赤足天使 HD

分类：爱情片 地区：其它年份：1954

主演：亨弗莱·鲍嘉,艾娃·加德纳,艾德蒙·奥布莱恩

导演：约瑟夫·L·曼凯维奇

更新：2024-01-07 11:44

简介：MariaVargas（艾娃·加德纳AvaGardner饰..MariaVargas（艾娃·加德纳AvaGardner饰）一个美丽、敏感、渴望爱情的西班牙女子，本在一家酒吧跳舞。被美国导演HarryDawes（亨弗莱·鲍嘉HumphreyBogart饰）挖掘，带到好莱坞，成了万众瞩目电影明星。但她却与投资Harry电影的老板KirkEdwards矛盾重重，后又和南美洲的富人Bravano纠缠不清。直到她遇见深爱她的那个男人——伯爵Vincenzo，两人终于结婚，但悲剧却无法避免。就如Vincenzo的家族格言一样：该来的，总会来。美人已逝，空留遗憾。{if:"

Maria Vargas (Gardner) is dead, this is the premise of Joseph L. Mankiewicz’s Technicolor extravagance THE BAREFOOT CONTESSA, in her ceremonious funeral, erected with an alabaster statue of her, several men’s voiceovers reminisce the gone-too-soon Spanish bombshell who starts as a saloon dancer, then a short stint in the Tinseltown and finally, the titular contessa to an Italian count.

The first man is the veteran Hollywood director Harry Dawes (Bogart), who, at the peremptory behest of producer Kirk Edwards (Stevens), a scion rolling in money, earnestly ropes Maria into Hollywood and after three pictures together, she becomes a red-hot star, but their relationship remains strictly platonic, he becomes a father figure and eventually sends her down the aisle, Maria opens to him about her Cinderella dream, to love and be loved on her own terms. Soon she falls out with the haughty Edwards, and opts for leaving with Latin American playboy Alberto Bravano (an eyebrow-enhanced Goring miscast as a bloviating Latinx high-roller), equally wealthy if not more, also jumps ship is Oscar Muldoon (O’Brien), a perspiratory publicist who gets fed up being Edwards’ unctuous lackey, and he becomes the second voiceover recounts his side of the story, as plausible and effervescent as his role requires, O’Brien’s Oscar win might feel like a head-scratching fluke.

Clear as day, Alberto is just another interim provider for Maria, finally, it is the blue-blooded Count Vincenzo Torlato-Favrini (Brazzi), the tertiary voiceover, that catches her eyes and encaptures her heart, only their fateful encounter has a sting in the tail, hinted by the disconcerted reaction from Eleanora (Cortese, expressive and memorable as ever during her succinct presence), Vincenzo’s widowed, childless sister, in response to his brother’s seemingly normal decision to marry Maria, which would make the latter the last contessa in their pedigree, but what does the “last”mean? And what the siblings’ conversation alludes to would only strike like a bolt out of the blue for Maria on her nuptial night, and Mankiewicz’s peregrinating script decidedly does not furnish the aristocratic impotence with a fig leaf, not so much as a scintilla of decency resides within any ordinary human being (the secret has been withholding until they tight the knot), moreover, to say nothing of Vincenzo’s own outrageous, macho final act.

The victimology of Maria Vargas befits Hollywood’s (and by extension, Mankiewicz’s) traditional objectification of an impeccable female presentation, free-spirited and drop-dead gorgeous, an unbridled soul unsullied by the showbiz depravity, yet, her pipe dream of living happily ever after with a royal prince comes unstuck like a slap in the face (in hindsight, Grace Kelly would have been a more apt choice in this role for obvious reasons), and it is also morbidly at her own life’s expense, that fantasy indwells long and entrenched in a straight man’s noggin.

