tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10953887392510994632024-03-19T08:10:10.360-05:00Amok's Movie JournalAmokhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10328999285363705056noreply@blogger.comBlogger23125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1095388739251099463.post-87818637563756217982010-02-10T12:55:00.003-06:002010-02-10T13:15:51.656-06:00Death of a Cyclist - Film Review<span style="font-family: arial;font-size:78%;" >directed by Juan Antonio Bardem, 1955</span><br /><br /><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuNyWYtR7wyTQr6pbxlidiD9nTZPU3uHiGkr2OciHPIkZl389NdCdOJPOetuyXqJDW68NtdrfhyVl6wMg6y-eAC-ly8lvtoGOZ180BsK05IRszbl94KtEDGEcoWb_BxZ-8O-07BtmdlUI/s1600-h/death+of+a+cyclist+poster.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 216px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuNyWYtR7wyTQr6pbxlidiD9nTZPU3uHiGkr2OciHPIkZl389NdCdOJPOetuyXqJDW68NtdrfhyVl6wMg6y-eAC-ly8lvtoGOZ180BsK05IRszbl94KtEDGEcoWb_BxZ-8O-07BtmdlUI/s320/death+of+a+cyclist+poster.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5436694927748797746" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Spain is one nation which underwent a cinematic revolution during the 50s; the decade before the French, Brazilian, Czech, British and Italian ‘new waves’ that would so rock the world the next decade. And unfortunately it remains largely ignored...unfortunate, if anything, because it is that rare nation which experienced such a thing under a totalitarian, right-wing regime. Death of a Cyclist is, at this time, the only film made during the middle period of Franco’s rule of Spain that I have seen, and the only Spanish film of the era available in high quality DVD to the English speaking world. Rather fitting that it is this one if any, as this melodrama is considered a milestone of Spanish cinema, one of the first politically challenging Spanish films to receive big international attention (the first was probably Bienvenido Mr. Marshall, though I only know it by name and reputation).</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">In Death of a Cyclist’s opening scenes, a cyclist has been hit by a car, which is occupied by a couple, Juan and Mario Jose. The man’s first reaction is to gaze in shock at what he’s done, and the woman’s first reaction is to hurry away from the scene of the crime, while the man lies still dying. They have some petty excuse for wanting to get away (she is married, and not to him), but the scene on its own implicates them in an act which is inexcusable, and rendering both individuals as highly unsympathetic...he a weak man and a coward, and she a person with little in the way of a moral compass. And when a sleazy art critic and intellectual wryly initiates a blackmail; seemingly at his leisure, both begin to fear for their safety.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Death of a Cyclist is interesting for many reasons, not least of which is the manner it uses cinematic conventions; many of them contrasting with others, in order to illustrate its political intent. It does follow a very traditional path of narrative, though, almost reminiscent of some of Clouzot’s thrillers; a slow pace which nonetheless builds tension, and a (rather famously) contrived Hollywood ending. Both of our protaganists are of the successful middle class; the bourgeoise to use Bardem’s prefered term (he was a member of the Communist party even during Franco’s reign), and scenes set within their milieu are tinged with a hint of Hollywood gloss; oggling the faces of the lead actors (Alberto Closas, who plays Juan, was an established Spanish leading man) and making much ado about their affluence. This contrasts heavily with the scenes where Juan; intent on righting some of his wrong (but not knowing how to do it) descends into the lower class areas...scenes which look like something out of neorealism, and occupied by characters you’d expect to see in one of de Sica’s classics...or even, at times, Antonioni. And then there’s more than a touch of noir in the film, as Maria Jose takes on the very definitions of a femme fatale; completely driven by selfish cravings and then some.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> At the center of the film is both its relationship and its politics, though like Cria Cuervos and Spirit of the Beehive (both films I admire), the politics can be seen only vaguly beneath many layers of symbolism...much of which I’m admittedly not privy to, but so much of which manages to seep through the film’s text unmistakebly. Juan is our main focus throughout the film, and it is his guilt over the incident that is its driving force. His moral failure with the cyclist is both inflated by, and further irritates, his own failures in life. But these failures also indicate the moral failures of the upper classes he represents, which benefit from the regime, from turning a blind eye to their role in the state of Spain, and who overall live boring and dispassionate lives. Where the film’s political angle succeeds lies in its subtext; what happens between and outside the scenes we see. We’re rarely shown the poor people that the film’s protaganists contrast so much with, but when we do, the contrast is clear, and when one really takes the time to reflect, its more and more striking. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">The film’s genre shifts are not just an obvious effect...its jarring, as is much of the film, with contrast perhaps being its weapon of choice. The film’s cutting and framing are just as unusual as its offset of genre; never seeming to follow the same rules, never allowing the audience to relax, as one could be lured into complacency in one scene, and suddenly find themselves lost in the next. The effect; using purely classical devices and distorting the viewer with them, reminds me in ways of Alf Sjoberg’s Miss. I mentioned Clouzot earlier, and like Clouzot, there’s something inherrantly nasty about this film and many of its protaganists, and the way it resolves itself, even if it does seem at times to look ahead to Juan setting things straight; and this is after the threat of them being discovered has past. There’s a sense of irony in the film, and it isn’t above speaking its piece very blatantly. One of my favorite scenes involves cutting between the two well-to-do lovers; separate and dealing with the crisis (him brooding, she covering her tracks at a petty bourgeois party). The film then cuts, seamlessly and deceptively, to a very similar scene of puffery, which is quickly revealed to be a stupid movie newsreel which Juan is watching. Its as sharp a dig at the world they inhabit as can be imagined.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">I can only imagine that its trappings of classical movie making, almost to a fault at times (fragmented though it is), are a strong reason as to why the film was able to pass the Spanish censors. But its political implications are difficult to ignore, especially on repeat viewings. Every main character; Juan, Maria Jose, her husband, and the sleazily desperate Rafa, exist on screen for more than one reason. Death of a Cyclist is a very challenging film, and ultimately, I think its quite rewarding.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-weight: bold;">88 / 100</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Available on DVD from The Criterion Collection, with a nice (if windowboxed) pristine transfer, and a very informative booklet, with an essay on the film by Marsha Kinder, and a reprinting of Bardem’s call-to-arms for Spanish cinema, written in 1955, seemingly resulting in this film. As with Cria Cuervos and Spirit of the Beehive; the other two debuts of Spanish directors to the collection, the disc includes a documentary on the director entitled Calle Bardem (after another film of Bardem’s, Calle Mayor). It’s the only digital extra on the disc, but one well worth watching.</span>Amokhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10328999285363705056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1095388739251099463.post-62170655808968085502010-02-09T19:29:00.002-06:002010-02-09T19:30:59.489-06:00The Mortal Storm: Film Impression<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinjAnVzEA6sg8OOiQkteu62oAbD4E1hHCUPlwNC586in-MH6L2XDabwvMdjHowyLyep2AJQPIUJLLwv-8SSW_6Wrl6RVBcHZKvTeJpDvNZEClJfGdoaCOzEZLUVMo_c3ywuFiyeVVpxGg/s1600-h/Mortal+Storm+Title.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinjAnVzEA6sg8OOiQkteu62oAbD4E1hHCUPlwNC586in-MH6L2XDabwvMdjHowyLyep2AJQPIUJLLwv-8SSW_6Wrl6RVBcHZKvTeJpDvNZEClJfGdoaCOzEZLUVMo_c3ywuFiyeVVpxGg/s320/Mortal+Storm+Title.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5436421119134185042" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">directed by Frank Borzage, 1940</span></span><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;">There’s an inherant naivete in all of Borzage’s great movies, but its not the kind of naivete that puts its hands to its ears and asserts itself in protest. It’s a kind of naivete; a kind of morality, that is unmovable by its very essence, that overcomes the very massive size of oppression (not the usual literal form of oppression, but that which is a weight upon the spirit); because it is truly precious and human, because it is wanted and needed more. It could be said that Borzage and his protaganists have stars in their eyes, but in his films there is a sense that real blood and tears will be suffered for them. In The Mortal Storm, this optimism meets what must have seemed like the ultimate opponent: the ideals and encroachment of Nazism.</span><br /> <br /> <span style="font-family: arial;">Unlike, say, his trilogy of Gaynor-Farrell films which all begin in a sort of purgatory for its characters, The Mortal Storm could be said to start in a snowy Eden; in the mountains of Germany in an unnamed town, with the 60th birthday of an imminent scientist, celebrating this day in the comfort of his home (not just his literal home; he’s “at home” at his house and at the university he works at), surrounded by his loving family, and friends. There is happiness and bliss in the life of this family; almost exagerratingly elated, but change comes to the Roth household and to Germany on this very day. Adolf Hitler has come to power, and only a few people are not ecstatic about this news. It’s a scene rife with a sense of the apocalypse; the genuinely elated sentiments of the supporters contrasting sharply with the warmth of the household, and with the obvious sentiments of its opposers (we quickly realize, though the film never makes it explicit, that the Roth family is Jewish).