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As one of many people closely following the story of Falcon Heene yesterday with rapt attention, I have to strongly object to the unfortunate nickname the media and others are bestowing on him: "Balloon Boy." This name reflects the general attitude I've noticed where people regard the incident merely as wacky news. "OMG, it's a real-life version of Up!" seems to be the common sentiment, turning Falcon into fodder for late-night comedians' monologues.

Was I the only person not to see goofiness in the story, but instead saw it as mysterious and beautiful as it unfolded? To me, this wasn't just a stunning example of bad parenting, but represented supreme wish-fulfillment. A six-year-old boy untethering the mysterious flying machine behind the house, embarking on a tremendous adventure, escaping from a drab family life into the air. It was as if an ocean had tumbled by with a private airship for Falcon.

While watching the live feed of the balloon rapidly descending, I was filled with concern for his safety, but my concern really more closely resembled the feeling of exhilaration I get in a falling dream moments before waking up. And when the realization came that he was not in the balloon and could be seemingly anywhere in a large area of rural Colorado, my imagination continued to run wild. After it was suggested he might be hiding in the neighborhood for fear of retribution, the efforts of officials on the ground to find him no longer seemed like a "search,", but instead became a "chase" in my mind. Falcon was a fugitive from a world threatened by his imagination and his desire to fly away to something better.

The whole incident invites obvious comparisons to so many cultural touchstones, but I'm shocked by how everyone is comparing it to the wrong ones. This isn't about Up or Danny Deckchair! Have people forgotten Le Ballon rouge? Brewster McCloud? And, most importantly, the story of Daedelus and Icarus, of the tragic consequences of a father's attempt to give his son flight?

By this time Icarus began to feel the joy
Of beating wings in air and steered his course
Beyond his father’s lead: all the wide sky
Was there to tempt him as he steered toward heaven.
Meanwhile the heat of sun struck at his back
And where his wings were joined, sweet-smelling fluid
Ran hot that once was wax. His naked arms
Whirled into wind; his lips, still calling out
His father’s name, were gulfed in the dark sea.
And the unlucky man, no longer father,
Cried, “Icarus, where are you, Icarus,
Where are you hiding, Icarus, from me?”
Then as he called again, his eyes discovered
The boy’s torn wings washed on the climbing waves.
He damned his art, his wretched cleverness,
Rescued the body and placed it in a tomb,
And where it lies the land’s called Icarus.

And that's why I'm not bothered by the possibility that it all may have been a hoax. From the beginning, the story always lay more in the realm of myth. The fact that the boy flying away was named Falcon makes it clear. This was never a news event. It was a fable.

Since November of 2006, I have been slowly plodding through Dark Shadows, the classic vampire soap opera from the '60s. I've watched some 270 episodes now, but considering there are a total of 1,225 episodes to see, at my current pace, I won't be finished with the show until some time in 2019.

But in all the hundred hours of the show I've seen so far, my favorite line came in the episode I saw last night:

"I was under the impression that you wanted to discuss my harpoon collection."

Also, the framed reproduction of the portrait of Barnabas Collins hanging in my living room often yields amusing results while watching the show:

In addition to the Downtown 81 series, I am also presenting a retrospective at Doc Films of the work of Charles Laughton, one of my favorite actors, Thursday evenings at 7 p.m. Laughton is one of a handful of actors I can think of that I've noticed instantly make films more enjoyable, regardless of the movie's quality or the size of their role, simply by their presence. This series has nine of his best performances, including some relative rarities, and I very much hope you come see them. It begins tonight with Les Misérables.

Doc Films is located in Ida Noyes Hall at 1212 E. 59th St. in Chicago. Tickets are just $5, or you can get a pass for all 80-or-so films in the quarter for only $30.

The quick schedule of the series, my essay about it, and descriptions of each film:

Oct. 1 - Les Misérables
Oct. 8 - Island of Lost Souls
Oct. 15 - White Woman
Oct. 22 - The Private Life of Henry VIII
Oct. 29 - The Suspect
Nov. 5 - The Sign of the Cross
Nov. 12 - Witness for the Prosecution
Nov. 19 - Advise & Consent
Dec. 3 - The Night of the Hunter

The Public Life of Charles Laughton

Hollywood's blusteriest star.

There has never been a Hollywood star comparable to Charles Laughton. With his portly shape and blustery persona, he could easily have remained in the company of Edward Everett Horton, Thomas Mitchell, and Andy Devine as a successful character actor forever serving as sideman to the handsome stars of the moment. Instead he somehow became one of the most unlikely and distinctive leading men in the industry. Laughton delivered fiercely energetic performances in iconic role after iconic role, projecting intelligence and genuine pathos no matter how much scenery he managed to chew in the process.

