There are certain types of movies that we tend to shy away from in the grand screening room at Mid Century Cinema: musicals and martial arts flicks, for example. (I once read something clever that argued persuasively these are essentially the same thing—movies structured largely to support elaborately choreographed fantasy sequences.) We also make every effort to avoid romantic comedies that ritualistically follow the template of the genre: casual/awkward meet cute, part company/time with other partners, re-crossed paths that lead to growing friendship and affection, realization of true love, delayed consummation, ultimate crisis, and happy resolution. (Not surprisingly, some steeped-in-feminism seventies landmarks like Annie Hall and An Unmarried Woman rejected that final step.) The marvelous When Harry Met Sally is an exemplar of this and rewards multiple viewings—but most rom-coms grind their way through these requisite plot points with all the joy of a night shift assembly line.
Also not for us: movies that depend on tremendously clever revelations that are only interesting once (file under Hitchcock’s preference for suspense over surprise). And we run screaming from anything that remotely falls under the category of “feel good” or aspires provide the sort of well-intentioned message one might associate with an ABC After School Special. Regarding such virtues, we’re with Pauline Kael: “nothing is so deathly to enjoyment as the relentless march of a movie to fulfill its obvious purpose.”
Those preferences are my preferences—yours are surely different, and that’s a good thing. (And don’t forget to catch that new musical about the shy but brave teenager who teaches the cute boy from homeroom that racism is bad.) What I want to puzzle through here is why I don’t like period pieces. Those are my exact words, but I don’t know the reasoning behind them. I know why I don’t like, say, revenge thrillers – numbingly ritualistic, morally compromised, paint-by-numbers money-machines (no offense, Liam) – but what is so inherently bad or objectionable about period pieces? After all, as Jacques Rivette once explained, in some sense, every film is a period piece. That is, in his words, every movie is also “a documentary of its own making,” and one that reflects and records a time and a place, as well as its attendant cultural sensibilities and contexts. For example, Sex Lies and Videotape, a great film, was in its moment hip and cutting edge. Now it looks like something left in a time capsule (hopefully not on VHS). I watch it now, still with enormous pleasure and appreciation. Is it a period piece? No. Am I sure about that? Um . . . also no. I mean, I understand that watching a movie in 2021 that was made in 1989 is not the same thing as watching a movie made now that is set then. But what happens? What is the crucial difference—and, for this viewer at least, what tends to go wrong in the latter?
I’m not sure, but I know something often goes awry, and it’s deep-seated. I consider Alfred Hitchcock one of the masters of the craft, and love so many of his movies—but I find his (few) period pieces, such as the wretched Jamaica Inn and the ridiculous has-its-defenders Under Capricorn virtually unwatchable. Those are pretty easy calls, so let me add this: I much prefer Kurosawa’s (then) contemporary dramas to his celebrated period pieces—the renowned films that, in fact, made his reputation. And it can’t be a question of the “age” of the movie itself or boredom with or alienation from the period in which it takes place. After all, The Maltese Falcon takes place in the thirties, and is eighty years old (!!), and I cherish it and consider it fresh as the proverbial daisy.
Another aspect of this conundrum for which the answer turns out to be slippery is, exactly what makes a period piece? On the one hand, I don’t think we think of Scorsese’s Raging Bull (shot in 1980, set on 1950), as a period piece. But why? Because there are no costumes? That’s not true—there may be no wigs, but there are indeed costumes, that is, period appropriate dress (and sets, and technology, and . . . everything). On the other hand, Chinatown (shot in 1974, set in 1937), was unambiguously and purposefully intended as, and most definitely is, a period piece. (And not to get all Tom Hulce talking about the universe with Donald Sutherland in Animal House on you, but Chinatown is now more distant from us today than the movie was from its historical setting when it was released.) In sum, there is no simple rule of thumb for “how far back” the movie goes. Any movie that takes place in an earlier time period for the purpose of taking place in an earlier time period, must be considered a period piece. This is inarguable, to quote Eddie Izzard “according to a law I just made up.”
Perhaps this enigma of the ponderous period piece can be unpacked by looking at some examples of those that I love. (Hmmm. So much for my exact words. Turns out it was more of a guideline than a rule.) Here are a baker’s dozen of them, listed alphabetically, with release date and period setting. (Note that I have avoided westerns, on the grounds that the genre of “Western” is the dominant characteristic, as opposed to the ambition to make a “period piece”; I have also avoided biopics following the same logic.) This list, of course, is designed to be representative, not exhaustive, and in all cases I’ve tried to keep the list “honest”—that is, there were productions in which recreating an historical period was a significant part of the purpose of the filmmakers.
-The Cat’s Meow (Bogdanovich 2001/1924)
-Chinatown (Polanski 1974/1937)
-The Conformist (Bertolucci 1970/1930s)
-The Dead (Huston 1987/1904)
-The Earrings of Madame De (Ophüls 1953/Late 19th century)
-Fanny and Alexander (Bergman 1982/1907) Note Also: The Seventh Seal (1957/14th century); The Magician (1958/19th century)
-Gosford Park (Altman 2001/1932)
-Life and Nothing But (Tavernier 1989/1920) Note Also: The Judge and the Assassin (1976/1893); A Sunday in the Country (1984/1910)
-The Magnificent Ambersons (Welles 1942/late 19th– early 20th centuries)
-Paths of Glory (Kubrick 1957/1916) Note Also: Barry Lyndon (1975/18th Century)
-Triple Agent (Rohmer 2004/1936) Note Also: The Lady and the Duke (2001/late 18th century)
-Under the Sun of Satan (Pialat 1987/1920s)
-The Widow of Saint Pierre (Leconte 2000/1849)
What does this list tell us? I’m not sure. This is a seventies essay—it has more questions than answers. But I suspect that what I really don’t like is when movies become more invested in the period than the picture, which must be a natural hazard for such efforts. And that can come at the cost of content. Whereas I think I notice a certain universalism shared by the entries in the list above. Collectively these strike me as stories that that take place in the past – in disparate and distant settings – but which explore general themes and raise often profound philosophical questions that are in no way dormant, nor special to their historic circumstance. They are from their time, but not of their time. And with apologies for getting all tautological on you, that’s the way I like it.