</span><br /> <br /> <span style="font-family: arial;">The terrors of Nazism, at the time this film was made, were not wholly known, but the film addresses the German nationalism, bald racism and inherrant dishonesty very directly. The film observes the infection of Nazism as just that; a malady which quickly and effortlessly takes hold of the little town and the entire world, until the sickness is the body and the decency. The humanity that the Roth family, and James Stewart’s admittedly unconvincing Martin (this is probably the best film that Jimmy Stewart did a poor job in) are intolerable to this regime, which the film makes no attempt to make sense of. And, as is typical for all of the major Borzage films I’ve seen, love is the center of this calamity, though its promise and light has never seemed so pale.</span><br /> <br /> <span style="font-family: arial;">The Mortal Storm is a bleak film; a black film, literally as it is figuratively. A lack of light permeate much of the movie’s physical texture; not so much expressionism as a dulled, oppressive darkness. It is doom as has rarely been portrayed more plainly in American cinema, and in all of Borzage’s films I’ve seen so far, love and happiness seem all too obscure a possibility, as the very notion of human decency fades further with every appearance of a brownshirt. What truly struck me about the film was, despite how much of the film naturally was about the two lovers (Margaret Sullivan in her most beautifully tragic role, and Stewart...well, I said my piece about him before), how it is also about so much else. While the film’s portrayal of a community; a family mostly, may not have the depth of Ford or the breadth of Walsh, it somehow manages to give it an impact almost exclusively because it is about the aftermath of loss.</span><br /> <br /> <span style="font-family: arial;">If Borzage is a director of great grace, he’s also very direct...unlike Sirk or Ray, there’s not much to read between the lines, but there is so much to *feel*. Crucial points in the film are almost entirely devoted to feeling, and though the artifice of MGM is more distracting than the artifice of Fox in his silent films, he’s lost none of his quiet power. The Mortal Storm could be called a cinematic tract against Nazism, but then, it is a great one. Its final shots, while posessing none of the optimism of the Borzage films I’m more comfortable with, is unmistakebly sublime in a way only a master could do, marking this one of those rare films that so blisteringly portrays just how bad the Nazis were. Not only “for all mankind”, which they were more than anything else, but for the people who *were* Nazis, and would one day have to wake up and face their reality. Its one of the saddest and most brilliant sequences ever put to film; a moment and an observation that seems to come out of nowhere. While watching the film this morning, I thought it was somewhat messy, but the more I think about the film, the more haunting it seems as a singleexperience; the more whole it seems. I almost feel guilty about giving it a score. I definitely want to see it again. Sooner, rather than later.</span><br /> <br /> <span style="font-family: arial; font-weight: bold;">93 / 100</span><br /> <br /> <span style="font-family: arial;">Yet another great film relegated to the Warner Archive. The transfer of this film is rather disappointingly bland, though I don’t think the film is supposed to look radiant.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"></span>Amokhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10328999285363705056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1095388739251099463.post-52697005892289939172010-02-08T06:11:00.002-06:002010-02-08T06:21:16.642-06:00Judex (1963) - Film Review<span style="font-style: italic; font-family: arial;font-size:78%;" >directed by Georges Franju, 1963</span><br /><br /><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-SwU6Lla9FeC6LZREpZj_YwENY4VvmRxYrL7Ew43kGFJKjmT-DaAmyqAPlgZ_Lg9C4PssIO8gNuhH5E1ieqeIGHlUqq78Tbomo3UVPXOrAr72AkYsgiIYDuovYX6PJooMpZuG07kh_dk/s1600-h/Judex+1.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 297px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-SwU6Lla9FeC6LZREpZj_YwENY4VvmRxYrL7Ew43kGFJKjmT-DaAmyqAPlgZ_Lg9C4PssIO8gNuhH5E1ieqeIGHlUqq78Tbomo3UVPXOrAr72AkYsgiIYDuovYX6PJooMpZuG07kh_dk/s320/Judex+1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435844836654525026" border="0" /></a><br /><br /> <span style="font-family: arial;">Perhaps the strangest homage to a pop culture protaganist in cinema’s history is this film; a re-imagining of Louis Feuillade’s Judex from 1916 (which will be known as Judex 16 from this point on). Stranger still that Franju didn’t really like Judex that much; citing it as lesser Feuillade, and indeed that he wanted to re</span><span style="font-family: arial;">make Fantomas instead. And the film (which shall be known as Judex ‘63) is just that; a ‘</span><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNXF_joe91lSwSm8NNyFJ9QfDBansK7oDCNYoqworutgjY4Ny_eoYYtpwOLS93AUXCmUELazyb3ZXxQ-4wdPu9AwmAhDtSrkWVYK16296GBPIvmEm7DJPt67QGTPidh3-e1a5hXyqJvoU/s1600-h/Judex+3.jpg"><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></a><span style="font-family: arial;">remake’ of Judex, eliding or breezing through as much of the original story as possible in order to fit into an hour and a half time slot, to the point that a synopsis might be needed *before* watching the movie...though I would fully recommend checking out Feuillade’s original series, too, especially if you’re into the worst pulp of the very best kind.</span><br /> <br /> <span style="font-family: arial;">Judex ‘63, as in Feuillade’s five-plus hour serial from 1916 (which</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> will here on out be called Judex 16), is a caped crusader on a mission of vengeance against a criminal organization, led by a man called Favraux, responsible for his father’s death. He becomes torn in his duty, though, when he falls in love with the daughter of Favraux. That’s the gist of it, and Franju is in many ways “loyal” to the original film’s cliche ridden plot and nonsense characters whose feelings are barely hinted at if not completely elided, and whose motivations are utterly unclear and change on a whim. But Franju’s film (which will be Judex 63)is not a film meant to be seen “literally”, and those who see it (or the original, for that matter) with a literal </span><span style="font-family: arial;">approach</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> will be disappointed by it. Franju’s film, instead, is almost a divining of Judex and Feuillade; a loving homage to the shadows and fantasies that Feuillade’s films inspires, and for its turn-of-the-century milieu...from iris shots to the wonderfully detailed period costumes.</span><br /> <a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj39GFKjP2aRmX1XHl4cfkAIEjvDUePTjvpJuhuwSUnVPd8sAV_EqdNqd2k6iA5C3TyC1TZ8PIHVq0-b9dJ74TFStcGWZ7LX2i-sCUVN6pTgt670qiicflArtYOWgBG6JqKsEjBlru7m4U/s1600-h/Judex+2.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 180px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj39GFKjP2aRmX1XHl4cfkAIEjvDUePTjvpJuhuwSUnVPd8sAV_EqdNqd2k6iA5C3TyC1TZ8PIHVq0-b9dJ74TFStcGWZ7LX2i-sCUVN6pTgt670qiicflArtYOWgBG6JqKsEjBlru7m4U/s320/Judex+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435844825579790002" border="0" /></a><br /> <span style="font-family: arial;">Even if Franju didn’t love Judex, he obviously loves Feuillade, and he draws out the essence of the sheer bizarreness of his work. Every moment in the film is dealt in a cold, almost sterile hand that had filled even the most banal moments of Franju’s earlier film, Eyes Without a Face, with an aloof strangeness. Though there’s hardly anything banal about this film...the black masks and clothes, sinister traps, bizarre and sudden changes in plots, Judex’s helper dogs, the sudden reappearance of “dead” characters, the amazing coincidences, double and triple crosses, and the incompetence of both the arch villains and geni</span><span style="font-family: arial;">us protaganists are all handled in such a loving and insane fashion. This film has fun with its crazy self. Even though the film moves fast, it feels drowsy and slow. Again, like Eyes Without a Face, Judex moves and feels less like reality than it does a dream, and Maurice Jarre’s score (he had also scored Eyes Without a Face and Heads Against the Wall for Franju); in addition to winning three Oscars for big David Lean epics) certainly helps.</span><br /> <br /> <span style="font-family: arial;">Everything works to the favor of the film’s otherworldly, illogical aura; from the score, to the chilly black and white cinematography, to the way Feuillade sticks primarily to the night, and the day time scenes seem dreary. Its this ghostly strangeness that makes the film so unique, and its what I think I now love about it. Judex ‘63 takes everything that made Judex ‘16 such a strange experience, and made it much more explicit and vibrant. More disturbing and visible than ever is Judex’s questionable nature; few who have seen Judex ‘16 would call Judex much of a hero, and in this film he’s more sinister tha</span><span style="font-family: arial;">n ever. He’s a nightmare figure, for sure; a masked avenger, and his goals make less sense than ever. Magician Channing Pollock, who plays the titular character, is wooden and he posesses an almost statuesque persona, making the character of Judex seem even more out of this world than everything else in the strange film, and he possesses a chilly grip on the world around him even when he’s being duped or knocked down by his opponents, or doing something stupid. </span><br /> <br /> <span style="font-family: arial;"><br />By far the most well known scene in the film is the ballroom scene, in which Pollock exercutes a series of magic tricks for the party attendants, all while wearing a startlingly realistic bird’s mask (one of several at the party). For sheer psychic impact alone, this scene (reminiscent of scenes from Max Ernst’s Une Semaine de Bonté) rivals the most haunting moments of Cocteau, and its one of the most breathlessly haunting scenes in all of cinema, as far as I’m concerned. Its almost a surprise that this scene of sheer fantasy has a narrative purpose; to initiate the death of Favraux, and to introduce its demonic protaganist. That this ‘surprise’ is even greater on repeat viewings is evidence of the film’s power. And this magical scene sets up the film’s sense of play, and in its way, the spectre of Georges Melies.