At his best, Laughton committed himself to his acting to a degree few other performers can claim. He was a proto-Method actor – or perhaps more accurately, “a Method actor without the bullshit,” as James Mason described him - often changing his physical appearance for a role as much as his body would allow. George Cukor called him “the first actor I encountered who prepared to make a laughing entrance by going around doing ha-ha! sounds for hours.” But despite any resemblance of his technique to Stanislavsky’s System, it was in fact his friend Bertolt Brecht who championed Laughton as a natural embodiment of his theories. In Brecht’s view, Laughton’s method was only a partial immersion: “The actor appears on stage in a double role, as Laughton and as Galileo; the showman Laughton does not disappear in the Galileo he is showing; Laughton is actually there, standing on the stage and showing us what he imagines Galileo to have been.”

Indeed Laughton brought something very personal to his finest roles. Despite routinely playing emperors, kings, and other Great Men, Laughton managed to channel his own personal struggles and put them on display to the public. He suffered from a crippling lack of self-confidence; he hated his appearance (“I have the face like he behind of an elephant,” he would say); and he struggled with his homosexuality throughout his life-long marriage to fellow actor Elsa Lanchester. The troubled, obsessed characters like Javert in Les Misérables were never far from Charles Laughton the man.

He was a remarkably versatile actor, equally at home in lavish historical drama like The Private Life of Henry VIII, gentle comedy like Ruggles of Red Gap, and stylish film noir like The Suspect. Notoriously difficult to work with, and self-conscious about that fact, Laughton still collaborated with many of cinema’s great directors, including Jean Renoir, Billy Wilder in Witness for the Prosecution, Alfred Hitchcock, Otto Preminger in Advise & Consent), Leo McCarey, and David Lean. Even Ozu seemed to have recognized his brilliance early on, as he included a clip of Laughton’s performance from the Lubitsch-directed segment of If I Had a Million to great effect in Woman of Tokyo.

Although he worked with so many masters, some of Laughton’s greatest performances came in fact from his less distinguished films. The camp of movies like Island of Lost Souls and White Woman perhaps does not represent the artistic zenith of Laughton’s career, but it demonstrates an essential quality of his brilliance. He worked best when he had the liberty to completely invent his own character from nothing, whether creating White Woman’s absurd jungle plantation owner or transforming Nero into a flamboyant queen in The Sign of the Cross. The subpar source material worked to his benefit, essentially offering him a blank canvas to paint on. Conversely, Laughton struggled throughout his career with performing standard Shakespeare and Dickens roles on stage. He was, it seems, less an interpreter of roles than a fervent inventor of personalities.

It’s this passion that Laughton brought to his characters that makes him an easy target for accusations of overacting. To be sure, Charles Laughton was a ham, but in the best sense of the word. Rather than overact in his movies, he managed instead to transcend the film somehow. His performance becomes something more tangible than the film itself. Even in the most unmemorable movie, Laughton’s character lingers long in the audience’s memory. One at times feels sorry for his co-stars, for even if their acting is pitch-perfect, Laughton simply dominates the screen even in a minor role.

Despite a litany of iconic performances over a prolific career, it’s still hard not to dwell on what Laughton might have accomplished. Due in part to the anxieties of both Laughton and the director Joseph von Sternberg, an adaptation of I, Claudius was infamously never completed. The film, which exists now only in about twenty-five minutes of dailies, has since become the stuff of legend. From viewing only these surviving fragments, critic Jonathan Rosenbaum declared it “arguably the greatest piece of acting in all of sound cinema: better than Brando, better than Olivier, better even than Chaplin in Monsieur Verdoux.” Our retrospective concludes with The Night of the Hunter, Laughton’s lone entry in a directing career that never was. The stunning visual style; the overwhelming feeling of suspense; the breathtaking performances Laughton coaxed out of Robert Mitchum, Shelley Winters, and Lillian Gish – it all adds up to one of the great masterpieces of American cinema, and an astonishingly confident debut from a man who was anything but.

The Films

Thursday, October 1 at 7:00 • 105m
Les Misérables
Richard Boleslawski, 1935 • In the first sound adaptation of Victor Hugo's novel in English, Fredric March stars as convicted bread thief Jean Valjean. March is a perfect match for Laughton's wonderful performance as the obsessed Inspector Javert, unrelentingly pursuing Valjean over a period of decades. Between this, Mutiny on the Bounty, and Ruggles of Red Gap, 1935 marked an extraordinary year for Laughton. His over-the-top bluster here feels delightful and appropriate, unlike the over-the-top bluster of the dreadful 1980 musical adaptation that helped destroy Broadway forever—Susan Boyle be damned. 35mm

Thursday, October 8th at 7:00 • 67m
Island of Lost Souls
Erle Kenton, 1932 • Charles Laughton was perhaps born to play a mad scientist, and he makes the most of the opportunity in this creepy version of H.G. Wells's Island of Dr. Moreau. Richard Arlen and Leila Hymans are shipwrecked on Moreau's island, where the doctor has been conducting experiments combining humans and animals. His bizarre creations, led by none other than Bela Legosi, are barely under control. Laughton's performance, which he apparently based on his dentist, marked his first starring role in an American film. Find here the source for Devo's famous chant of "Are we not men?" from their 1977 song "Jocko Homo." 35mm, not available on DVD

