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Archive for November, 2011

Independent Short Film: The Gift of the Magi

November 24th, 2011

In light of the holiday season, I thought this short film would be appropriate. Not only is it a short film, it’s also a short story, none other than The Gift of the Magi by O. Henry.

O. Henry’s real name was William Sydney Porter, and The Gift of the Magi comes from a collection of short stories he wrote called The Four Million. The idea behind the collection was that at the time, there were four million people living in New York City, and that each of them had an interesting story to tell, even if they were just everyday people, and not just the cultural elite you would often hear about in the newspapers. From Wikipedia:

The Four Million was his first collection of stories. It opens with a reference to Ward McAllister‘s “assertion that there were only ‘Four Hundred’ people in New York City who were really worth noticing. But a wiser man has arisen—the census taker—and his larger estimate of human interest has been preferred in marking out the field of these little stories of the ‘Four Million.’” To O. Henry, everyone in New York counted. He had an obvious affection for the city, which he called “Bagdad-on-the-Subway,”^[3] and many of his stories are set there—but others are set in small towns and in other cities.

Among his most famous stories are:

“The Gift of the Magi” about a young couple who are short of money but desperately want to buy each other Christmas gifts. Unbeknownst to Jim, Della sells her most valuable possession, her beautiful hair, in order to buy a platinum fob chain for Jim’s watch; while unbeknownst to Della, Jim sells his own most valuable possession, his watch, to buy jeweled combs for Della’s hair. The essential premise of this story has been copied, re-worked, parodied, and otherwise re-told countless times in the century since it was written.

“The Ransom of Red Chief“, in which two men kidnap a boy of ten. The boy turns out to be so bratty and obnoxious that the desperate men ultimately pay the boy’s father $250 to take him back.

“The Cop and the Anthem” about a New York City hobo named Soapy, who sets out to get arrested so he can avoid sleeping in the cold winter as a guest of the city jail. Despite efforts at petty theft, vandalism, disorderly conduct, and “mashing” with a young prostitute, Soapy fails to draw the attention of the police. Disconsolate, he pauses in front of a church, where an organ anthem inspires him to clean up his life — and is ironically charged for loitering and sentenced to three months in prison.

“A Retrieved Reformation“, which tells the tale of safecracker Jimmy Valentine, recently freed from prison. He goes to a town bank to case it before he robs it. As he walks to the door, he catches the eye of the banker’s beautiful daughter. They immediately fall in love and Valentine decides to give up his criminal career. He moves into the town, taking up the identity of Ralph Spencer, a shoemaker. Just as he is about to leave to deliver his specialized tools to an old associate, a lawman who recognizes him arrives at the bank. Jimmy and his fiancée and her family are at the bank, inspecting a new safe, when a child accidentally gets locked inside the airtight vault. Knowing it will seal his fate, Valentine opens the safe to rescue the child. However, much to Valentine’s surprise, the lawman denies recognizing him and lets him go.

Some accounts say that The Four Million, published in 1906, was written while O. Henry was in prison, but others seem to incidicate that this particular short story was written in a place called Pete’s Tavern.

Not only does this short story come from a collection, but so does this short film: O. Henry’s Full House (1952) is a collection of five of O. Henry’s short stories put to film, and the following short film was one of the collection. Below you can find the full text of the short story. May you be ever-mindful of what is most important this holiday season.

THE GIFT OF THE MAGI
by O. Henry
One dollar and eighty-seven cents. That was all. And sixty cents of it was in pennies. Pennies saved one and two at a time by bulldozing the grocer and the vegetable man and the butcher until one’s cheeks burned with the silent imputation of parsimony that such close dealing implied. Three times Della counted it. One dollar and eighty- seven cents. And the next day would be Christmas.There was clearly nothing to do but flop down on the shabby little couch and howl. So Della did it. Which instigates the moral reflection that life is made up of sobs, sniffles, and smiles, with sniffles predominating.

While the mistress of the home is gradually subsiding from the first stage to the second, take a look at the home. A furnished flat at $8 per week. It did not exactly beggar description, but it certainly had that word on the lookout for the mendicancy squad.

In the vestibule below was a letter-box into which no letter would go, and an electric button from which no mortal finger could coax a ring. Also appertaining thereunto was a card bearing the name “Mr. James Dillingham Young.”

