Plot Intro
Struggling writer, Don Birnam (Ray Milland) is an alcoholic. He is pretty much in the care of his brother, Wick, and his girlfriend, Helen (Jane Wyman). But over the period of a long weekend in which his brother goes away for a bit, Don’s condition takes a turn for the worse, and soon he is stealing to pay for booze, pawning off his typewriter, ending up in hospital - and contemplating suicide.
Doug says...
The Lost Weekend is a really odd film to happen right now. We’ve reached the final year of WWII, there’s been uplifting films about war heroism (Mrs Miniver), there’s been films exploring different areas of the war (Casablanca) and even in last week’s dire Going My Way, a character appeared in uniform, clearly off to do battle. So having a film which eschews even a mention of war, and instead explores the danger of alcoholism is a startling break with the flow of continuity.
What Paul and I set out to do with this project was partly alleviate our Sunday blues, but also discover lost gems and study a particular angle of cinematic history. For me, this has turned out to be one of those gems. It’s superbly made, and differs from my other ‘newly found’ favourite How Green Was My Valley in the sheer, uncompromising unsentimentality. We see Don Birnam fall into every trap, sinking to the worst depths in order to gain his precious liquor: he steals, he begs, and in one extraordinarily powerful scene he tears apart his own apartment, desperately trying to find a bottle of whisky that he had drunkenly stowed somewhere for safe-keeping.
I’ve often said that I find male performances on screen much harder to get into. I find women more interesting in life, and that’s reflected on screen - I’m much more likely to be drawn to an actress’ performance as I generally find them more filled with nuance. However it is a tour-de-force from Ray Milland as the drunkard Don. His hands flutter constantly, he puts his cigarettes in his mouth the wrong way round, and when he begins to hallucinate a nightmarish scene with a bat and mouse in his living room, his fear carries over into us, and I found myself tense with worry.
But what I particularly liked about this film was the depth it imbued every character with. Gloria, a girl from the pub who seems to be some sort of escort is silly, yes, but she gives Don money after he’s stood her up on a date, timidly asking whether he doesn’t like her after all - even a bit. It’s a heartbreaking moment, where we see the damaged and unhappy people all around him. The local barman Nat tenses, every time he has to pour the sozzled Don a drink, while Don’s brother Wick begins by lying to all Don’s friends for him, and ends up abandoning him angrily. It’s a piece wrought with very real reactions and feelings, and although it has a slightly forced ending with his girlfriend (a well-acted Jane Wyman) coming through for him, I can see the need for a film of this sort to have at least a glimmer of hope. Having said that, it is by no means conclusive as to whether any form of sobriety will last.
Having said this, I thought while watching this how relevant this issue still is (and may always be). Last year ‘People, Places and Things’ at the National Theatre took London audiences by storm. David Hare’s ‘My Zinc Bed’ was so divisive that one critic called it ‘evil’. The topic of alcoholism is extraordinarily relevant, and it is surprising to see it dealt with in such a modern way, back in 1945. And I suppose it is easy to push for an always unhappy ending, but the inspiring thing about this is that people do manage to go through it and come out the other end. People like Ozzy Osbourne who have publicly faced their demons and survived. Perhaps we all need a bit of inspiring. Perhaps a positive ending isn’t necessarily a cop-out.
Highlight
There’s a few key scenes which are phenomenal. Specifically the scene where Don tears his flat apart, the scene in the Alcoholic Ward where all the patients scream with night terrors, and a remarkable sequence where Don walks the streets trying to find an open pawnbroker only to find they are all closed because of a Jewish holiday. They help highlight the desperation and irrationality of a person controlled by this illness.
Lowlight
The music, while sometimes stirring, verges on intrusive in a few scenes. Having said this, apparently they did trial runs without music before releasing it and audiences found it too comic.
Mark
10/10 for this unknown masterpiece
Paul says...
Imagine a world where alcoholism is just something that people who are more unfortunate than yourself have. Words like “intervention” and “cognitive behavioural therapy” have different meanings or are unheard of. Alcoholics on the verge of breakdown must rely solely on the sympathy and kindness of their family and friends, and occasionally spend nights in hospital wards that are more like lunatic asylums, with deranged patients and indifferent nurses.
That is what The Lost Weekend tackles, and it is no wonder it caused a stir in 1945. It makes a point of stating that there are many people out there tackling the demons that Don faces, and that these people need help, not ridicule or another ineffective night in a ward. The hero of the piece is far from heroic. The film does not shy away from depicting him like most sufferers of addiction- i.e. vulnerable, manipulative, self-involved, even sometimes cruel. It also isn’t afraid to say words like “suicide”. The film may be short, but it is far from sweet- it’s blunt and it packs a punch.
That is what is so refreshing and enthralling about it. Ray Milland is a far-cry from the masculine heroics of Humphrey Bogart, or the saccharine apotheosis of Bing Crosby. He displays a man tearing himself and others apart with the right combination of nuance and passion. We feel for him, whilst also getting frustrated at him as he repeatedly steals and lies to get another bottle of alcohol. It’s hard to create such conflicting emotions in your audience, but Milland left me flawed. Jane Wyman is also brilliant as his girlfriend. It would be so easy to depict her as the victim, or as ruthlessly unfeeling towards him, but she’s neither. She doesn’t have the unquestionable heroism of Greer Garson, or the meekness of Ingrid Bergman. She’s tough, desperate for Don to improve and hopelessly dedicated to him, but far from pathetic. Unlike the grand epics of the 30’s and acts of heroism in the early ’40’s, this is a deep psychological study of these very real but unorthodox leading characters. This, plus setting it across a truncated timespan of one weekend, gives it a “Catcher in the Rye” feel. Suddenly, our fictional heroes don’t carry swords or guns- they carry empty whiskey bottles and pawn broker tickets.
Two awfully pedantic points stop me from giving The Lost Weekend a full 10. Firstly, I wanted more information about Don’s reasons for his alcoholism. He gives a speech about his inability to write successfully, and also chickens out from meeting Helen’s parents because he overhears them already judging his career and life. This suggests that he has serious self-esteem issues but it felt too brief. The film describes what alcoholism is, and what the consequences are, but doesn’t show enough interest in the causes. Secondly, the ending is horribly easy, and makes it seem as if alcoholism can go away pretty quickly. If this film were made now, such outright attempts at sentimentality to soften the blow of this dark drama would not be forgiven- they would be jeered, even condemned.
Nonetheless, this is a fantastic break from those lessons of noble heroism that we have seen throughout the war years, and hopefully we will see a shift away from the “Mrs Miniver era” as the post-war years dawn upon us.
Highlight
The flashback scene in which Don reveals his condition to Helen. He initially allows his brother to cover for him, but quickly admits the truth. And Helen, with true candour, takes the information in and promises to help.
Lowlight
The contrived ending conflicted with the tone of the film too much for me. More misery, dammit!
Mark
9/10
No comments:
Post a Comment