“You like old films? Why?”
The tone varies- anything from mild incredulity to genuine pity, or just plain old curiosity- but the sentiment is the same. What’s the point of watching an old movie? The special effects are outdated, the performances likely cheesy and the stars are actors only your parents might recognize. If you are a classic film fan, this is a conversation you’ve grown accustomed to having. Yes I know it’s not in colour, stars that old guy George Clooney is always compared to and was made before World War Two, but Bringing Up Baby really is funny, if you will only give it a chance. Most of the time the major obstacle is black and white; pity the poor fans who must justify interest in films which lack not only colour, but sound.
I once brought up Greta Garbo in a Modern History tutorial. (Admittedly not Film Studies, but bear with me.) We’d been discussing English Restoration theatre and I tried to draw a comparison with Garbo’s performance in Grand Hotel– a few scenes may look exaggerated to eyes more accustomed to Method realism, yet the overall effect is no less valid or emotive. None of them had seen the film. Fair enough. Only one of them even knew who Garbo was, and no, it wasn’t my middle-aged tutor. I was speechless. I wish I could have explained that she is a cultural icon whose very face remains the subject of serious academic discussion, that every silky purr of ‘I vant to be alone’ is a tribute to her enduring appeal. That not knowing her meant you had missed Flesh and the Devil, Queen Christina, and Ninotchka. Instead I sat meekly through an awkward silence and we moved on.
So what’s the big deal about Garbo? Why do classic films matter?
Quite simply, you can’t know where you’re going if you don’t know where you’ve been. I love Singin’ in the Rain as a peerless, ebullient example of everything a Hollywood musical should be. I also cherish it as a beginner’s guide to early filmmaking, an affectionate chronicle of the bumpy transition from silents to talkies. Watching the hassle that goes into a Lockwood and Lamont picture makes you marvel that any films are made at all. Citizen Kane’s status as The Greatest Film Ever Made™ probably seems overblown to some, but it truly is a wonderful piece of filmmaking: stellar, star-making performances combined with a complex narrative and deep-focus photography to die for. If you fail to see what the fuss is about, bear in mind the film is full of innovations repeated and reused so often over the years that we now take them for granted. If you want to understand how films are made now, it’s a good idea to know how they were made then.
Today’s filmmakers grew up with yesterday’s films. Akira Kurosawa’s Hidden Fortress influenced Star Wars. Alfred Hitchcock, Howard Hawks and John Ford were heroes of La Nouvelle Vague. Steven Spielberg saw Lawrence of Arabia as an impressionable teenager and still cites it as a major inspiration for his own movies.It’s always exciting to watch the films that made an impact on others.
Also, there’s such a lot out there. If you refuse to give even a few classic movies a go, you shut yourself off from a plethora of experiences, stories and storytellers. Where precisely do you draw the line? Before 1980, or 1950? Before colour? Sound? Anywhere and you still lose so many films well worth your time, attention, and maybe even affection. Cinema bestows a great gift on audiences in that every frame is a pristine moment in time, captured for our viewing pleasure. In a sense, Errol Flynn is always swinging from a vine in Sherwood Forest and Julie Andrews singing on a mountaintop, waiting to be introduced to the next generation of movie-lovers.
In some cases, they really don’t make them like they used to. Moulin Rouge! remains a valiant effort and my respect for Baz Luhrmann rose inestimably when I learned of his affection for MGM musicals. Yet barring some unforeseen miracle, that style of production outside of a Broadway or West End show appears extinct. Without classic films I would have been robbed of Esther William’s water extravaganzas or the splendour of a mid-air Astaire.
Last but by no means least, famous films are more than set pieces. There’s a great deal more to Psycho than a certain shower scene and stabbing, screaming strings. Cary Grant being chased by a homicidal crop duster leaps even more vividly to life if you take the time to watch all of North By Northwest. (And why would you not? It’s the same movie which has both Grant and Eva Marie Saint dangling off Mount Rushmore.)
Why do classic films matter? All of the above and more.
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