</span><br /><br /><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-0iPYh-j8sioWD70LfE_RdArT77fTCi42egz6l5eIbib03mCE_xE19GfOQpLI2lP1MjY8heOGUzJAnaGNyFtYC2bQARtbgRyYCovu1uU92G2QBNcNzWizQzPAytcLkv253CRmTc84ysg/s1600-h/Une+Semaine+de+Bonte.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 273px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-0iPYh-j8sioWD70LfE_RdArT77fTCi42egz6l5eIbib03mCE_xE19GfOQpLI2lP1MjY8heOGUzJAnaGNyFtYC2bQARtbgRyYCovu1uU92G2QBNcNzWizQzPAytcLkv253CRmTc84ysg/s320/Une+Semaine+de+Bonte.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435844835497664930" border="0" /></a> <span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">compare to</span></span> <a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNXF_joe91lSwSm8NNyFJ9QfDBansK7oDCNYoqworutgjY4Ny_eoYYtpwOLS93AUXCmUELazyb3ZXxQ-4wdPu9AwmAhDtSrkWVYK16296GBPIvmEm7DJPt67QGTPidh3-e1a5hXyqJvoU/s1600-h/Judex+3.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 194px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNXF_joe91lSwSm8NNyFJ9QfDBansK7oDCNYoqworutgjY4Ny_eoYYtpwOLS93AUXCmUELazyb3ZXxQ-4wdPu9AwmAhDtSrkWVYK16296GBPIvmEm7DJPt67QGTPidh3-e1a5hXyqJvoU/s320/Judex+3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435844820982937762" border="0" /></a><br /><br /> <span style="font-family: arial;">The film, for all its poetic strangeness and beauty, is charming and playful to the extent that its actually very fun to watch when you’re onto its particular wavelength. Numerous in-jokes evoking both Fantomas and Alice in Wonderland (thanks in large part to the manchild detective Concantin) emerge, without ever resorting to knowing high camp, like Tim Burton or Christopher Nolan in their Batman films. Without ever breaking the film’s eerie atmosphere, Cocantin and the little boy who joins up with him are genuinely, wryly amusing figures; reminiscent of the way the actual serials of Feuillade saw fit to break the violent scenarios with vaudeville-like comedy. After all, who can forget Mazamette from Les Vampires? In other words, don’t take it seriously. A lot of people who see the film make the mistake of ‘tuning out’ once the ‘weird bird people scene’ is over, and even I did on my first viewing. And it is a mistake. Seen for what it is, Judex (63) is, on the whole, probably more satisfying than Feuillade’s original work. It is a work of movie poetry; a study of genre and genre archetypes that is never studious. </span><br /> <br /> <span style="font-family: arial;font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;">89 / 100</span></span><br /> <br /> <span style="font-family: arial;">Masters of Cinema is responsible for releasing this on DVD in the UK, and sports a fine anamorphic transfer of the film in its original aspect ratio. The disc is a double disc set, and the other disc contains a crisp but non-anamorphic transfer (MoC couldn’t license a better master) of Nuits rouges, a second Franju film inspired by Feuillade. The set contains a fine booklet, with an interesting and poetic piece by the director, as well as interviews with him, a very nice but short essay by Jacques Rivette, assorted praise for the film, and a piece by Tom Milne on the second film. The discs themselves have video interviews with Jacques Champreux, who is not only Feuillade’s grandson, but adapted Feuillade’s Judex serial to a scenario and dialogue in feature length form, and in Nuits rouges he plays the villain. An amazing purchase. </span><br /> <br /> <span style="font-family: arial;">Louis Feuillade’s Judex is currently available in the USA from Flicker Alley, in a two DVD set. A new restoration of the film is in the works by Gaumont in France.</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: arial;font-size:78%;" ><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;"></span>Amokhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10328999285363705056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1095388739251099463.post-8478221668975963552010-02-05T12:09:00.001-06:002010-02-05T12:23:46.631-06:00The Great Garrick - Film Impression<span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;font-size:78%;" >directed by James Whale, 1937</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Its hard to describe this film without a synopsis, so I’ll just go right ahead and do it: David Garrick, perhaps the greatest actor of his time (and a real figure too), leaves for Paris to perform at the Comedie francaise, but not before giving a speech to his Drury Lane audience which incites them to cheer him on; to basically go teach the Frenchies how to act. The president of the Comedie francaise gets word of this, and devises a scheme which will ruin the great Garrick once and for all: they overtake the country inn at which Garrick has reservations, and play the parts of the guests, servants, and innkeeper. Their goal? To teach Garrick a lesson in acting, and give him the worst night of his life. But Garrick, thanks to a forewarning by an adulant fan, is in on the joke. But when a young woman’s carrieage breaks down near the inn, the arrival of this ‘real person’ into the world of actors throws a wrench into everyone’s plans...and of course, she falls genuinely in love with Garrick.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Hilarity ensues, and what hilarity it is...its as absurd and silly as the premise sounds, and there isn’t a second in the film that isn’t loaded with wit. James Whale is known in many circles for the crafting of high camp, and I don’t think any of his movies (at least not the four I’ve seen) are as indulgently hammy, cheesy, and goofy as this. The Great Garrick; the film as much as its titular character, is in love with the art of acting and the stage. And it isn’t in love with the ‘best’ parts of the performing arts, rather with the joy of delivering, emoting, staging and chewing up the scenery...not just the actor characters, but the actors on screen. Its one of those rare films where part of the joy of watching it is being “in” on the joke with Garrick, and knowing that everyone participating in the making of the film must be having the time of their life. It’s a loud, naughty movie that rightfully celebrates its lack of restraint. Its wonderful to see Garrick, and his partner Tubby (*Tubby*!) clashing knowingly with the plans of their ill-meaning hosts.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">The film is entertaining on several levels...of course, aside from a few big names, most of the actors in the film are minor faces in Hollywood; faces you might remember somewhere in the back of your mind. Even Garrick himself is played by Brian Aherne, an actor who was regarded in his time but essentially forgotten now, who had gotten his start in British silent films; in particular Anthony Asquith’s first two. My favorite actor was a funny little old fellow named Etienne Girardot, who plays the enthusiastic fanboy who warns Garrick. He is a joy to watch; not just for his overacting The few big names, however, include none other than Olivia de Havilland in one of her first major roles. And, if you weren’t sold on this film yet...giving one of his best performances; physically and otherwise (he gives some of the best facial gestures), none other than Everett Edward Horton as the joyously ill-named Tubby (*Tubby*!). There’s also a very young Lana Turner, if you can spot her.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">The film is superbly crafted all around. What could be an amusing little farce is brought to levels of high art thanks to a number of things. First of all, of course, is Ernest Vajda, who wrote the play and the screenplay, can only be commended for adding so many levels of wit to this seemingly convoluted plot. Once the film really gets going, hardly a scene goes by that isn’t breathlessly hilarious. And there is James Whales’s direction, which consists of surprisingly more than telling the actors to do their worst. When moments of genuine emotion creep into the film (as it winds down to its finale, with the game being up), the effect he gives is almost akin to Ophuls, thanks to a delicate use of close ups, and tragedy briefly slips into the film. Also, surprisingly, I have to give Mervyn LeRoy some credit. Looking into a bit of the film’s history, it seems that he is largely responsible for this film’s sets...and if they aren’t among the most convincing 18th century sets and costumes in classic film, I don’t know what to say. I would, in all seriousness, compare it to Children of Paradise in this regard; though Carne’s film is certainly less of a farce. The movie is obviously a self-reflexive work; not just the film but the people involved in making it, from Whale to the cast, and I can only imagine that further viewings will open the film up even further. On a cursory viewing, its already pure bliss; one of the only films I know of which conveys such a love for the act of theatrical exhibition, and I don't know what else I can say.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;" >93 / 100</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">This is yet another film in Warner’s Archive, and like so many of the others, it’s a magnificent film, and shameful that the company won’t give it a decent real DVD. While still very watchable, its definitely the worst of the Archive that I’ve yet seen.