Billy Wilder: Hollywood Comedy’s Caustic Social Chronicler

Compound Adjective Practice

Billy Wilder, who died on 27^th March 2002 at his Beverly Hills home at the age of 95, was the most pungent and literate creator of movie comedy in mid-20^th century Hollywood. As a writer and director, he helped shape an evolution in style and taste from the pre-war innocence blended with verbal sophistication of screenplays like Midnight and Ninotchka, via the satirical tragicomedy mixed with resonant one-liners (“I’m ready for my close-up, Mr DeMille”) of Sunset Boulevard (1950), to the hectic, irreverent slapstick of his best-known comedy Some Like It Hot (1956).

That the same man directed the hardboiled thriller Double Indemnity, a classic of film noir, the archetypal Hollywood drama about alcoholism The Lost Weekend and the Oscar-winning sweet-sour romantic comedy The Apartment made Wilder a caustic social chronicler almost without peer in western cinema in the last century.

A European refugee who fled Germany in 1933, he showed a fondness for fish-out-of-the-water tales. In Ninotchka, stern Bolshevik Greta Garbo falls for pleasure-loving American Melvyn Douglas. In Ball of Fire mild-mannered linguistics professor Gary Cooper tangles with goodtime girl Barbara Stanwyck. Both these movies were scripted, for other directors, by Wilder and his then regular collaborator Charles Brackett. When Wilder himself began directing, in 1942 with The Major and the Minor, the same misfit themes recurred in films as diverse as Ace in the Hole, his hard-hitting satire on newspaper reporting; the prisoner-of-war drama Stalag 17; the wistful Audrey Hepburn romantic comedy Sabrina; and the strident but fiercely idiosyncratic comedies he made from the mid-1950s with new screenplay collaborator I.A.L. Diamond.

Wilder’s cinema reflected, albeit in a comical distorting mirror, the life of a man tossed about from country to country since his teens. Born in Vienna in 1906, Wilder first flirted with law studies and journalism in Austria. He soon migrated to Berlin, working variously as a reporter, as a so-called taxi dancer and finally as a script collaborator in half a dozen German films.

As one of a legion of refugees from Nazism in Hollywood, Wilder soon became the most American of immigrant film-makers. His brash, wisecracking style set a pace few natives could equal. He used favourite actors over and over —Fred MacMurray, Shirley MacLaine, Walter Matthau, above all Jack Lemmon— to help shape his world of abrasive dialogue, astringent romance, hapless physical comedy and defiant optimism. The final line of Some Like It Hot became the most famous in screen comedy history —when millionaire Joe E. Brown’s “fiancée” Lemmon (in drag) confesses that he is a man, Brown shrugs, smiles and says “Nobody’s perfect”.

After The Apartment won Oscars for Best Film, Best Director and Best Screenplay, Wilder’s work declined in vitality and inventiveness. The Private Life Of Sherlock Holmes, Avanti! and Fedora were ambitious but thinly scripted whimsies. The Front Page and Buddy Buddy tried to re-ignite the spark of the Lemmon-Matthau partnership Wilder himself created in the 1966 Meet Whiplash Willie (aka The Fortune Cookie), which won Matthau an Oscar.

In the 1980s and 1990s Wilder toyed with projects that never saw the light, including directing Schindler’s List. He also gave his time to befriending younger directors, one of whom, Cameron Crowe (of Jerry Maguire) published in 1999 a definitive book-length interview with him, Conversations with Billy Wilder.

As a movie artist, Wilder left no one indifferent. Detractors included Pauline Kael, the New Yorker critic, and David Thomson, who in his Biographical Dictionary of Film called Wilder “a heartless exploiter of public taste who manipulates situations in the name of satire. He prefers dialogue to character, sniping to structure”. For others, Wilder combined a classical command of craft with iconoclastic courage in confronting taboo subjects. 

© NIGEL ANDREWS, Financial Times, 2002

Task 1. Look up the underlined compound adjectives that you did not know.

Task 2. Learn the expressions highlighted in pink.

It is possible to respect the believers but not the belief

By Timothy Garton Ash

Last weekend I went and sang a lot of words that I don't believe. Do I think an angel appeared to a woman called Mary roughly 2007 years ago and told her she had become pregnant without sleeping with Joseph? I don't. Do I think Good King Wenceslas tramped out into the snow to bring "yonder peasant" food and wine? Not likely. Yet the words were beautiful and familiar, the medieval church was candlelit, my family was with me, and I was moved.

In the next few days, hundreds of millions of people will, like me, go to sing, often with gusto and delight, lines they do not believe or, at best, only half-believe. According to a recent Harris opinion poll for the Financial Times, only one in three people in Britain say they are "a believer". In France, it's less than one in three; even in Italy, it's less than two thirds; only in the United States does the figure exceed three quarters. And it would be interesting to know what proportion of that minority of true believers in Britain and France are Muslims.

