Uncounted: The New Math of American Elections directed by David Earnhardt

Uncounted: The New Math of American Elections (2008). Written, directed, and produced by David Earnhardt.

I've questioned our country's system of electing presidents ever since I learned about the electoral college. The fact that a selected small number of elected officials really decide who their state's electoral votes go to, seemingly regardless of whom the actual majority of citizen chose, disturbed me deeply. However, that is the quintessential piece of evidence I use when discussing how the government of the United States is not, as is often stated, a democracy, but is in fact a republic. (Remember, the pledge of allegiance states "...and to the republic for which it stands".)

Uncounted, a 2008 documentary from Emmy-winning (though I can't seem to find out what he actually won for) director David Earnhardt, focuses on three major elections — of 2000, 2004, and 2006 — and all the problems and deceptions that led to the votes of many working-class and low-income people (and especially people of color) either not being counted or, in many extreme instances, discouraged from being cast at all through both threats and intimidation.

The primary reason being, the movie asserts, that they would be the most likely to vote Democratic.

In an engrossing collection of clips and interviews, Uncounted educates the viewer about such related topics as the myriad reasons electronic voting machines are unreliable (and hacker-prone), and why they were still used in a high percentage of voting precincts. Taken individually, these events are seemingly unimportant, but compiled in succession by Earnhardt, such things as 80 percent of voters in a single precinct not voting for a presidential candidate (while voting on other races), the known ties of a prominent voting-machine producer to the Republican party, and the mysterious practice of a vote for one candidate being counted for the opponent can hardly be seen as coincidence.

Earnhardt makes a strong argument for deliberate manipulation, and you know how we Americans love our conspiracy theories. What is important is that Uncounted gives a lot of food for thought, especially regarding the dangers of being a whistle-blower and how one person can truly make a difference in a small way. But the main question I'm still pondering after having seen it is this, why is the one day set aside for choosing our elected officials, Election Day, the second Tuesday every November, not a federal holiday?

I can only think it must be that somebody doesn't want all the working people of the country to be able to truly reach the polls in their representative numbers. But maybe I'm just spreading more conspiracy thought. Watch Uncounted as part of your civic duty to be informed about things that are generally unknown, and then and decide for yourself.

Book Review: The Making of The Lords of Flatbush by Stephen Verona

In the mid-1970s, a little movie was released called The Lords of Flatbush. Unbeknownst to any of those involved at the time, it would singlehandedly launch the modern era of looking back, inspiring other such nostalgia hits as Happy Days (which would make a star out of Flatbush actor Henry Winkler) and Laverne & Shirley.

But few people know very much about the story behind the movie that started it all. The film's co-director, co-writer, and producer — Stephen Verona, Academy Award winner for The Rehearsal — has rectified that with his memoir, The Making of The Lords of Flatbush.

But this book is not just for fans of The Lords of Flatbush. Anyone interested in the kind of talent combined with guts — even when you're a pioneering music-video director who's worked with The Beatles — that it took to get a film made during this period should also pick it up. Verona tells it all, from his own time in a motorcycle gang (the inspiration) through the writing process, fund-raising, and casting (the perspiration) to the shooting, editing, distribution, and afterward. The reader is along every step of the way.

Verona reminisces about stars Sylvester Stallone, Henry Winkler, Paul Mace, and Perry King — who replaced Richard Gere at the last minute — and the musicians he worked with (Joe Brooks and Paul Jabara) who would later go on to win their own Academy Awards (for "You Light Up My Life" and "Last Dance", respectively). Also mentioned in The Making of The Lords of Flatbush are such not-yet celebrities as Bette Midler, Ray Sharkey, Armand Assante, and Susan Blakely.

Verona writes this gripping memoir with a conversational style that, although very easy to read, lapses a little too often into digression, occasionally leaving doubt as to the true order of events. Follow his advice or learn from his mistakes; either way, know more about filmmaking than before from The Making of The Lords of Flatbush.

Storm at Daybreak directed by Richard Boleslavsky (starring Kay Francis, Walter Huston, Nils Asther, Eugene Pallette)

Storm at Daybreak (1933). Screenplay by Bertram Millhauser from the play Black-Stemmed Cherries by Sandor Hunyady.

Storm at Daybreak is another typical Kay Francis melodrama with her once again falling into the arms of a man other than her husband. Only this time, the action plays against the backdrop of the first days of World War I.

Sarajevo mayor Duchan (Walter Huston, who is said to have "discovered" Francis) is attending the parade in honor of a visit from Archduke Francis Ferdinand when the archduke is assassinated, setting off a series of events (including, in this film, a war against the Serbs) that would lead to what was known as The Great War. ("Somebody [shot] somebody, so we all got to go out and get shot," explains "Mad Russian" Leonid Kinskey.)

During the parade, Duchan is reunited with an old friend, Geza (Nils Asther), who is now a captain in the Hungarian army. Duchan brings Geza home to meet his wife, Irina (Francis), a Serb protecting some deserters (the Hungarians and Serbs had a long period of bad blood).

Soon, the house is hosting what appears to be the entire Hungarian army, and the lovely Irina proves to be the perfect hostess, charming the soldiers in a low-cut gown and beginning a romance with Geza where previously were only glares. (Eugene Pallette also has a charming series of scenes as he attempts to romance a reluctant housematron.)