</span>Amokhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10328999285363705056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1095388739251099463.post-64941135571011885422010-02-04T13:35:00.003-06:002010-02-04T13:42:19.945-06:00Battleground - Film Review<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1-CddaBWlzktCcy5WKQ007R3R46L8S3BgyU2hHiBM48SLziQ7sDIY0Nr_3tB1ndqsyhQshZLsTgTMUjF0dTaLS7aWTFqbRONFcrKO6K5vIudyvUdzvGidyetpwTI1i2CeQaq6ZZ7BHek/s1600-h/Battleground+1.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 258px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1-CddaBWlzktCcy5WKQ007R3R46L8S3BgyU2hHiBM48SLziQ7sDIY0Nr_3tB1ndqsyhQshZLsTgTMUjF0dTaLS7aWTFqbRONFcrKO6K5vIudyvUdzvGidyetpwTI1i2CeQaq6ZZ7BHek/s320/Battleground+1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434475022787951698" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: arial;font-size:78%;" >directed by William Wellman, 1949</span><br /> <br /> <span style="font-family: arial;">William Wellman is most well known, today, for his set-bound (but great) western The Ox-bow Incident, but in my opinion he should really be more well known beyond just that one feature. I really love Track of the Cat; its my favorite film of his by a wide margin, but perhaps easier to recommend are his two exemplary WWII films; The Story of G.I. Joe and this, made four years after the war’s end. A fictionalized dramatisation of the Siege of Bastogne, what Battleground does for war films in general is, in a way, a continuation of what Wellman did in The Story of G.I. Joe: inject a level of realism (and realism was an increasing concern in Hollywood in those days) into the sense of the war, in focusing on the grunts, and present it in a fashion which is honest, and defeat the idle heroism that most WWII films propagates.</span><br /> <br /> <span style="font-family: arial;">Its anyone’s guess which of these two films is most successful in that regard; both of them are great works in their own right, but since its been a while since my last viewing of G.I. Joe, I’ll just stick to this one. Battleground is an ensemble piece; something Wellman excelled at, and perhaps its greatest assett is its naturalism, in this and other regards. I know I just got done blabbing about naturalism in another film last night; the languid masterpiece Intimate Lighting, but on this second viewing I was really drawn to just how leisurely this little film could be at times, and how much time it spends drawing the character of the boys. Our ‘heroes’, all of them average guys and fleshed out with amazing versimilitude (considering its an ensemble piece and runs two hours; this ain’t Edgar Reitz’s Heimat), spend most of the film in varying degrees of discomfort; mostly the cold, and most of that time they’re complaining, making fun of one another, or scheming to get out of there somehow (though nobody’s quite cowardly). </span><br /> <br /> <span style="font-family: arial;">In all honesty, looking back, I realized at least half of the film’s dialogue was unshaven soldiers, in varying degrees of jokiness, wishing they were back home, or that they could catch pheumonia or a nice flesh wound to get them out of combat; the only thing keeping the rude jokes from flying is probably the production code. Instead, we get gags about clattering false teeth (and the fact that if he loses them, he gets to go back and get new ones fitted), one soldier’s attempts to scramble precious eggs in his helmet, and a Hispanic fellow who is overjoyed at the snow (which promises misery for the others). There’s also a wonderful degree of pathos to be found beneath several of the characters’ richly simplistic ‘quirks’...paricularly the older man, called Pop, who gets a discharge home due to his wife’s illness, but cannot leave due to his squad being surrounded by enemy forces. The film is irresistably honest about the laid back mentality of the soldiers, and we’re never given the opportunity to believe that these guys are enjoying any part of this fight, but have to make do with what they have to keep their spirits up and survive.</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN_O7_bxtEamy4HpMMXbkBot0gZdnMI7xDpE8qbhRiv3BGJE1LH9BVSddXvHoSYWvVSjuSLr6A1bFAETWzntcqjSiu0ebaSaQo6sD-MiSZj3eBlsZ8gUWS3Jm7ghMcLaBtI0_LRelrwvY/s1600-h/Battleground+2.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN_O7_bxtEamy4HpMMXbkBot0gZdnMI7xDpE8qbhRiv3BGJE1LH9BVSddXvHoSYWvVSjuSLr6A1bFAETWzntcqjSiu0ebaSaQo6sD-MiSZj3eBlsZ8gUWS3Jm7ghMcLaBtI0_LRelrwvY/s320/Battleground+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434475019676180818" border="0" /></a><br /><br /> <span style="font-family: arial;">More than anything feels like a precursor to The Big Red One in its humor than, uh, Green Berets, and it moves through its slowly paced plot with a breezy effortlessness. Its also perfectly honest about the grime of warfare; the guys are almost *always* dirty and unshaven as I said, and there are a few scenes of surprisingly . The film’s beautifully deep, grainy Oscar winning cinematography reflects this, as does the nice clean print on the DVD. A sort of slice of life in WWII at points, in other words. Its entertaining; actually *fun* to watch, without ever making light of the dead seriousness of combat. And it is dead serious...danger lurks around every corner, so to speak, from the heat of battle, to the dropping of bombs in the town, to the phenomenon of German soldiers donning American uniforms to when the action scenes do come, they’re fast, furious and deadly, and there is more than one instance of one of the men attempting to escape the carnage. All the while the film, despite being the usual ‘manly bonding’ of war films of its time and up to today, eschews much of the usual melodramatic plot devices. There are no daring, heroic rescues, and every moment is frought with not knowing which direction death will come from next.</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzO2cwutqMmlwt0SnfrrqvpAyPHshgRbe_G3n2Y4i0YAg_FsaXsR5SQHqRBXgGIzKEIvfXzNdvex5F6SzKqFvtmsRZL7QZzapLLvbm6SuojPD5byTyTvT0Q7-Hz5D5gGDqHT5fMu5Udi8/s1600-h/Battleground+3.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 233px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzO2cwutqMmlwt0SnfrrqvpAyPHshgRbe_G3n2Y4i0YAg_FsaXsR5SQHqRBXgGIzKEIvfXzNdvex5F6SzKqFvtmsRZL7QZzapLLvbm6SuojPD5byTyTvT0Q7-Hz5D5gGDqHT5fMu5Udi8/s320/Battleground+3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434475011353685586" border="0" /></a><br /><br /> <span style="font-family: arial;">Its not a perfect film...some of the little character traits lead to outcomes that are far too ironic for the film’s own good, for example, though I won’t spoil any of them. And though its follow-through is well within the spirit of the film’s tone, there is one tiny bit of preachiness (the film otherwise wastes no time moralizing the war, except for showing how undiscriminatingly miserable it is to soldiers and civilians), where a chaplain delivers a multi-faith prayer to lift the fog (its actually less dopey than I made it sound, trust me, but still a weak point). And much of the final ten minutes or so are a little too going-through-the-motions for a war film, complete with a montage of victorious war action. But the film still shines...that rare old war film that is entertaining; not because the war is entertaining, but because of the soldiers we’re thrown into battle with. Battle sequences are harrowing not just because they’re exciting, but because we care about these men and because we know they are in real danger. Its definitely one of the best American WWII films of the classic era...its only real competition probably being Twelve O’Clock High from the same year, and Wellman’s own The Story of G.I. Joe. Well worth your time. Its stood the test of time surprisingly well.</span><br /> <br /> <span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-weight: bold;">88 / 100</span></span><br /> <br /> <span style="font-family: arial;">Available on a rather barebones DVD from Warner in the states, with a nice, crisp transfer, and a few short films which have little to do with the movie. Its not very expensive, so don’t hesitate too much if you like a great WWII flick.</span>Amokhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10328999285363705056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1095388739251099463.post-16058889841304270082010-02-03T19:26:00.002-06:002010-02-03T19:32:19.176-06:00Intimate Lighting - Film Impression<span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-style: italic;">directed by Ivan Passer, 1965</span></span><br /><br /><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggJhDvg7iRE30xkqFbZ2pY7qN7GvFEFws9Z1scHuls_dTtgsgmARqlzSZBbsifH-iBG2udCaOFKFKUM-APTkScoUpV7BPxSeUM7PcGr7wgrE3F1lAp8RkJmcrxWhYGqTMDCBbPdB1-oUY/s1600-h/Intimate+Lighting+1.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 313px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggJhDvg7iRE30xkqFbZ2pY7qN7GvFEFws9Z1scHuls_dTtgsgmARqlzSZBbsifH-iBG2udCaOFKFKUM-APTkScoUpV7BPxSeUM7PcGr7wgrE3F1lAp8RkJmcrxWhYGqTMDCBbPdB1-oUY/s320/Intimate+Lighting+1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434193747868578802" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">I decided to go back to Czechoslovakia again tonight, with a film that has always enchanted me, even if I never really quite fell in love with it until tonight. Ivan Passer directed this film; his only Czech feature, one year after penning Milos Forman’s first feature, Konkurs, and some time before he penned Forman’s third and fourth films, the classics Loves of a Blonde and Fireman’s Ball. As its title indicates, it is a deeply intimate film...a quietly comic one, and it shares much of Konkurs’s focus on the observation of people, and its love of music (not just music, but actually playing music), real people and life seemingly caught unawares.