Thursday, October 15th at 7:00 • 68m
White Woman
Stuart Walker, 1933 • A bizarre pre-code gem about a despotic rubber plantation owner in Malaysia married to a nightclub singer (Carole Lombard). Terrorized by her husband (Laughton), she begins a relationship with one of his employees. Though he did not think fondly of the film and disliked working with Lombard, who he said was not a "controlled actress," Laughton's overblown performance among the headhunters and spear fights of the jungle makes the film a real joy. During filming, Laughton insisted that Ravel's Bolero be played in between takes to sustain the tense jungle atmosphere. Archival 35mm, not available on DVD

Thursday, October 22nd at 7:00 • 97m
The Private Life of Henry VIII
Alexander Korda, 1933 • Never is Laughton given license to let loose and chew scenery more than in this star-making turn as the titular monarch. Henry blusters his way through five marriages, contending with wives and lovers played by likes of Merle Oberon, Binnie Barnes, Robert Donat, and Laughton's real-life wife Elsa Lanchester. Tremendous fun and gleefully inaccurate, the film's worldwide success became a major breakthrough not only for Laughton, but for British cinema as a whole. Laughton would again collaborate with Alexander Korda on the equally excellent historical biopic Rembrandt. 16mm

Thursday, October 29th at 7:00 • 85m
The Suspect
Robert Siodmak, 1944 • One of director Robert Siodmak's best works, this film noir, set in 1902 London, stars Laughton as a bank teller with a horrid wife (Rosalind Ivan). He begins an innocent friendship with the young and beautiful Mary Gray (Ella Raines), but his wife learns of it and is consumed with rage. Laughton then kills his wife and covers it up as an accident, but of course, he still raises the suspicions of a Scotland Yard inspector, as well as his neighbor. The result is a classic suspense tale, taut and finely crafted, largely thanks to the excellent performance of Laughton. 35mm, not available on DVD

Thursday, November 5th at 7:00 • 125m
The Sign of the Cross
Cecil B. DeMille, 1932 • In making this Roman epic, his comeback project at Paramount, DeMille met with tremendous resistance by the studio, forcing him to recreate ancient Rome on a modest budget. Perhaps distracted by these struggles, DeMille allowed Laughton to transform his interpretation of Emperor Nero into a raging queen, complete with a nude, nubile young man sitting by his side. The film became a hit, yet for decades faced censorship battles, including over an infamous scene where Claudette Colbert bathes in milk. This archival print, restored from DeMille's personal copy, returns the film to its uncut form. Archival 35mm

Thursday, November 12th at 7:00 • 114m
Witness for the Prosecution
Billy Wilder, 1957 • Billy Wilder adapts this thrilling mystery by Agatha Christie to great effect. Laughton plays Sir Wilfred Robards, a successful British attorney defending Leonard Vole (Tyrone Power) against a murder charge, despite his poor health. Sir Robards is shocked to discover that Vole's wife, played by Marlene Dietrich, plans on appearing as a witness for the prosecution. Elsa Lanchester also appears, and both husband and wife would eventually be rewarded with Oscar nominations. The twisting plot and witty dialog show both Christie and Wilder at the top of their form.35mm

Thursday, November 19th at 7:00 • 140m
Advise & Consent
Otto Preminger, 1962 • While battling bone cancer, Charles Laughton made his final screen appearance in Otto Preminger's slow-burning adaptation of Drury's Pulitzer Prize-winning political novel. Henry Fonda plays Robert Leffingwell, a liberal appointed by the President to serve as Secretary of State, sparking an intense confirmation battle that puts the careers of several politicians in jeopardy. Players in the drama include Burgess Meredith, Walter Pidgeon, and Laughton donning a southern drawl as a fiery senator from South Carolina. Preminger reportedly also offered a role to Martin Luther King, Jr., who declined. Archival 35mm
Preserved by the Academy Film Archive with funding from the Andrew J. Kuehn Jr. Foundation.

Thursday, December 3rd at 7:00 • 90m
The Night of the Hunter
Charles Laughton, 1955 • It's difficult to encapsulate the power of The Night of the Hunter, the greatest directorial debut this side of Citizen Kane, which, sadly, would also be Laughton's only directorial credit. Robert Mitchum gives one of film's most iconic performances as a sinful preacher who marries a fragile widow so that he can torture her two children into revealing the location of a hidden fortune. Pulitzer Prize-winner James Agee wrote the screenplay, with Laughton himself providing an uncredited rewrite. A terrifying slice of Americana filled with haunting imagery, this is, simply put, as good as cinema gets. Archival 35mm