Thankful for... Ben Miller!

This year for our "thankful for" column we're doing things differently. I'm interviewing the team so you can get to know them better. First up, BEN MILLER.

Ben joined Team Experience in the summer of 2017. He lives in Texas with his wife and kids. Like most of us here at TFE he's into Oscars and the related niche trivia fascinations that come with that. In the few years he's been at TFE he's revealed impeccable taste in actresses, caught up with classics he'd missed like Cabaret and reviewed a lot of TV including the final season of Game of Thrones. And though he called his own piece on connecting with his son through WALL•E "corny,"  I personally love his family man perspective. Sometimes sentiment is earned! 

OUR THANKSGIVING QUESTIONNAIRE FOLLOWS...

Okay, Ben, when did you first fall in love with the movies?

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The Furniture: Ellen Revolts Against the Upholstery in Leave Her to Heaven

"The Furniture," by Daniel Walber. (Click on the images for magnified detail)

This week marks the 75th anniversary of Leave Her to Heaven, a technicolor noir blockbuster with set decoration so opulent, you will find yourself shouting at the upholstery.

It has other virtues, of course: Gene Tierney’s wickedly genre-shifting performance, Leon Shamroy’s shadow-wielding cinematography, Vincent Price’s height, etc. But the last time I watched it, I couldn’t take my eyes off the sets. The film takes place in a fever-dream of post-war prosperity before the fact, an endless parade of over-decorated vacation homes.

Frankly, it should have won the Oscar for Best Art Direction - Interior Decoration, Color...

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Gene Tierney @ 100: The Ghost and Mrs. Muir

by Cláudio Alves

In fiction, love is more powerful and heartfelt when it's impossible. Be it the doomed lovers in Shakespeare's tragedies or Keira Knightley and James McAvoy separated by war and a child's lies in Atonement, we, as spectators, are predisposed to find beauty in the loves that cannot be. Death is a common way to enshrine romance in the perfection of upended passion. Like flowers plucked and dried, kept in the pages of a book, the love that's cut short by the Grim Reaper's blade can preserve its appearance. If it weren't for that, such amorous glories would do like their floral brethren, rotting away with time until dropping into the earth, a mushy decaying mess.

In 1947's The Ghost and Mrs. Muir, starring Rex Harrison and Gene Tierney, this dynamic between love and premature demise is both perpetuated and upended. Death facilitates and limits passion, making it harder to consummate but also more eternal than mundane existence. In Joseph L. Mankiewicz's movie, the transience of life is no obstacle for romance, quite the contrary…

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Gene Tierney @ 100: Leave Her To Heaven

by Jason Adams

The surface of the lake is calm -- almost, but not quite, like a mirror. It's a clinical aquamarine color, not much different from Gene Tierney's own eyes. Not that we can see her eyes -- she's just put on her sunglasses. They too act as mirrors -- dark mirrors, reflecting darkness. Ellen Berent Harland (Tierney) watches as the annoying little "cripple" Danny (Darryl Hickman) breaks the sheen of the lake's surface, as if slipping through into some unseen Wonderland -- they say repeatedly the water is warm, so warm, so very warm, but it looks to us cold, ice cold, and indeed the actor Hickman got pneumonia from the filming of this, Leave Her to Heaven's most infamous scene.

But then that's a sense that suffuses all of John M. Stahl's 1945 technicolor Noir masterpiece -- the feeling that something that sounds warm and inviting on its surface might actually be hiding an icy purgatory of horrors just beneath...

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Gene Tierney @ 100: "Laura"

by Nathaniel R

Dear reader, we had such fun doing the Montgomery Clift Centennial that we want to do more of them. Of course not every movie star inspires the same passion in cinephiles, nor has a cooperatively small enough filmography to be completist about. For instance I put out the feelers on Gene Tierney, who made 37 films in her career, and received only 2 volunteers. And herewith a confession: I, myself, despite my love of Old Hollywood, was unfamiliar. I had seen only two of her movies and so long ago that I had next to no recollection. So I queued up her most famous picture, Laura (1944), which I'd somehow never seen even when I was a uncool kid in the horrific "colorizing" days of pop culture who relished seeing old black and white movies... 

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