Sunset Boulevard

CREEPY movie. Norma Desmond could well have been a monster, a la Frankenstein. The more I see of Billy Wilder's noirs, the more impressed I am with his comedies which I adore: Ball of Fire, Some Like It Hot, Sabrina.

Fun fact: when Sunset Boulevard was first screened before a test audience, it had a different beginning which set a completely different tone. The audience thought it was ludicrously funny, and they couldn't stop laughing throughout the movie. I guess that's a testament to the thin line between comedy and tragedy.

Here's a question: is there anything instrinsic to comedy that constitutes art? Or is a particular comic piece art because it's art, and funny only by accident?

Anyways, it's a shame the beautiful Montgomery Clift turned down this role. He's great for those roles where the character doesn't seem to have a whole lot of that flashy-brand of charm, but for some inexplicable reason women fall at his feet and offer him the world. The Face helps sort of to fill in the missing pieces. Aha, you say; I'd go crazy for Montgomery Clift too! But for William Holden? Um...yeah. Well, I will say that Holden has this much going for him over Clift, which is that I do have an easier time believing that he'd reach that pitch of desperation and hollowness...

...which is ironic, because who could be more desperate and miserable than Montgomery Clift? Rather than believing that beauty is an amulet against suffering, I should believe it's the one guarantee.