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Konkurs is a special film, but Intimate Lighting shows a degree of grace and subtlety that even Milos Forman’s best films (from what I can gather, Fireman’s Ball and Loves of a Blonde; have yet to see Taking Off and Black Peter) only touch upon. What really strikes me about the film is just how delicate it is. It is, ostensibly, an observation of a couple of middle aged men who get together at one of their houses (in the country; the other man comes from the city, to catch up on old times. And “observation” is the key: there is no real plot to follow, and most of the scenes have no real great narrative link to the former scene. Instead, Passer and his film show tiny, incidental vignettes into their vacation; the people almost entirely at play or leisure. The film is alternately silly and banal, with there being only the tiniest hints of real ‘drama’...a child crying because a hen bit him, two old men complaining about how hard it is to play their instruments with their joints, and the two intoxicated friends quietly slipping about the little country house at night to listen to everyone’s snores.</span><br /><br /><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTjmg3vjAV4S2TsPFfy8OlseOW5FEHK7NYxOv9M-sxeExzfXcA1GaUu9yYPUONpwgMhtDAILVZiYUtPIfugdGZy2d0XYgK83J4RkhRg6tYZm8Pdu_1zGL3gkMiW_fHzkZW-Oo-vEX5xFU/s1600-h/Intimate+Lighting+2.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 238px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTjmg3vjAV4S2TsPFfy8OlseOW5FEHK7NYxOv9M-sxeExzfXcA1GaUu9yYPUONpwgMhtDAILVZiYUtPIfugdGZy2d0XYgK83J4RkhRg6tYZm8Pdu_1zGL3gkMiW_fHzkZW-Oo-vEX5xFU/s320/Intimate+Lighting+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434193743953473394" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">And that’s really where the magic of this film is. While a cursory viewing to the film may prove to be a rather dull experience to a less observant viewer, a more observant viewing (and/or further viewings) reveals a sublime, gentle wit to those observations made by the film, and a cast of characters which; though so lightly presented, are nevertheless incredibly real and whole, and memorable. Again, like Konkurs, the film is played out in an utterly naturalist style; almost documentary, though its gentleness and quiet delivery definitely separate it from the more chaotic film I keep comparing it too. Even if you don’t quite get it; and on my first viewing I certainly didn’t, it has an effortless charm to it. And on repeat viewings, it gets exponentially better and more pleasing. Absurdity abounds in this film’s gentle nature, and there are so many little moments that will either leave you smiling or outright laughing. The character I most remember from the film is Steppa; the girlfriend of the guest. While much of the film is spent examining the little absurdities of the other adults, she brings a childlike tone into the film; almost a fable quality as she plays endearingly with animals and children and, most notably, bursts into uncontrollable laughter after an admittedly hilarious (but not for the others!) food mishap. She never breaks the film’s natural tone, however.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Intimate Lighting is a poetic film, but its poetry comes not from its visual aesthetic, but from that very naturalism I mentioned; moments of quiet observations, many of them made by Steppa as well as the camera. In the end, a bittersweet sadness underlines this tiny film...an unbearable lightness only occasionally emphasised by some of the film’s more overt ironies. Perhaps its most purely poetic scene and image; the one I remember most from the film, is the scene in which the hens have invaded the car garage, trying to find a place to lay their eggs. Furious, the husband starts the car and launches it out of the garage to knock the chickens off. The camera follows an egg; freshly laid in the chaos, as it rolls next to the body of a hen, dying as a result of the confusion. Its not really a metaphor for anything specific, perhaps, but it’s one of the most piercing moments in the film, and perhaps its most poignant. Handled quietly, delicately, simply and without moralization, like the rest of the film. Intimate Lighting is a true gem.</span><br /><br /><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-HXQb_O21XiXyIp3DM8P5kVmwtFXRfWPc7QNdLccJUPH86ZRwgjxL1wW6OMT4NN3BG4YK5482uNCkljqmkVV3qawVP61UNFDstCVinXF4qOYyBAyDkTMjEpNwWIWsOJNU52-Vp00157I/s1600-h/Intimate+Lighting+3.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 242px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-HXQb_O21XiXyIp3DM8P5kVmwtFXRfWPc7QNdLccJUPH86ZRwgjxL1wW6OMT4NN3BG4YK5482uNCkljqmkVV3qawVP61UNFDstCVinXF4qOYyBAyDkTMjEpNwWIWsOJNU52-Vp00157I/s320/Intimate+Lighting+3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434193745010398210" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;">95 / 100</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">This film isn’t available to own in the USA yet, but in the UK, Second Run DVD has once again pulled through. While this simple black and white film transfer has some fluctuation in the image, overall its very sharp and faithful to the film’s low budget roots, and in much better shape than their disc of Milos Forman’s Konkurs. There is also a nice booklet with a good essay on the film, and a 20 minute interview with the director. I’d like to see this film get a US release; preferably by Criterion, but I can’t see what they’d add to it, aside from a somwhat better transfer and maybe the short film A Boring Afternoon, which Passer made one year prior to this. It’s a film that speaks for itself. For now, this great disc is worth a purchase. I would also like to see Passer’s American film, Cutter’s Way, and the TV film Stalin starring Robert Duvall.</span>Amokhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10328999285363705056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1095388739251099463.post-44321473817462671592010-02-03T13:47:00.002-06:002010-02-03T13:54:09.022-06:00Valerie and Her Week of Wonders - Film Review<span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:78%;" >directed by Jamoril Jires, 1970<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixmOk6jgvFLWPFpeeDkVL_LNuvYFWHAvRU11ATtwBOVLBRoa1ivNhw30VOb0ATP0c3jW2h8zrPFntx0uCmOL-WjmA8n3duXLWUy2anpnfa67yIhEuJT6iydc9CRVlELO0lQPDAOHc02hY/s1600-h/Valerie+1.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixmOk6jgvFLWPFpeeDkVL_LNuvYFWHAvRU11ATtwBOVLBRoa1ivNhw30VOb0ATP0c3jW2h8zrPFntx0uCmOL-WjmA8n3duXLWUy2anpnfa67yIhEuJT6iydc9CRVlELO0lQPDAOHc02hY/s320/Valerie+1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434107624680152306" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family: arial;"><br />Czech cinema of the 60s and early 70s experienced, like much of the world, a kind of renaissance in film. What makes Czech cinema unique, when compared to French or British cinema at the time (aside from the fact that practically nothing is said about Czech cinema *before* this New Wave) is just how vastly diverse the Czech cinema of the day is...and while there are some truly unusual films, I don’t think any of them are weirder than this. Describing Valerie’s ‘plot’ in the most basic terms is next to impossible, but here it goes: a young girl experiences intense symbollic daydreams; a mixture of symbollic sexual nightmares and childish fantasy, spurred by her first period and an ascension into adulthood.</span><br /> <br /> <span style="font-family: arial;">It’s a beguiling film, to say the least, from the very first innocently mischevious glance that Valerie gives the camera, and the first appearance of the Weasel emerging blood-soaked from a chicken coop with his prey in his mouth. The film consists largely of her bewildering fantasies; frenzied dreams and daydreams which not only seem to follow no logical trajectory but which blend in seamlessly with the “reality” of the film, if it can be accused of having such. Even on second viewing, its hard to make “sense” of it all...recurring characters take up new guises and situations, shifting suddenly as if by the whim of its protaganist; resulting in a film that seems composed of half-finished fragments of fantasies. Valerie is never portrayed as anything more than an archetype; that of a 13 year old girl. She’s given no deep development as a character, and the images that make up her fantasies are highly symbollic. </span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQwCufotQMUlmF88m_gcWACaN2QgDtOI5ArmUjYBNxdrTHq7E4jmOjP6Q-EGd4IXCznacoMYvrFHeu0xemWqUsWUdadiPHecLopTMk3JK6MYgSjoYUBbJD4LPSZyC21POrpSVjQH8X_1w/s1600-h/Valerie+2.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQwCufotQMUlmF88m_gcWACaN2QgDtOI5ArmUjYBNxdrTHq7E4jmOjP6Q-EGd4IXCznacoMYvrFHeu0xemWqUsWUdadiPHecLopTMk3JK6MYgSjoYUBbJD4LPSZyC21POrpSVjQH8X_1w/s320/Valerie+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434107626838511346" border="0" /></a><br /><br /> <span style="font-family: arial;">Visually, the film is a stunner. Its that rare color film which is both ravishingly beautiful; making use of an incredibly wide range of all colors, and yet whose palette is subdued. Not content to be a candy colored gothic delight; akin to what you might think of when reading Alice in Wonderland (Carol was indeed an influence on the film’s surrealist source novel), the film seems to be shrouded in a veil, rendering its images both palpable and strangely aloof. Though the film’s images suggest horror, there’s little real gore...with the closest to it being dead animals, and a glistening drop of blood or two on a daisy. Flashes of white; the principal color of a blossoming young bourgeois virgin, permeate the film as well, and Valerie is almost always in white. Much of the film is shot in natural settings or actual places, as opposed to sets (I believe), but all are imbued with a highly artificial quality. And the film's editting patterns are just as fragmented as the rest of the film; making it quite a sensual overload at times. Much of the film’s tone and surreal nature owe more to writer and designer Ester Krumbachová. She worked on two other classics of surreal Czech cinema; The Party and the Guests and Daisies (among many others; those are the two I've seen), and director Jaromil Jires and others have often said she was essential to their films' vision. He’s a significant film maker of the Czech cinema before this one, though this is his only film I’ve seen.