The “Dillingham” had been flung to the breeze during a former period of prosperity when its possessor was being paid $30 per week. Now, when the income was shrunk to $20, though, they were thinking seriously of contracting to a modest and unassuming D. But whenever Mr. James Dillingham Young came home and reached his flat above he was called “Jim” and greatly hugged by Mrs. James Dillingham Young, already introduced to you as Della. Which is all very good.

Della finished her cry and attended to her cheeks with the powder rag. She stood by the window and looked out dully at a gray cat walking a gray fence in a gray backyard. Tomorrow would be Christmas Day, and she had only $1.87 with which to buy Jim a present. She had been saving every penny she could for months, with this result. Twenty dollars a week doesn’t go far. Expenses had been greater than she had calculated. They always are. Only $1.87 to buy a present for Jim. Her Jim. Many a happy hour she had spent planning for something nice for him. Something fine and rare and sterling–something just a little bit near to being worthy of the honor of being owned by Jim.

There was a pier-glass between the windows of the room. Perhaps you have seen a pier-glass in an $8 flat. A very thin and very agile person may, by observing his reflection in a rapid sequence of longitudinal strips, obtain a fairly accurate conception of his looks. Della, being slender, had mastered the art.

Suddenly she whirled from the window and stood before the glass. her eyes were shining brilliantly, but her face had lost its color within twenty seconds. Rapidly she pulled down her hair and let it fall to its full length.

Now, there were two possessions of the James Dillingham Youngs in which they both took a mighty pride. One was Jim’s gold watch that had been his father’s and his grandfather’s. The other was Della’s hair. Had the queen of Sheba lived in the flat across the airshaft, Della would have let her hair hang out the window some day to dry just to depreciate Her Majesty’s jewels and gifts. Had King Solomon been the janitor, with all his treasures piled up in the basement, Jim would have pulled out his watch every time he passed, just to see him pluck at his beard from envy.

So now Della’s beautiful hair fell about her rippling and shining like a cascade of brown waters. It reached below her knee and made itself almost a garment for her. And then she did it up again nervously and quickly. Once she faltered for a minute and stood still while a tear or two splashed on the worn red carpet.

On went her old brown jacket; on went her old brown hat. With a whirl of skirts and with the brilliant sparkle still in her eyes, she fluttered out the door and down the stairs to the street.

Where she stopped the sign read: “Mne. Sofronie. Hair Goods of All Kinds.” One flight up Della ran, and collected herself, panting. Madame, large, too white, chilly, hardly looked the “Sofronie.”

“Will you buy my hair?” asked Della.

“I buy hair,” said Madame. “Take yer hat off and let’s have a sight at the looks of it.”

Down rippled the brown cascade.

“Twenty dollars,” said Madame, lifting the mass with a practised hand.

“Give it to me quick,” said Della.

Oh, and the next two hours tripped by on rosy wings. Forget the hashed metaphor. She was ransacking the stores for Jim’s present.

She found it at last. It surely had been made for Jim and no one else. There was no other like it in any of the stores, and she had turned all of them inside out. It was a platinum fob chain simple and chaste in design, properly proclaiming its value by substance alone and not by meretricious ornamentation–as all good things should do. It was even worthy of The Watch. As soon as she saw it she knew that it must be Jim’s. It was like him. Quietness and value–the description applied to both. Twenty-one dollars they took from her for it, and she hurried home with the 87 cents. With that chain on his watch Jim might be properly anxious about the time in any company. Grand as the watch was, he sometimes looked at it on the sly on account of the old leather strap that he used in place of a chain.

When Della reached home her intoxication gave way a little to prudence and reason. She got out her curling irons and lighted the gas and went to work repairing the ravages made by generosity added to love. Which is always a tremendous task, dear friends–a mammoth task.

Within forty minutes her head was covered with tiny, close-lying curls that made her look wonderfully like a truant schoolboy. She looked at her reflection in the mirror long, carefully, and critically.

“If Jim doesn’t kill me,” she said to herself, “before he takes a second look at me, he’ll say I look like a Coney Island chorus girl. But what could I do–oh! what could I do with a dollar and eighty- seven cents?”

At 7 o’clock the coffee was made and the frying-pan was on the back of the stove hot and ready to cook the chops.

