With every glass of whisky that Don Birnam drinks, a little part of him dies. This ever-expanding rift in his soul only increases his thirst, as though only through alcohol can he recover the parts of himself that he abandoned a long time ago. Drinking is his means of escaping reality, of creating a debilitating illusion of happiness and satisfaction; "it tosses the sandbags overboard so the balloon can soar. Suddenly I'm above the ordinary. I'm competent. I'm walking a tightrope over Niagara Falls. I'm one of the great ones
" Similarly, Ray Milland's portrayal of a chronic alcoholic, in Billy Wilder's Oscar-winning 'The Lost Weekend (1945),' is one of the great performances of its era, and the film itself is one five-day-long nightmare of obsession and desperation. Prior to 1945, Hollywood had shied away from confronting alcohol addiction in a serious light, more content with exploiting the issue for comedic effect {take Nick Charles of 'The Thin Man' series, for example, or any movie featuring the stereotypical, clumsy and amusing drunkard}. It took a promising newcomer in Billy Wilder {fresh from the classic film-noir 'Double Indemnity (1944)} to finally bring alcoholism into the open for all to see.
'The Lost Weekend' was adapted {by Wilder and Charles Brackett} from Charles R. Jackson's novel of the same name, itself a rather daring and provocative piece of literature. The film follows alcoholic Don Birnam throughout a torturous five-day long weekend, as he futilely battles his addiction to the bottle and suffers the consequences of his excessive drinking. The film borrows a thing or two from German Expressionism, and much of the film has a peculiar, dream-like atmosphere to it, accentuated by stark lighting and shadows, beautifully shot by cinematographer John F. Seitz. This hazy, otherworldly ambiance is further emphasised by the inspired decision to film some scenes through glass liquor bottles, and Miklós Rózsa's eerie soundtrack, which made extensive use of the oscillating wail of the theremin {nowadays mostly associated with films dealing with extraterrestrials and UFOs}. One particular hallucinatory sequence, featuring a mouse and a bat, has undoubtedly left its mark on all who watch the film, and Birnam's frenzied scream of absolute horror will continue to resonate in your eardrums long after it's all over.
Along with Stanley Kubrick's 'The Shining (1980)' and the Coen Brothers' 'Barton Fink (1991),' 'The Lost Weekend' is probably the most disturbing film about writer's block that I've seen, a genuinely unsettling profile of a troubled and mentally-ill man. The film doesn't merely present us with Don Birnam, but takes us into his world, where slipping your fingers around that next shot of whisky is a matter of life or death. Though the Production Code forced Wilder to supply a more optimistic ending than I think he would have liked, he nonetheless manages to slip some ambiguity into the final moments, and, on second look, the conclusion isn't perhaps as hopeful as we might initially have presumed. In an earlier scene, Birnam refers to his alcohol addiction as "my little vicious circle no end, no beginning." Indeed, throughout the weekend, he experiences a continuous sequence of cycles, circulating between debilitating drunkenness, an attempt at recovery and a frantic search for more alcohol. The film opens with a left-to-right slow pan from the New York cityscape to Birnam's apartment; it closes with an identical pan in the opposite direction. Despite his apparent resolve to finally emerge from his rut and complete "The Bottle," it appears that Birnam is simply trapped in a vicious cycle from which he may never escape, except perhaps in death.
'The Lost Weekend' was adapted {by Wilder and Charles Brackett} from Charles R. Jackson's novel of the same name, itself a rather daring and provocative piece of literature. The film follows alcoholic Don Birnam throughout a torturous five-day long weekend, as he futilely battles his addiction to the bottle and suffers the consequences of his excessive drinking. The film borrows a thing or two from German Expressionism, and much of the film has a peculiar, dream-like atmosphere to it, accentuated by stark lighting and shadows, beautifully shot by cinematographer John F. Seitz. This hazy, otherworldly ambiance is further emphasised by the inspired decision to film some scenes through glass liquor bottles, and Miklós Rózsa's eerie soundtrack, which made extensive use of the oscillating wail of the theremin {nowadays mostly associated with films dealing with extraterrestrials and UFOs}. One particular hallucinatory sequence, featuring a mouse and a bat, has undoubtedly left its mark on all who watch the film, and Birnam's frenzied scream of absolute horror will continue to resonate in your eardrums long after it's all over.
Along with Stanley Kubrick's 'The Shining (1980)' and the Coen Brothers' 'Barton Fink (1991),' 'The Lost Weekend' is probably the most disturbing film about writer's block that I've seen, a genuinely unsettling profile of a troubled and mentally-ill man. The film doesn't merely present us with Don Birnam, but takes us into his world, where slipping your fingers around that next shot of whisky is a matter of life or death. Though the Production Code forced Wilder to supply a more optimistic ending than I think he would have liked, he nonetheless manages to slip some ambiguity into the final moments, and, on second look, the conclusion isn't perhaps as hopeful as we might initially have presumed. In an earlier scene, Birnam refers to his alcohol addiction as "my little vicious circle no end, no beginning." Indeed, throughout the weekend, he experiences a continuous sequence of cycles, circulating between debilitating drunkenness, an attempt at recovery and a frantic search for more alcohol. The film opens with a left-to-right slow pan from the New York cityscape to Birnam's apartment; it closes with an identical pan in the opposite direction. Despite his apparent resolve to finally emerge from his rut and complete "The Bottle," it appears that Birnam is simply trapped in a vicious cycle from which he may never escape, except perhaps in death.