</span><br /> <br /> <span style="font-family: arial;">But somehow, despite being a collection of ‘similar’ fragments, Valerie and Her Week of Wonders feels like a complete experience, as well as an utterly unique one. Despite the narrative incoherance of the dream images in the film, they operate with the same cast of characters who always have the same (sinister, usually) goals, and they also operate under similar themes. The villainous Weasel (Tchor); an amorphous being who takes on several roles and guises but usually appears as a white faced monster (a cross between Death from The Seventh Seal and Count Orlock from Nosferatu; truly the film’s most memorable visual figure) and her grandmother (who also takes on many forms) are authority figures; restrictive beings who form both the heart and the opposition of Valerie’s dreams, and represent social forces of sexual repression. And, conversely, sexual perversion. On the other hand, our 4th principal character is the Eagle (Orlik), is a young male her age and represents a somewhat more positive sexual existence; a friend and companion whom she often saves, and he often does the same in turn. Though even he is imbued with uneasiness.</span><br /> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOuUJVAe5my2vxqqQs-Ogja1jY_NR2GOFJ79NzumRqorpxVVIhFToBTDS3U-chbj68JPjfYacWRR8abt-v_Titp2tjxDC4Zxg22iKtSSrSxqn5sVJexFOlPqnfDID6LiQMl23pc01r_Zs/s1600-h/Valerie+3.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 262px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOuUJVAe5my2vxqqQs-Ogja1jY_NR2GOFJ79NzumRqorpxVVIhFToBTDS3U-chbj68JPjfYacWRR8abt-v_Titp2tjxDC4Zxg22iKtSSrSxqn5sVJexFOlPqnfDID6LiQMl23pc01r_Zs/s320/Valerie+3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434107630690964322" border="0" /></a><br /> <span style="font-family: arial;">The film is highly sexually charged, but there’s nothing pleasant or erotic about any of its figures and their sexual aims; ranging from normal heterosexual desire, to lesbianism to obvious predatory pedophilia. There’s no actual sex; one can only imagine Valerie doesn’t quite know what sex *is* and therefore her dreams have only suggestion. The relationship of the character’s add yet another level to the film’s already twisted sexual politics. It is suggested at many points that Orlik is Valerie’s brother, her grandmother’s intentions towards Valerie are often sexually charged, and it is often suggested that the vampiric Tchor (who takes on several roles; including a constable and a missionary, as well as an actual weasel) is both Valerie and Orlik’s father, adding a level of incestual curiosity to the film’s dreamlike structure.</span><br /> <br /> <span style="font-family: arial;">Its hard to take a middle ground on this film. Personally, I think I love it. I tend to have rather mixed feelings on intensely surrealist films; I think El Topo and Holy Mountain are great cinema but I never want to watch them again. But Valerie just works for me. It’s a thing of weird beauty; its feverish pace and story rendering it ever elusive and yet utterly transfixing, denying any sort of clear reading...and damn it all, its just a blast to watch, without a slow or dull moment. Like Shadows of Forgotten Ancestors, it has a feverish quality to it, and a visual otherworldliness. It’s a strange, twisted child fairytale, and its played out in an intoxicating, unsettling, bewildering and charming fashion. Horror buffs and lovers of weird films should run, not walk.</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />94 / 100</span></span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />Released in the UK by Second Run, one of my favorite little companies. They’ve done a stellar job with the film’s transfer, preserving the film’s original 1.33:1 aspect ratio and presenting its unique color palette quite crisply and progressively. The extras are small compared to what Criterion might do, but its one of the meatier discs for this company. We have a short interview with young Jaroslava Schallerova, the star of the film who would remain active in film during the 70s. We also have a 20 minute piece by British film scholar Michael Brooke, which is a very knowledgeable piece about the film’s place in Czech cinema, its director’s ouevre, and the film’s production as a whole. Considering the price; its usually found for lower than its measly £12.99 retail (approximately $20 US) at the time of this review, it’s a great bargain, and it would be hard for me to *not* recommend this DVD with all my heart to the adventurous movie goer. I think there is a Facets DVD in the US, and though I’ve heard its one of their few watchable discs, region free is the way to go.</span>Amokhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10328999285363705056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1095388739251099463.post-43506746170607856082010-02-02T05:39:00.003-06:002010-02-02T05:46:20.988-06:00Straw Dogs - Film Review<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5uIXUz0egA3kAZN1-eK1VmfRlMakouT21OW62rOgs3biDDCJJwQZUqxgrR3SDsi5vibvpQV9vRPJiuFKzBImgUthjaz1buQOFnZUk9B1vjl6xtX8i27OmbFFBIoEHDgSPtDOH10Tdx-0/s1600-h/Straw+Dogs+poster.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 223px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5uIXUz0egA3kAZN1-eK1VmfRlMakouT21OW62rOgs3biDDCJJwQZUqxgrR3SDsi5vibvpQV9vRPJiuFKzBImgUthjaz1buQOFnZUk9B1vjl6xtX8i27OmbFFBIoEHDgSPtDOH10Tdx-0/s320/Straw+Dogs+poster.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433609840886726114" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >directed by Sam Peckinpah, 1971</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Of all of Peckinpah’s films, this is the one I’m most familiar with, as it was my introduction to him. Indeed, I’d seen it no fewer than three times before I even saw another film by him. So this film also shaped my view of Peckinpah’s later (and earlier) works to great extent, and I’ve always held it in high esteem. Much like The Wild Bunch, Peckinpah’s first and only British made film opens with shots of children playing (over the credits, mostly), and while the shot is of a much less grueling nature (they aren’t exactly tormenting the pooch seen on screen, as they do the insects in The Wild Bunch), its nevertheless a shot laced with menace. That menace; that dread is retained throughout the film.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">The initial scenes serve to, like almost any drama, quickly set up the characters (the itinerant mathemmatician David, his wife Amy, and many of the townspeople, including an old boyfriend of hers), a subdued and muddy tone, and the air of the town itself (I don’t believe the Cornish town; which is Amy’s hometown, has been given a name). We quickly learn that David has come here because of a grant to do work, and that a couple of the townspeople he has hired to make the garage are taking their precious time. It’s a perfect introduction to this carnal film; these early scenes already underscored with a sense of violence, and of sexual threat to the sanctity of David and Amy’s marriage; which is already in dire straits. These opening scenes are writhe with all sorts of tensions, which bubble up throughout the film like the aforementioned feeling of dread.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">David is the primary focus of the film, though the viewer is always somewhat distanced from him; just enough to know that we aren’t supposed to sympathise with him, rather than observe him...though many have made the mistake of doing otherwise. David (played by Dustin Hoffman; perhaps in his best role) is a frustrated nebbish of a man, intimidated by the aggressive nature of the rural male townsfolk that he hires to work for him, and in numerous scenes he weakly tries to assert himself, or brush them off; a weak act of contrariety, as he is too puny to confront them directly (even when the men hang their cat). We also quickly begin to realize that he begins to identify with the marginalized Henry Niles; a disturbed but mostly docile looking man with a bad history (one can safely assume he’s a known pedophile, as he has his eyes on the niece of a local drunkard and this is a problem)...an identification which takes on disturbing conotations later.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Much of the film takes place inside David and Amy’s rented country house, as does much of the bubbling and brewing of the various tensions of the film. When in public, the two seem to be “going through the motions” of a socially happy marriage, but in private neither is happy with the other and scarce few moments of marital bliss can be seen. David is more interested in pursuing his work than his wife’s affections, even when she makes gestures towards the other men (though she claims to dislike their leering, she nonetheless encourages it, and constantly goads David into ‘manning up’ and standing up for himself). David’s cowardice doesn’t just exist in his own personal vacuum; she suffers from it as well, and David even seems to take a good deal of personal glee in tormenting and contradicting her (and her responses in kind seem to bewilder him); and when it comes to some of the more civilized townspeople, he’s not above bullying the local vicar when confronted with a rather weak insinuation against his occupation as a scientist. David is a very petty man.</span><br /><br /><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja1hsbL4gO7CwOrFrHbaRNY6_3_qN3fBNbRsQ1D4e_qQ70JvkD52oy8rdJ5nJ-poqQkuj7FU_VA30p9w7u1gYdEiV2QjhObK5in46SOkJORnj-mCMaG27r5plGek8qLeO-UYKiY-70Xvs/s1600-h/Straw+Dogs+Moor.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 180px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja1hsbL4gO7CwOrFrHbaRNY6_3_qN3fBNbRsQ1D4e_qQ70JvkD52oy8rdJ5nJ-poqQkuj7FU_VA30p9w7u1gYdEiV2QjhObK5in46SOkJORnj-mCMaG27r5plGek8qLeO-UYKiY-70Xvs/s320/Straw+Dogs+Moor.