"Hope Glenn Kenny gets a hold of this," Keith Uhlich writes over at The House Next Door's Links For The Day, apropos Oscar-watch-dude Tom O'Neil's, shall we say, contrarian perspective on F.W. Murnau's Sunrise. Apparently O'Neil can't get on the bus with certain "Oscar Nazis" (there's a phrase that ought not be dwelt upon, not to mention even ever uttered) who "insist that we should fight for Sunrise to get its due and reverse the common misconception that the lowly Wings was the first best picture winner," because, by O'Neil's light, Sunrise is "paper thin, hilariously schmaltzy" and its "three primary characters are cartoonish clichés and their performances 3-inch slices of honeyed ham."
Janet Gaynor and George O'Brien in Murnau's Sunrise
Now I'm flattered that Keith thinks I'm the go-to guy when an ignorant, vulgar, hubristic critic is in need of an evisceration. But I'm afraid I can't help him here, because, truth to tell, I think O'Neil's kind of got a point.
PSYCH!!
Almost had you there, didn't I?
It's kind of difficult to know where to begin here, and frankly the discussion in the comments at O'Neil's L.A. Times website is getting quite a bit of my job done for me. Honestly, my first thought was about O'Neil's description of the performances—the performances by the characters, apparently, if we are to take his hobbled sentence at face value—as "3-inch slices of honeyed ham." Believe it or not, there are still quite a few good George O'Brien men among the living; I know one or two, and it made me shiver a bit to imagine Tom O'Neil delivering his verdict on Sunrise's acting to any of their faces.
But what's most fascinating about the thing is not O'Neil's critical analysis—there isn't any—but the way that Sunrise has gotten him twisted up in such a bizarre knot, particularly with respect to his relation to other film writers, or rather, the "snobs" and "hipsters" and, oh boy, "Nazis." Not only did O'Neil not much care for Sunrise when he recently watched it, he apparently hated it with a force beyond all rational sense. Note his caption for a still from the film: "Oh, Janet Gaynor is so happy when he takes her on a date in a rowboat! But then, curses! He lunges at her throat with trembling arms!"
Back there when I said O'Neil kind of has a point? The weird thing is, he kind of does, in spite of himself. The melodrama of Sunrise—like that, say, of Borzage's Seventh Heaven—is pitched at an emotional temperature that is difficult for those professing to be of a contemporary sensibility to, ahem, "relate" to. One needn't be as staggering a philistine as O'Neil to admit that the content of Sunrise contains some qualities that are anachronistic, even quaint. But to O'Neil the content of Sunrise is all there is, and it drives him to unrelenting, out-of-proportion mockery...even though he's "the kinda guy who'd normally side with the weepie. On my top 10 list of fave pix of all time are Peggy Sue Got Married and Titanic."
You know, Titanic happens to have quite a bit more in common with Sunrise than a lot of people would be willing to admit. But that's neither here nor there at the moment. What's incredible is the way the savagery of O'Neil's loathing of Sunrise segues into his tetchy, faux-blithe defensiveness over Peggy Sue Got Married and Titanic. It doesn't take much to figure out that O'Neil's rant isn't against Sunrise at all, but is rather just a festering hairball built up from God-knows-how-many years of resentment against...yep, all those film snobs, hipsters, and, ugh, Nazis WHO HAVE BEEN TRYING TO FORCE TRIPE LIKE SUNRISE DOWN TOM O'NEIL'S THROAT ALL HIS LIFE AND HE'S NOT GONNA HAVE IT ANYMORE!!!!
In the comments, stalwart Kent Jones tries some sweet reason in defense of a response to film that is "thought out and carefully considered," but O'Neil isn't having it. He just doesn't like Sunrise, damnit, and nobody's gonna make him take it back.
"What do I really know about film?" O'Neil asks, to no one in particular. "Not only does the L. A. Times hire me to dish about it, other media outlets showcase my views, too. Tune in to Fox Business Network this Friday morning and to CBS this Saturday morning to see me sound off on current releases. On Sunday I'll probably be on CNN -- don't know exactly what time of day yet. Might be on MSNBC early Sunday -- often I do that time slot. All this is just a small sampling of typical media that I do. Many outlets disagree with my views on this-or-that, but they seem to appreciate my honesty, basic knowledge and insights..."
Holy shit man, this is Max Fischer's "I wrote a hit play!" writ way too large. And consider: O'Neil is an adult. Or maybe this is more of "So I think my insights into Mr. McLuhan, well, have a great deal of validity."
And yet, in spite of Mr. O'Neil's incredible media star status, he is beset by would-be assassins! No really! "So I happen to think Sunrise is overrated. Big deal. Get over it. I also happen to think that Grand Illusion is, too. Can you resist the urge to assassinate me?"
I dunno Tom, you just rubbed my face in the fact that you're such a fucking big deal, and now you're shrugging your shoulders after having thrown down a gauntlet, and making one more idiotic pronouncement as the cherry on top. You think after that anyone's gonna feel like giving you a hug?
On the other hand, you seem like you need one.
P.S. I have to tell you how much I love the formulation of the "film hipster" and how glad I am it's getting play. I don't wanna pick on Jeff Wells, but last week he was giving Adrien Brody a career Rx, and tut-tutting him for making a picture with Dario Argento. Quoth Jeff: "Argento is highly regarded in dweeby, hipper-than-thou, Dave Kehr-like circles..."
Yeah—that's exactly it. Dave Kehr, King of the Hipsters. Of a Saturday evening, me, him, Kent Jones and maybe Nathan Lee if he and I are speaking that week, like to kick a little Ernie Gehr at Anthology and then repair to 7B for a few Rocks. After dropping Nathan off at The Cock, we then catch the L train to Bedford and head to the Music Hall of Williamsburg, where we're apt to check out Black Dice while swilling a few PBRs. Then it's off to Union Pool for a nightcap.
Yeah, that's exactly it.
P.P.S. Damn, foiled again—My Lovely Wife tells me that The Cock has closed. Hey, wait a minute, how would she know, anyway...
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