McCarthyism was one of the most disgraceful features of modern American history, as for a decade from the late 1940s a witch-hunt against real and imagined Communists was carried out, on the grounds that these “un-American activities” amounted to treason. Hollywood was a particular focus for attention. The US film industry had before the Second World War benefited from a significant influx of European refugees — many Jewish — fleeing the Nazis; unsurprisingly, some of them were left-wing. But during the War, Hollywood became a major platform for broadcasting the US view of the world, American values and an often black-and-white portrayal of good versus evil. The onset of the Cold War made the Soviet Union the new bogeyman, so anyone being in the least complimentary about the Russians, let alone signing up to Communist Party membership, was in danger. This led to Congressional hearings at which “suspects” were interrogated by Joseph McCarthy and his allies, as well as being pressured to name others. Some were sent to prison for refusing to testify to their persecutors’ satisfaction. Others even committed suicide. Most ended up on a blacklist, which meant that their livelihoods were withdrawn, leading to penury and many a family break-up. All were victims.
Dalton Trumbo is not a name that particularly resonates these days, but in the 1940s he was one of Hollywood’s most successful screen-writers. He fell foul of the McCarthyites but refused to renounce his political beliefs or to betray others. He was barred by the major studios, but he was such a good writer that he was able to bootleg scripts under pseudonyms to a couple of sympathetic men in the business. He was earning only a fraction of his previous fees, but had the delicious pleasure of winning a couple of Oscars under another name. He also had the resolute support of his wife, whose importance really comes across in Jay Roach’s movie Trumbo (available on BBCiPlayer for the next three weeks), in which she is beautifully played by Diane Lane. However, the real tour de force, as it needed to be, comes from Bryan Cranston as the eponymous hero, chain-smoking, swigging bourbon and tapping out reams of script with two fingers on a typewriter. Roach makes most of the actors look like their originals — full credit to the make-up department — which means that the interspersed extracts of real-time newsreel footage work extremely well. The actress-turned-gossip–columnist Hedda Hopper, who boasted a readership of 35 million in her heyday, was a prime mover in the Hollywood blacklisting enterprise, gleefully ruining the lives of talents far superior to hers. In the film, she is played by Helen Mirren, the epitome of bitchiness, but with dresses and hats to die for.
Wes Anderson’s quirky imagination and deep love of film guarantee that anything he directs will give cinephiles much food for thought as well as entertainment, and in his latest stop-motion animation offering, Isle of Dogs, there is so much content that at times it is hard to digest. The basic plot is simple, however, like any good fantasy or fairy tale: a cat-loving despotic mayor in a dystopian future Japanese city banishes all dogs to an island used as a giant garbage dump. But his 12-year-old ward is distraught at the loss of his guard-dog, Spots, and sets off to find him. Meanwhile the dogs have started to organise themselves and a plan is put into place to turn the tables on wicked Mayor Kobayashi, with the aid of a feisty American girl exchange student in a blond fright wig. However, this simple tale is framed in settings of immense complexity, stuffed full of cultural and cinematic references. There is a distinct irony in this, as so much classical Japanese theatre uses almost no scenery, leaving the audience to imagine the location from the context of the words and action, whereas in Anderson’s film there is so much visual detail that at times one’s mind is totally consumed by taking it all in, to the extent that one’s concentration drifts away from the story. All the classic Japanese stereotype scenes are there, from sushi preparation to sumo wrestling and falling cherry blossoms, much to a soundtrack of dramatic taiko drums. But other references are more nuanced, including not only homage to Japanese art and architecture but also Japanese cinema, from Kurosawa to anime. Much of the dialogue is in Japanese, only some of which is translated, which may sound a bit strange yet works effectively in intensifying a sense of mystery; the dogs have difficulty understanding much of what the humans are saying. The dogs all talk American English, voiced by well-known actors such as Bryan Cranston and Scarlett Johansson, For me that was the only really jarring thing about the film, playing into a subconscious Hollywood narrative of a plucky American kid helping dogs overcome a monstrous adult. Otherwise, the film could not do more to celebrate Japan and things Japanese, though some people might feel at times it veers towards cultural appropriation. I don’t think that is the case. Having studied in Japan as a young man, I revelled in a lot of the references as well as in the jokes. There is a clever balance between humour and seriousness throughout. But I do think Anderson tried to cram too much in — which probably means one needs to see the film more than once to get anything like a full appreciation.
Jonathan Fryer 