Gardner asserts herself ravishingly as the glamorous puss with an untainted heart, even against the script’s infantilization, her Maria comes off as more multi-faceted, mysterious and unattainable as one assumes, yet her male-costars fare less well, especially Bogard, bogged down by the lurid cosmetics and somewhat verbose voiceover, his avuncular persona fizzles out cravenly in the end. THE BAREFOOT CONTESSA, however old-fashioned and untimely in its female-gazing perspective and idealization, retains its stunning wow factors as a gorgeous-looking picture enfolded with poise, gravitas and pathos, that can live down its maker’s own jaundiced view and shed a chink of light on the treacherous nature of living high on the hog, though hardly a reverberating cautionary tale material.

referential entries: Mankiewicz’s SUDDENLY, LAST SUMMER (1959, 7.4/10); CLEOPATRA (1963, 6.3/10).

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Maria Vargas (Gardner) is dead, this is the premise of Joseph L. Mankiewicz’s Technicolor extravagance THE BAREFOOT CONTESSA, in her ceremonious funeral, erected with an alabaster statue of her, several men’s voiceovers reminisce the gone-too-soon Spanish bombshell who starts as a saloon dancer, then a short stint in the Tinseltown and finally, the titular contessa to an Italian count.

The first man is the veteran Hollywood director Harry Dawes (Bogart), who, at the peremptory behest of producer Kirk Edwards (Stevens), a scion rolling in money, earnestly ropes Maria into Hollywood and after three pictures together, she becomes a red-hot star, but their relationship remains strictly platonic, he becomes a father figure and eventually sends her down the aisle, Maria opens to him about her Cinderella dream, to love and be loved on her own terms. Soon she falls out with the haughty Edwards, and opts for leaving with Latin American playboy Alberto Bravano (an eyebrow-enhanced Goring miscast as a bloviating Latinx high-roller), equally wealthy if not more, also jumps ship is Oscar Muldoon (O’Brien), a perspiratory publicist who gets fed up being Edwards’ unctuous lackey, and he becomes the second voiceover recounts his side of the story, as plausible and effervescent as his role requires, O’Brien’s Oscar win might feel like a head-scratching fluke.

Clear as day, Alberto is just another interim provider for Maria, finally, it is the blue-blooded Count Vincenzo Torlato-Favrini (Brazzi), the tertiary voiceover, that catches her eyes and encaptures her heart, only their fateful encounter has a sting in the tail, hinted by the disconcerted reaction from Eleanora (Cortese, expressive and memorable as ever during her succinct presence), Vincenzo’s widowed, childless sister, in response to his brother’s seemingly normal decision to marry Maria, which would make the latter the last contessa in their pedigree, but what does the “last”mean? And what the siblings’ conversation alludes to would only strike like a bolt out of the blue for Maria on her nuptial night, and Mankiewicz’s peregrinating script decidedly does not furnish the aristocratic impotence with a fig leaf, not so much as a scintilla of decency resides within any ordinary human being (the secret has been withholding until they tight the knot), moreover, to say nothing of Vincenzo’s own outrageous, macho final act.

The victimology of Maria Vargas befits Hollywood’s (and by extension, Mankiewicz’s) traditional objectification of an impeccable female presentation, free-spirited and drop-dead gorgeous, an unbridled soul unsullied by the showbiz depravity, yet, her pipe dream of living happily ever after with a royal prince comes unstuck like a slap in the face (in hindsight, Grace Kelly would have been a more apt choice in this role for obvious reasons), and it is also morbidly at her own life’s expense, that fantasy indwells long and entrenched in a straight man’s noggin.

Gardner asserts herself ravishingly as the glamorous puss with an untainted heart, even against the script’s infantilization, her Maria comes off as more multi-faceted, mysterious and unattainable as one assumes, yet her male-costars fare less well, especially Bogard, bogged down by the lurid cosmetics and somewhat verbose voiceover, his avuncular persona fizzles out cravenly in the end. THE BAREFOOT CONTESSA, however old-fashioned and untimely in its female-gazing perspective and idealization, retains its stunning wow factors as a gorgeous-looking picture enfolded with poise, gravitas and pathos, that can live down its maker’s own jaundiced view and shed a chink of light on the treacherous nature of living high on the hog, though hardly a reverberating cautionary tale material.

referential entries: Mankiewicz’s SUDDENLY, LAST SUMMER (1959, 7.4/10); CLEOPATRA (1963, 6.3/10).