Jim was never late. Della doubled the fob chain in her hand and sat on the corner of the table near the door that he always entered. Then she heard his step on the stair away down on the first flight, and she turned white for just a moment. She had a habit for saying little silent prayer about the simplest everyday things, and now she whispered: “Please God, make him think I am still pretty.”

The door opened and Jim stepped in and closed it. He looked thin and very serious. Poor fellow, he was only twenty-two–and to be burdened with a family! He needed a new overcoat and he was without gloves.

Jim stopped inside the door, as immovable as a setter at the scent of quail. His eyes were fixed upon Della, and there was an expression in them that she could not read, and it terrified her. It was not anger, nor surprise, nor disapproval, nor horror, nor any of the sentiments that she had been prepared for. He simply stared at her fixedly with that peculiar expression on his face.

Della wriggled off the table and went for him.

“Jim, darling,” she cried, “don’t look at me that way. I had my hair cut off and sold because I couldn’t have lived through Christmas without giving you a present. It’ll grow out again–you won’t mind, will you? I just had to do it. My hair grows awfully fast. Say `Merry Christmas!’ Jim, and let’s be happy. You don’t know what a nice– what a beautiful, nice gift I’ve got for you.”

“You’ve cut off your hair?” asked Jim, laboriously, as if he had not arrived at that patent fact yet even after the hardest mental labor.

“Cut it off and sold it,” said Della. “Don’t you like me just as well, anyhow? I’m me without my hair, ain’t I?”

Jim looked about the room curiously.

“You say your hair is gone?” he said, with an air almost of idiocy.

“You needn’t look for it,” said Della. “It’s sold, I tell you–sold and gone, too. It’s Christmas Eve, boy. Be good to me, for it went for you. Maybe the hairs of my head were numbered,” she went on with sudden serious sweetness, “but nobody could ever count my love for you. Shall I put the chops on, Jim?”

Out of his trance Jim seemed quickly to wake. He enfolded his Della. For ten seconds let us regard with discreet scrutiny some inconsequential object in the other direction. Eight dollars a week or a million a year–what is the difference? A mathematician or a wit would give you the wrong answer. The magi brought valuable gifts, but that was not among them. This dark assertion will be illuminated later on.

Jim drew a package from his overcoat pocket and threw it upon the table.

“Don’t make any mistake, Dell,” he said, “about me. I don’t think there’s anything in the way of a haircut or a shave or a shampoo that could make me like my girl any less. But if you’ll unwrap that package you may see why you had me going a while at first.”

White fingers and nimble tore at the string and paper. And then an ecstatic scream of joy; and then, alas! a quick feminine change to hysterical tears and wails, necessitating the immediate employment of all the comforting powers of the lord of the flat.

For there lay The Combs–the set of combs, side and back, that Della had worshipped long in a Broadway window. Beautiful combs, pure tortoise shell, with jewelled rims–just the shade to wear in the beautiful vanished hair. They were expensive combs, she knew, and her heart had simply craved and yearned over them without the least hope of possession. And now, they were hers, but the tresses that should have adorned the coveted adornments were gone.

But she hugged them to her bosom, and at length she was able to look up with dim eyes and a smile and say: “My hair grows so fast, Jim!”

And them Della leaped up like a little singed cat and cried, “Oh, oh!”

Jim had not yet seen his beautiful present. She held it out to him eagerly upon her open palm. The dull precious metal seemed to flash with a reflection of her bright and ardent spirit.

“Isn’t it a dandy, Jim? I hunted all over town to find it. You’ll have to look at the time a hundred times a day now. Give me your watch. I want to see how it looks on it.”

Instead of obeying, Jim tumbled down on the couch and put his hands under the back of his head and smiled.

“Dell,” said he, “let’s put our Christmas presents away and keep ‘em a while. They’re too nice to use just at present. I sold the watch to get the money to buy your combs. And now suppose you put the chops on.”

The magi, as you know, were wise men–wonderfully wise men–who brought gifts to the Babe in the manger. They invented the art of giving Christmas presents. Being wise, their gifts were no doubt wise ones, possibly bearing the privilege of exchange in case of duplication. And here I have lamely related to you the uneventful chronicle of two foolish children in a flat who most unwisely sacrificed for each other the greatest treasures of their house. But in a last word to the wise of these days let it be said that of all who give gifts these two were the wisest. O all who give and receive gifts, such as they are wisest. Everywhere they are wisest. They are the magi.