Despite impressive sets and costumes (and its educational possibilities dramatizing a period and events of which modern audiences are mostly ignorant), Storm at Daybreak has little to recommend it, except to Kay Francis aficionados; she is as photogenic (with long hair in one scene) and well-dressed as always. But the story is weak and depends too much on the war — pulling Geza away from Irina time and time again — to supply the drama, and on dewy looks and screaming matches from the actors. As a result, this not very racy pre-Code is melodramatic and unbelievable, and the abrupt ending does nothing to help.

(Look for cameos by Mischa Auer as the Archduke's assassin and Akim Tamiroff as a gypsy fiddler stealing a chicken leg.)

Strangers May Kiss directed by George Fitzmaurice (starring Norma Shearer, Robert Montgomery, Neil Hamilton, Irene Rich)

Strangers May Kiss (1931). Screenplay by John Meehan from the novel Strangers May Kiss by Ursula Parrott.

Lisbeth Corbin (Norma Shearer) is a woman who espouses "modern" ideas ("We don't believe in the awful necessity of marriage") yet still seems as if she's waiting for her lover, Alan (Neil Hamilton), a foreign correspondent who is gone for long stretches at a time, to make a commitment. (He is actually the one who feels that "love and marriage mean internal combustion.")

Her aunt Celia (Irene Rich) keeps trying to get her to marry Steve (Robert Montgomery), a childhood friend who is madly in love with her, but who drinks a bit too much. Celia's arguments seem to hold water until her husband is caught with a younger woman, whereupon Celia, her foundations shattered, ends her life (the first time I've seen where the phrase "mortally embarrassed" truly applies).

Lisbeth continues to throw herself at Alan as she waits for him to settle down with her. It's obvious they're physically intimate — apparently to the point that co-star Hamilton wondered "if [Shearer] was getting enough at home" — but he continues to travel around the world without her. Eventually, after one too many up-and-leavings, Lisbeth gives up and becomes a woman of fun throughout Europe ("I'm in an orgy, wallowing. And I love it!").

Even Steve hears the stories about her, which he didn't believe "the first six or seven hundred times." But when Alan returns to finally offer himself to her, he is shocked and repulsed at her behavior. What's truly shocking, however, is discovering that such adult subjects were being addressed at the time — and the loss of that once the Production Code (also called the Hays Code) began its enforcement — and that we really have never recovered.

Strangers May Kiss is truly a Shearer showcase: her face is virtually always onscreen, and it goes through emotional ups and downs in a theatrical but not over-the-top manner. Montgomery offers engaging support, but his "best friend" role is thankless. Nowadays, his character would end up with the Shearer's, but this film follows the more "appropriate" ending, which is actually a huge disappointment for anyone who loves the pre-Code theme of the rest of the story. Watch it for the luminous Shearer, but be prepared for a letdown.

Those interested in more on Strangers May Kiss should seek out Mick LaSalle's book on pre-Code actresses in general (and Norma Shearer in particular), Complicated Women: Sex and Power in Pre-Code Hollywood. LaSalle devotes the majority of a chapter to this film alone.

The Most Dangerous Game directed by Irving Pichel and Ernest B. Schoedsack (starring Joel McCrea, Fay Wray, Leslie Banks, Robert Armstrong)

The Most Dangerous Game (1932). Screenplay by James Ashmore Creelman from "The Most Dangerous Game" — the "O. Henry Award Winning Collection Story by Richard Connell." (I wonder if the wording of that billing was in his contract.)

This Ernest B. Schoedsack / Merian C. Cooper production (executive produced by David O. Selznick) was made while the special effects were being done on the pair's previous film, King Kong (released the next year because of the complexity of those effects), using some of the same sets and a few of the cast and crew.

Big game hunter Bob Rainsford (Joel McCrea), on his way to an expedition, is shipwrecked on an uncharted island owned by Count Zaroff (Leslie Banks in his film debut), another hunter of bigger game. Rainsford is kept prisoner with Eve Trowbridge (Fay Wray in a low-cut dress) and her drunk brother Martin (Robert Armstrong, playing a deliberately annoying inebriate during Prohibition), and Bob has to survive the night of "outdoor chess," being hunted by Zaroff, with Eve as his prize (gotta love those pre-Codes!).

What was a riveting portrait of man against man in its original form becomes a bloated waste on film, even at just over 60 minutes. The first 10 minutes of The Most Dangerous Game are mostly laughable, with incredibly heavyhanded foreshadowing: dialogue like "The queen of spades? That's the third time tonight." And with McCrea delivering "There are two kinds of people in this world, the hunter and the hunted. Luckily I'm a hunter and nothing can ever change that" just as the ship crashes. (In fact, 40 minutes passes of this hour-long film before the actual hunt even begins.)

Max Steiner's score emphasizes every melodramatic touch, and the over-the-top performance of Leslie Banks (acting with eyes of fire) requires the usually subtle McCrea to overemote just to avoid being blown off the screen. Look out for his "revelation" later in the film: "Those animals I killed, now I know how they felt."

Remade as A Game of Death in 1945 and Run for the Sun (with Richard Widmark) in 1956, and also expanded into novel-length as Hunted Past Reason by Richard Matheson, The Most Dangerous Game actually managed to be about as profitable as the far superior King Kong due to its smaller budget. But the jokey script and overblown acting make it far less entertaining than it should be (though Armstrong provides some occasional comic relief).