10 THENEWYORKER,FEBRUARY8, 2021
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The seven films on which Marlene Dietrich and the director Josef von
Sternberg collaborated, from 1930 to 1935 (all of which are streaming
on the Criterion Channel), created a fusion of performance and style
that has yet to be surpassed. The third of them, “Dishonored,” from
1931, reveals the secret behind these films’ taut mannerism: coolness
in the presence of danger, indifference to the threat of death. It’s set
during the First World War, in Vienna, where a prostitute (Dietrich),
a captain’s widow, is recruited by the Austrian Secret Service to use her
seductive powers to hunt down traitors. But she soon meets her match
in an experienced Russian spy (Victor McLaglen) who, at first, escapes
her clutches, leading to an international chase that’s fuelled by their
mutual attraction—which is intensified by the risks that it entails. The
elaborate disguises, sophisticated ruses, and arachnid schemes—which
Sternberg films in shimmery, showy chiaroscuro—display the elegant
beauty of fakery; their ultimate truth is disclosed in Dietrich’s insolent
smile when facing down men with guns.—Richard BrodyWHATTO STREAM
1
For more reviews, visit
newyorker.com/goings-on-about-townis more of a mechanism than a revelation, Jolie
is more visually inventive than many more
celebrated filmmakers, and she ventures with
an admirable boldness into mysterious and al-
luring psychological territory.—Richard Brody
(Streaming on Netflix, Vudu, and other services.)
Cradle Will Rock
In 1937, Orson Welles and John Houseman
tried—and, just barely, succeeded—in putting
on Marc Blitzstein’s “The Cradle Will Rock,”
a musical drama about prostitutes, unions, and
a lot of other things that musicals were never
meant to mention. Tim Robbins’s 1999 picture
tells the story, or the interlocking stories,
of that supercharged age. Houseman (Cary
Elwes) and Welles (Angus Macfadyen) are
merely part of the procession; we also get
the saga of Nelson Rockefeller (John Cusack)
paying Diego Rivera (Ruben Blades) to paint
a giant mural and then having it destroyed.
As if in homage to that lost work, Robbins
operates on the mural principle, moving gaily
and with high technical fluency from penniless
actors (John Turturro and Emily Watson)
to sincere socialites, including Countess La
Grange (Vanessa Redgrave) and a ravishing
Fascist named Margherita Sarfatti (Susan
Sarandon). It could have been a mess, and
there are patches where Robbins’s inspiration
wears a little thin; yet, all in all, his ambitious
tolerance pays off, and you are happy to be
hauled toward the grand—and unashamedly
theatrical—finale.—Anthony Lane (Reviewed
in our issue of 12/13/99.) (Streaming on Amazon,
iTunes, and other services.)Malcolm & Marie
Sam Levinson, a white man, wrote and di-
rected this drama, about Malcolm (John David
Washington), a thirtysomething Black di-
rector, who, after the acclaimed première of
his first feature, returns with his girlfriend,
Marie (Zendaya), who’s in her twenties and is
also Black, to a fancy house that his producers
have rented for him (and where the entire
movie is set). There, Malcolm vents about
a white female critic for the L.A. Times who
referred to “identity” in her rave review of the
film (he denies that his work is “political”).The couple’s drama, however, is sparked by
another detail: in Malcolm’s remarks to the
première audience, he forgot to thank Marie,
a recovering drug addict whose experiences
are represented in his movie. She, in turn,
reproaches him for his ingratitude and lack
of empathy. The characters launch into tan-
gled tirades that let the actors—especially
Zendaya, in her first major dramatic movie
role—flaunt their skill, the movie’s only
redeeming quality. Levinson’s reduction of
Malcolm to his mouthpiece, and of Marie to
Malcolm’s conscience, rings hollow and vain.
The suave black-and-white cinematography
emulates the Hollywood classics that Malcolm
reveres.—R.B. (Streaming on Netflix.)My Brother’s Wedding
In his second feature, from 1983, Charles Bur-
nett blends raucous comedy with the ambi-
ent menace faced by Black people in their
neighborhoods and homes. It’s a story filled
with the presence of guns and their horrific
consequences—and with threats of crime
and the burden of punishment. A young man
named Pierce (Everett Silas), who lives in Los
Angeles with his parents and works in their
dry-cleaning store, resents his brother, Wen-
dell (Monte Easter), a lawyer, who’s engaged
to Sonia (Gaye Shannon-Burnett), the daugh-
ter of a prosperous doctor (Sy Richardson).
Pierce’s best friend, Soldier (Ronnie Bell),
is about to be released from prison; Soldier
is killed in an accident soon after his release,
and his funeral will be held on the same day as
Wendell and Sonia’s wedding, at which Pierce
is expected to serve as best man. Burnett fills
the film with voices and memories, humor and
rage; his vision of neighborhood life has an
ample, passionate generosity. The drama of
unresolved frustrations and stifled dreams is
propelled by a sense of history looming just
below the surface.—R.B. (Streaming on the
Criterion Channel.)Whispers
For this 1980 documentary, the Lebanese di-
rector Maroun Bagdadi travelled his home
country, after five years of civil war, with the
poet Nadia Tueni, bearing witness not only
to the devastation, both physical and spiri-
tual, that Lebanon had endured but to the
survivors’ devoted efforts at rebuilding cities
and businesses, cultural and emotional life.
But the film’s prime subject is the represen-
tation of memory: it follows the photojour-
nalist Nabil Ismaïl as he wanders with Tueni
through desolate ruins and rushes through
a crowded market street, describing experi-
ences of war in voice-overs that superimpose
the horrific recent past onto the immediate
surroundings. Bagdadi reveals the proximity
of Lebanon’s diverse regions and its residents’
yearning for national unity through Tueni’s
interviews with people from a wide range
of backgrounds and professions—farmers
and entrepreneurs, artists and laborers and
students. He films these discussions, along
with trenchant cityscapes and views of public
life, in an extraordinarily vibrant yet mournful
montage of hope and foreboding. In Ara-
bic.—R.B. (Streaming on Netflix.)