, and the lovely Fay Wray, and most especially, the audience. Miss Wray probably owned a patent on the damsel in distress role. Her trying to warn McCrea’s character of her suspicions about Count Zaroff, as she purposely knocks over a drink onto McCrea, “I didn’t realize the DANGER,” is suspenseful, but futile. 

What I love best about the film are the small touches used to illustrate big things and big ideas. McCrea discovers the depth of Zaroff’s madness and attempts to escape, but not before he takes the time to put on his tie. He is civilized, after all. When he meets Wray’s character to sneak away from their captivity, she is wearing an evening gown. Evidently no tea-length day dress will do. This is going to be an heroic escape, and they have to look their best. 

Actually, McCrea’s tie comes in handy later as a trip line for his laboriously constructed Malay Dead Fall trap, which doesn’t work. Other traps fail to catch Zaroff as well, and one wonders if Miss Wray’s method of just screaming and running isn’t the best line of defense. However, soon their faces are shining with sweat, their clothes are dirty and torn, which makes a terrific contrast to their natty appearance earlier in the film. We believe their wretchedness more than if they had started out in combat gear. 

The terrific sets are evocative of a time and place lost to civilization, and many of the sets were used on RKO’s King Kong, which also starred Wray and Armstrong, released the following year. It was the Depression, after all -- waste not, want not. The danger for McCrea is death, and for Fay Wray, rape. As Zaroff bellows his mantra, “Kill, then love. When you have known that, you have known ecstasy.” It is a perverted philosophy, but deliciously believable in a character who dresses in white tie and tails, strokes the nasty scar on his forehead (which is intended to indicate to us his madness), though in this black and white film, no blood is ever required. We know the stakes. We don’t need to be hit over the head. We hang on for the ride, and the surprising ending.

******

Jacqueline T. Lynch is the author of Ann Blyth: Actress. Singer. Star. and Memories in Our Time - Hollywood Mirrors and Mimics the Twentieth Century. Her newspaper column on classic films, Silver Screen, Golden Memories is syndicated nationally.  Her new book, a collection of posts from this blog - Hollywood Fights Fascism - is available here on Amazon.