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433609847384494674" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">With regards to civilization, I think the film obviously makes a treatise against the pretentious veneers we have constructed about human society. The men whom David has hired to fix up his house belong in that peculiar class of rascal antagonists in Peckinpah’s films; repulsively real men whose base desires nonetheless pry a tiny semblance of some kind of twisted sympathy from the audience. And these men; men who would hang a cat for a joke (and far, far worse just because they want to), seem to exist side by side with the rest of the townspeople, laughing at the vicar’s quips at the church gathering alongside the children. Authority in this town, while certainly authoritative, is immasculated (the constable’s arm is in a sling) and treated as being essentially ineffectual; certainly given only a moderate degre of respect by the ruffians, and doing nothing but get killed when they try to stop it. The vicar in question is more worried about nuclear weapons.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Its impossible to discuss this film at all without mentioning its most infamous passage; the rape sequence, between Charlie and Amy. And its rather rightly the most remembered scene; considering Amy’s importance to the story and her reaction during the rape (which Peckinpah intercuts with images of David hunting on the moor; having been left there by the others). Most undeniable and commented on is how Amy, despite her initial struggles, begins to derive a kind of pleasure from the sequence; albeit a pleasure which is interrupted when one of Charlie’s friends forces Charlie out of the way at gun point, in order to join in. It’s one of the film’s pivotal traumas, and one of the most loaded (with regards to the psychology of the characters, and the compounded sexual politics therein) scenes in the film...as harrowing and horrifying a commentary on the baseness of human nature as can be imagined.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">A few brief mentions of the political upheavals of the early 70s also mark the film politically in its time, and David as a man who has fled any sense of moral conviction; and thus has a confused moral compass in addition to his frustration. This, and the increasingly tense circumstances, leads to the film’s finale, which is explosive to say the least. David’s decision to stand up for himself comes at the worst possible time, and for the worst possible reasons, which leads to a showdown with all four of the ‘ruffians’, and Tom the local drunk, in an effort to keep them from breaching “his” house. This last sequence; which my brother described as “a grown up Home Alone from Hell”, is a frenzy of violence, intimidation, and fear. Its in this scene that every thread in the film is tied up; not just in a narrative sense but in a blistery, infernal sense. He succeeds in keeping them out; in defending his territory, but in doing so, destroys himself and Amy (who may be the film’s only sympathetic character; and the victim of its antagonists), and the only reward he has is the safe passage of the pedophile killer, a pair of broken glasses, a bevy of corpses in and around his house, and precious few loose ends.</span><br /><br /><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-4BKmkPs_p9LtI_2ilB9jgSl03ThLJl3P4hzuTHAXLVBiUIh6vyY2nuqfVxTUyGV_Ucor3T1dF2OHM0Jl1lY37ZCYvCvZa63JljnjyjlW60XLIpWGmt8WfxMcxH_W5twl7EmhMYPjnIw/s1600-h/Straw+Dogs+Hoffman+Face.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-4BKmkPs_p9LtI_2ilB9jgSl03ThLJl3P4hzuTHAXLVBiUIh6vyY2nuqfVxTUyGV_Ucor3T1dF2OHM0Jl1lY37ZCYvCvZa63JljnjyjlW60XLIpWGmt8WfxMcxH_W5twl7EmhMYPjnIw/s320/Straw+Dogs+Hoffman+Face.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433609851154484962" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">No matter how you look at Straw Dogs, it’s a greatly effective movie. The way the tension builds up; between the characters and the scenes, is faultlessly seething, and there’s hardly an image, a glance, gesture, or shot in the film that exists for no or only one reason. Scenes in the bar, on the road and at the church, briskly hint and reveal the internal strife of the town; tension mounting upon each and every scene, with each and every level of information.. I really am at a pains to explain why the film has such a bad reputation by many. Some have purported that the film is a celebration of American machismo; some have even called it a fascist film, but its final scenes are imbued with such a terrible, unflattering and hopeless aura that its hard to imagine why one would think Peckinpah relishes in this idiotic carnage. If the film can be criticized for anything, it would be for being too bleak; too unnerving and having very little good to say about the human condition. I can’t imagine what that would look like in this film. If Straw Dogs is a tale of David’s rise to manhood, then what is it saying about being a man?</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><b style="font-family: arial;">93 / 100</b></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Out of print on DVD now, though a limited edition release from The Criterion Collection in the states is the one I own. Its probably the best Peckinpah DVD produced. Not to insult Nick Redman, Paul Seydor, Garner Simmons and David Weddle, but they are absolutely no match for the smooth, thoughtful delivery of Stephen freaking Prince, who gives commentary. There is also a small booklet, and on the second disc, there’s an 82 minute documentary on Peckinpah entitled Man of Iron (essential viewing), some video interviews and on-set stuff, and my favorite of all, an audio recording of Peckinpah responding to his critics. Its an essential purchase. Its not terribly expensive on Amazon.com, but with the MGM disc out of print and Criterion having entered a deal with MGM, I wouldn’t be surprised if a reprint and Blu-ray were announced.</span>Amokhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10328999285363705056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1095388739251099463.post-13410610617907860272010-02-01T19:17:00.004-06:002010-02-01T19:23:49.218-06:00Shadows of Forgotten Ancestors - Film Impressions<a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTnANtMXD6oqLqV8rmmBC9WYrqIkmR9AfS5wb2zz4uEMId24jjj6NtF9405-spVqyJqa9AI7gwJKVhqPnWfXXZGcKKjM3l4eUYAxPahz23tCTFmmiZmGAGGMcH9IO-TiqHYZ2gX72i3lE/s1600-h/Shadows+of+Forgotten+Ancestors+2.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 228px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTnANtMXD6oqLqV8rmmBC9WYrqIkmR9AfS5wb2zz4uEMId24jjj6NtF9405-spVqyJqa9AI7gwJKVhqPnWfXXZGcKKjM3l4eUYAxPahz23tCTFmmiZmGAGGMcH9IO-TiqHYZ2gX72i3lE/s320/Shadows+of+Forgotten+Ancestors+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433450037674685138" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:78%;" ><span style="font-family:arial;">director Sergei Paradjanov, 1964</span></span><b style="font-family: arial;"><br /><br /></b><span style="font-family:arial;">This is going to be a short review, because describing this film is a rather futile gesture. Besides Paradjanov’s other films, there’s nothing out there that is quite like Shadows of Forgotten Ancestors. Right from its opening shot; a travel</span><span style="font-family:arial;">ling shot in the snow as a boy calls for his brother, the view</span><span style="font-family:arial;">er is subject to an incomparably feverish tone. The film is, ostensibly, a folk tale or a fairy tale; a story of star-crossed lovers in the Ukraine struggling against their families and the very forces of life itself...though its visualization (and “auralisation”?) of the Hutsul people of Carpathiais not only believably textured, but rendered with such vividness and vitality, imbuing the tough lives of these people; people to whom death comes often, with unparalleled beauty.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">“Vivid” fails to describe this film. Shot almost completely in the Carpathian mountains, it depicts a simple people; sheepherders and woodsmen ekeing out a meager living in conditions so timeless </span><span style="font-family:arial;">yet ancient t</span><span style="font-family:arial;">hat the sudden appearance of muskets, about halfway into the film, is the only thing to clue us in to its occurrence some time in the last thousand years. It’s a simple story and there are no real thrills, but Paradjanov’s camera seems to be a soaring eagle for most of the film. The eye of the hand-held camera is constantly flying, pulsing, and wandering; constantly from one image to the next either by motion or by montage, an</span><span style="font-family:arial;">d its still vibrant and seething when it isn’t...always celebrating life and existence, making this ancient fable feel not only timeless, but making the film itself feel ahead of our (not its, but our own) time. The film has some of the most frenzies montage in cinema, and often times we see fleeting images of trees or mountains in place of the faces of those who are speaking.</span><br /><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzuf77iK8ga7dcq0tvesWQiEYBUEcFu8iCvjkKyc8hAKIBPfZi31TUjOMn798dMUCkFOMwFoxrIl92R7laGvfYNtTHrfOCwPO3wNnXEV7xzwagaB5Pum3-RqfEFjn6UHfT4OByOyuYxIY/s1600-h/Shadows+of+Forgotten+Ancestors.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 238px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzuf77iK8ga7dcq0tvesWQiEYBUEcFu8iCvjkKyc8hAKIBPfZi31TUjOMn798dMUCkFOMwFoxrIl92R7laGvfYNtTHrfOCwPO3wNnXEV7xzwagaB5Pum3-RqfEFjn6UHfT4OByOyuYxIY/s320/Shadows+of+Forgotten+Ancestors.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433450048104211298" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Paradjanov isn’t content to give us mere exotica; it’s a film of flesh and earth and boundless energy, and use of special effects is almost entirely limited to blazes of stylized colour done in camera. When it comes to the use of color in the film, using superlatives is an equally impotent gesture. Aside from making up the faces of the actors and perhaps an embellishment of costume colors (and there are periods where the people in the film put on celebratory costumes), all of the film’s vibrant images are taken directly and without manipulation from the bosom of nature. From the winter seasons, to the gorgeous spring, to the many embodiments of fire, water, the earth and the wind. Paradjanov was notably influenced by Andrei Tarkovsky (who had only made one feature at this time; so he was really influenced by Ivan’s Childhood); but the many shots of rain or water drenching the hair of the characters are among the only real visible links. It’s a film of its own power, and the passion and pain of Ivanko and Marichka seem to be bleeding right into the frame.