Originally posted 2010-12-24 10:38:50.

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Technorati Tags: 20th Century Fox, André Hakim, Christmas, Gift of the Magi, New York, New York City, O. Henry, short film, Short story, Ward McAllister

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Just shut up and start communicating! (Three short films)

November 16th, 2011

In an acting class long ago, a coach once said, “Don’t tell me, SHOW me.”

I think this is probably part of the standard script for acting classes, but it’s a valid point. Audiences are usually sophisticated enough to figure things out on their own, and if we rely too heavily on monologues and dialogues, it weakens the story.

I’m reminded of this because I’ve observed that I REALLY like Independent Short Films that have no spoken parts, and I’ve posted more than a few of them, some of which can be found here, here, here, here, and here. (I would have included this one as well, but the radio signal made me second guess myself.)

Needless to say, Independent Short Films without dialogue really speak to me.

Here are a few Independent Short Films, all with MINIMAL dialogue, which have been getting increasing amounts of attention, so I wanted to bring them to yours.

Signs:

The classic love story of so many Independent Short Films, told here with handwritten signs.

Notte Sento:

Notte Sento (English subtitles) from Daniele Napolitano on Vimeo.

In this Independent Short Film, a deaf girl misses her train to Milan and is set to wait overnight in Rome until dawn. However, a chance encounter with a guy changes her plans and the night lights of the capital turn into the background to a tender love story. An extraordinary chemistry made of knowing glances and small gestures fills the few instants that separate them both from the sunrise.

World Builder:

This Independent Short Film was produced by Bruce Branit, co-creator of 405, one of the first Independent Short Films I found online, on ifilm.com almost 10 years ago. 405 is a real gem and got me interested in Independent Short Film altogether. As a matter of fact, here it is:

Also, for more dialogue-minimal Independent Short Films, check out some of these previous posts:
Lovefield
Lavatory Love Story
Ten Minutes

Keep posted for more to come, and feel free to share the love.

Here’s some bonus reading:

July 2007 – TCM’s Classic Movie Blog – The Grim Reaper claims two of his biggest fans. I did not want to blog about Ingmar Bergman or Michelangelo Antonioni’s passing away on the same day. Both are giants within the world of cinema and have a vast body of work.
Going some place? Foreign films hop on Oscar’s train | Analysis … – Foreign filmmakers may not pander to Oscar like some of their American counterparts. But early Saturday morning in front of a packed audience that had even some of the cast from the films scrambling to find a seat, the directors of this …
TMB’s 4 Rules Before Making A Remake | The Movie Blog – There are some terrific films that have been made over the years that were actually remakes. I’m one of those people who doesn’t mind the idea of remaking an older film. Yes, it has the potential of sucking but so does every movie.
The Top 10 Must See Foreign Films of the Last Decade « The Pulp … – Like many Americans, I do not see enough foreign films. The massive marketing machine of Hollywood makes great foreign productions difficult to discover. However, some of the greatest movies ever are produced outside U.S. borders, …

How to write a good short film script (independentshortfilms.org)
Independent Short Film: Gone Goodbye (independentshortfilms.org)
Independent Short Film: Connected (independentshortfilms.org)
Independent Short Film: Apricot (independentshortfilms.org)
Independent Short Film: Destino (independentshortfilms.org)

Originally posted 2009-04-12 17:11:59.

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Independent Short Film: Strangers

November 9th, 2011

This is another Independent Short Film from the same producers of Offside. Actually, Strangers is part one and Offside is part two of a trilogy, according to youtube. Unfortunately, I haven’t been able to locate part three, but I definitely think there’s something interesting that the producers want to say with these films. Strangers had much more crowd appeal because of the happy ending, but everyone in my Independent Short Film Discussion Group found both films equally moving. What do you think?

Originally posted 2008-10-14 10:14:59.

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Technorati Tags: arab, conflict, cooperation, israeli, neo nazi, offside, paris, racism, skinhead, strangers, subway, tolerance, train, underground

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Independent Short Film: Going Home

November 2nd, 2011

This prize-winning Independent Short Film was produced by Vinn Bay and Tee Boon Leng for a video competition as part of the ADI (Alzheimer’s Disease International) conference in March 2009.