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Maria Vargas (Gardner) is dead, this is the premise of Joseph L. Mankiewicz’s Technicolor extravagance THE BAREFOOT CONTESSA, in her ceremonious funeral, erected with an alabaster statue of her, several men’s voiceovers reminisce the gone-too-soon Spanish bombshell who starts as a saloon dancer, then a short stint in the Tinseltown and finally, the titular contessa to an Italian count.

The first man is the veteran Hollywood director Harry Dawes (Bogart), who, at the peremptory behest of producer Kirk Edwards (Stevens), a scion rolling in money, earnestly ropes Maria into Hollywood and after three pictures together, she becomes a red-hot star, but their relationship remains strictly platonic, he becomes a father figure and eventually sends her down the aisle, Maria opens to him about her Cinderella dream, to love and be loved on her own terms. Soon she falls out with the haughty Edwards, and opts for leaving with Latin American playboy Alberto Bravano (an eyebrow-enhanced Goring miscast as a bloviating Latinx high-roller), equally wealthy if not more, also jumps ship is Oscar Muldoon (O’Brien), a perspiratory publicist who gets fed up being Edwards’ unctuous lackey, and he becomes the second voiceover recounts his side of the story, as plausible and effervescent as his role requires, O’Brien’s Oscar win might feel like a head-scratching fluke.

Clear as day, Alberto is just another interim provider for Maria, finally, it is the blue-blooded Count Vincenzo Torlato-Favrini (Brazzi), the tertiary voiceover, that catches her eyes and encaptures her heart, only their fateful encounter has a sting in the tail, hinted by the disconcerted reaction from Eleanora (Cortese, expressive and memorable as ever during her succinct presence), Vincenzo’s widowed, childless sister, in response to his brother’s seemingly normal decision to marry Maria, which would make the latter the last contessa in their pedigree, but what does the “last”mean? And what the siblings’ conversation alludes to would only strike like a bolt out of the blue for Maria on her nuptial night, and Mankiewicz’s peregrinating script decidedly does not furnish the aristocratic impotence with a fig leaf, not so much as a scintilla of decency resides within any ordinary human being (the secret has been withholding until they tight the knot), moreover, to say nothing of Vincenzo’s own outrageous, macho final act.

The victimology of Maria Vargas befits Hollywood’s (and by extension, Mankiewicz’s) traditional objectification of an impeccable female presentation, free-spirited and drop-dead gorgeous, an unbridled soul unsullied by the showbiz depravity, yet, her pipe dream of living happily ever after with a royal prince comes unstuck like a slap in the face (in hindsight, Grace Kelly would have been a more apt choice in this role for obvious reasons), and it is also morbidly at her own life’s expense, that fantasy indwells long and entrenched in a straight man’s noggin.

Gardner asserts herself ravishingly as the glamorous puss with an untainted heart, even against the script’s infantilization, her Maria comes off as more multi-faceted, mysterious and unattainable as one assumes, yet her male-costars fare less well, especially Bogard, bogged down by the lurid cosmetics and somewhat verbose voiceover, his avuncular persona fizzles out cravenly in the end. THE BAREFOOT CONTESSA, however old-fashioned and untimely in its female-gazing perspective and idealization, retains its stunning wow factors as a gorgeous-looking picture enfolded with poise, gravitas and pathos, that can live down its maker’s own jaundiced view and shed a chink of light on the treacherous nature of living high on the hog, though hardly a reverberating cautionary tale material.

referential entries: Mankiewicz’s SUDDENLY, LAST SUMMER (1959, 7.4/10); CLEOPATRA (1963, 6.3/10).

{end if}详情