That set me thinking - in this extended festive season of Bodhi Day, Hanukah, Christmas, Eid-ul-Adha, Oshogatsu, Guru Gobind Singh's birthday and Makar Sankranti- about what it means to say that we respect someone else's religion in a multicultural society. It seems to me that the biggest problem many post-Christian or nominally Christian Europeans have with the Muslims living amongst them is not that those Muslims are believers in a different religion from Christianity but that they are believers in a religion at all.

This baffles the intellectually significant minority of Europeans who are, so to speak, devout atheists, proselytising believers in the truths discovered by science. For them the issue is not any particular religious superstition, but superstition itself. It is also what worries the much larger number of Europeans who themselves have some vague, lukewarm religious beliefs, or are mildly agnostic, but put other things first. If only the Muslims wouldn't take their Islam so seriously! And, many Europeans would add, if only the Americans wouldn't take their Christianity so seriously!

Now one can argue about whether the world would be a better place if everyone became convinced of the atheistic truths of natural science, or at least took their religion as lightly as most part-time, demi-Christian Europeans do. (Myself, I'm agnostic on that point.) But clearly this can't be the premise on which we build a multicultural society in a free country. That would be just as intolerant as the practice of those majority Muslim countries where no other faiths than Islam are allowed.

On the contrary, in free countries every faith must be allowed - and every faith must be allowed to be questioned, fundamentally, outspokenly, even intemperately and offensively, without fear of reprisal. Richard Dawkins, the Oxford scientist, must be free to say that God is a delusion and Alistair McGrath, the Oxford theologian, must be free to retort that Dawkins is deluded; a conservative journalist must be free to write that the Prophet Muhammad was a paedophile and a Muslim scholar must be free to brand that journalist an ignorant Islamophobe. That's the deal in a free country: freedom of religion and freedom of expression as two sides of the same coin. We must live and let live - a demand that is not as minimal as it sounds, when one thinks of the death threats against Salman Rushdie and the Danish cartoonists. The fence that secures this space is the law of the land.

The interesting question is whether there is a kind of respect that goes beyond this minimal law-fenced live-and-let-live yet stops short of either a hypocritical pretence of intellectual respect for the other's beliefs (the currency of much inter-faith polylogue) or unbounded relativism. I think there is. In fact, I would claim that I know there is - and most of us practice it without even thinking about it. We live and work every day with people who hold, in the temples of their hearts, beliefs that we consider certifiably bonkers. If they seem to us good partners, friends, colleagues, we respect them as such - irrespective of their private and perhaps deepest convictions. If they are close to us, we may not merely respect but love them. We love them, while all the time remaining firmly convinced that in some corner of their minds they cling to a load of nonsense.

Routinely, almost instinctively, we distinguish between the belief and the believer. To be sure, it's easier to do that with some beliefs than it is with others. If someone is convinced that 2 + 2 = 5 and the earth is made of cheese, that will impede everyday coexistence a little more. Yet it's amazing what diverse and even wacky beliefs we do, in practice, coexist with quite happily. (The widespread popular faith in astrology is a good example.) That said, the conduct of the believers can affect our judgment of the belief irrespective of its scientific truth-content. For example, I do not believe there is a God and therefore assume that some 2007 years ago a couple called Joseph and Mary just had a baby. But what a man he turned out to be! Like the great Swiss historian Jacob Burckhardt, I can't get anywhere with Christ as God, but as a human being Jesus Christ seems to me a constant and wonderful inspiration - perhaps even, as Burckhardt put it, "the most beautiful figure in world history". And some of his later imitators didn't do so badly either.

My quarrel with the Dawkins school of atheists is not anything they say about the non-existence of God but what they say about Christians and the history of Christianity - much of which is true, but leaves out the other, positive half of the story. And, as the old Yiddish saying goes, a half-truth is a whole lie. In my judgment as a historian of modern Europe, the positive side is larger than the negative. It seems to me self-evident that we would not have the European civilisation we have today without the heritage of Christianity, Judaism and (in a smaller measure, mainly in the middle ages) Islam, which legacy also paved the way, albeit unwittingly and unwillingly, for the Enlightenment. Moreover, some of the most impressive human beings I have met in my own lifetime have been Christians.

"By their fruits ye shall know them." There is a respect that flows from the present conduct of the believers, irrespective of the scientific plausibility of the original belief. A multicultural society can, at best, be an open, friendly competition between Christians, Sikhs, Muslims, Jews, atheists and, indeed, two-plus-two-equals-fivers, to impress us with their character and good works.

Meanwhile, there's the vexed question of the all-purpose multicultural midwinter salutation. "Happy holidays" is impossibly twee and anodyne. I'm afraid I have resorted to "season's greetings", but that's pretty tiresome too. Ideally, one should customise according to recipient - "Merry Christmas", "Happy Eid", "Jolly Oshogatsu", etc - but that is not always possible. Yesterday, I received a card from the British ambassador to Washington which contains an excellent solution. "Yuletide greetings", it said, evoking the Pagan winter solstice (Yule is tomorrow, December 22) but with the hint of a warm-hearted Dickensian Christmas. Perfect.

Good Yule to you all.

Timothy Garton Ash is a historian, political writer and Guardian columnist. He is also professor of European studies in the University of Oxford.

timothygartonash.com