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Along with Paradjanov’s three other features, there are precious fews films in cinema that can boast . Of course, there are films that have tried...Yeelen has a similarly otherworldly yet earthy spirit, and the Czech film Valerie and Her Week of Wonders boasts exquisite color and a similarly feverish style. Marketa Lazarova, a personal favorite, is similarly stylized; though its narrative far more complex. The Iranian film Gabbeh by Mohsen Makhmalbaf is notedly influenced by it, and is an admirable emulation of the film; though Makmmahlbaf’s film is (admirably) cultural and political in nature. Of course, some of Michael Powell’s films have moments of breathtaking lushness that match it, and I’m sure Werner Herzog must have been inspired, in part, by similar muses. But Shadows of Forgotten Ancestors is, from start to finish, a matchless feast for the visual senses; a narrative film that feels completely unbound to the chains of narrative cinema, and one of a handful of films that I would call absolutely perfect. It is not so much for one seeking a puzzle or a work of intellectual rigot, but for people who like explosions. Not of dynamite or nuclear weapons but of primary colors, of life, of nature.</span><br /><br /><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;">100</span></span><br /><br /><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghz7NxU3npp7vRAw46uGP7MSgoJw_MUqAQNE17_-QRdHkjiH40qqFzpQ4CeB_Up7VhvyJTzaPsgu7oPWXd9rCupE6iaMJclU4IWKXywNa2mjPRwupizdYOST3BNEyj5BEq4vOcRA8w2CI/s1600-h/Shadows+of+Forgotten+Ancestors+3.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 246px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghz7NxU3npp7vRAw46uGP7MSgoJw_MUqAQNE17_-QRdHkjiH40qqFzpQ4CeB_Up7VhvyJTzaPsgu7oPWXd9rCupE6iaMJclU4IWKXywNa2mjPRwupizdYOST3BNEyj5BEq4vOcRA8w2CI/s320/Shadows+of+Forgotten+Ancestors+3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433450048800934946" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Available on DVD from Kino in the states. Unfortunately, the disc is non-progressive, and taken from an unconverted PAL source. When you get past those limitations, it’s a gorgeous presentation of the film. The extras on the disc include a featurette entitled “Songs”, which I really don’t remember, and an awkward but illuminating documentary on the relationship between Tarkovsky and Paradjanov. Limitations aside, its an essential purchase for now. A Blu-ray would be sublime; I can think of few films which would benefit more.</span>Amokhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10328999285363705056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1095388739251099463.post-52882846551924780842010-01-30T19:40:00.003-06:002010-01-30T19:48:02.837-06:00Uzak - Film Impression<span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size:78%;">directed by Niri Bilge Ceylan, 2002</span></span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu39GhIsHAWwoeUYqmrn8NGYEDxXio1YYxpNi5JPQRBwbRh7tugFaC_fxWdNfrdgsDUHjhrM8RXTA2Nehwu9mecGAsjqiTy3mrOjVpg28DDkj-4PcJmLzQJVRQMuklrX1vzS6FBXZcuwU/s1600-h/uzak+poster.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 219px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu39GhIsHAWwoeUYqmrn8NGYEDxXio1YYxpNi5JPQRBwbRh7tugFaC_fxWdNfrdgsDUHjhrM8RXTA2Nehwu9mecGAsjqiTy3mrOjVpg28DDkj-4PcJmLzQJVRQMuklrX1vzS6FBXZcuwU/s320/uzak+poster.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5432713614589346418" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /><br />Uzak, set in cold and wintry Istanbul in the early parts of the last decade, was lauded with numerous awards upon its international release. It wasn’t the director’s first acclaimed film, either, but the response to Uzak was quite a different story, and though it hasn’t exactly gained anything near mainstream appeal among film goers (like In the Mood for Love, Diving Bell and the Butterfly, or what have you), its success is assured, as is its status as a modern masterpiece. The first time I saw it, it left me embarassingly clueless. On second viewing, I think I have a better grasp of what it is. Of course, its basic story is a simple one. A youth named Yusuf, having lost his village job due to the recession, comes to Istanbul to find work, and live with his older cousin Mahmut, who has a seemingly secure job as a photographer. Not a whole lot happens in the film...we see Yusuf looking for a job, we watch Mahmut as he watches TV (which is most of what he does), or take care of his ailing mother at the hospital. At one point, Yusuf and Mahmut have a fight over a missing watch. Eventually, Yusuf leaves. The end.</span><br /> <br /> <span style="font-family: arial;">Many of the film’s detractors; who have often compared the film unfavorably to Antonioni and Tarkovsky, have criticized it for being an overly simple and empty film. Such criticisms aren’t entirely unjustified, because Tarkovsky is even mentioned thrice; once by name, and twice when Mahmut watches Mirror and Stalker on his television. Furthermore, Uzak isn’t exactly audience friendly, and is perhaps even less ‘eventful’ than anything by either director. There’s no dialogue in the film for the first ten minutes, and very little human contact (direct or indirect)...the first words heard are that of Mahmut’s mother on the phone, an answering machine, with him listening to it dispassionately.</span><br /> <br /> <span style="font-family: arial;">That said, its an unfair criticism, and very much untrue. In my opinion, its kind of annoying to have Tarkovsky or Antonioni thrown around every time someone makes a slow movie, and I can’t help but wonder if those critics even began to understand this film; much less the work of the directors they compare it to. Neither Tarkovsky or Antonioni (to my knowledge) used such a naturally drained color palette for their films; primary colors show up only sparingly, and its even rarer to see much besides snow and city; people standing out amid the harsh white environs, when the film ventures outside the apartment...though there are fleeting vistas to be seen at times. The film is also, despite its slow manner, neither poetic or metaphorical like those other guys, and lacks their rigor. Though events are depicted sparsely in the film, what the film does show speaks volumes about modern life; Mahmut’s in particular, and the bleak wintry scenery of Istanbul is a perfectly dreary backdrop. And the film’s title, which means “distant” in Turkish, obviously refers to the distance between individuals, and it’s the primary theme of this film.</span><br /> <br /> <span style="font-family: arial;">Mahmut is consistently presented as an inert individual...complaining about the lack of good programming on television, yet constantly watching it, his exploits in Tarkovskyland often interrupted with boredom, and more often than not he’s watching pornography on that tube than art films. His relationships with people are just as unfulfilling as his relationships with television, and though he’s not a complete introvert, its easy to see why he is divorced to his wife, and he is rarely friendly to others around him. The film seems to revolve around the plight of his soul; his inertia, his faded humanity and failure as a man. For film goers especially, an observation of this man’s behavior is very revealing...watching him switch the channels vacuously from Stalker to pornography; while not something I’ve indulged in, its impossible to not think of our own movie watching habits. That Ceylan uses Tarkovsky; a director he is notably an admirer of, to show this is beyond admirable.</span><br /> <br /> <span style="font-family: arial;">And the arrival of Yusuf; by far a more ‘alive’ individual, causes a rupture in his enclosed life. When Yusuf isn’t out and about looking for work (the film takes great pains to capture not only his search for work, but the interim, as he observes the world around him; ironically more aware of things than his photographer uncle), his presence disrupts the usual mechanical procedures that makes up Mahmut’s life. Mahmut is frustrated by him, of course, but I also think he’s shamed to jealousy by his presence; the presence of someone so much more alive than him. One of the pivotal moments in the movie is when he, having lost his silver watch, initially blames Yussef...but when he finds the watch, he keeps that a secret, as a sort of emotional blackmail. Numerous such private moments make up the bulk of this movie.</span><br /> <br /> <span style="font-family: arial;">The film observes both men quietly, capturing a sense of their everyday lives and personalities, but the film has an incredible natural sense to it; something missing from the Antonioni or Tarkovsky, and at times it feels more akin to another great modern film maker, Abbas Kiarostami...though comparisons fail to capture what makes this film, in my opinion, a truly great work. Its realism; not just considering the way the film observes the passage of time but the way the actors perform; subtlety to the Nth degree all around. I was particularly taken by Muzaffer Özdemir, who plays Mahmut...he absolutely embodies the character, right down to his facial gestures. The result is a brilliantly ambiguous film; right up to its quiet and perfect ending, which places Mahmut’s fate in his own hands; much like the end of Gopalakrishnan’s The Rat Trap, though this film has taken an approach that requires even more of the viewer. I look forward to seeing more of Ceylan’s films; especially since almost all of them differ from this one.</span><br /> <br /> <span style="font-family: arial;font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;">94 / 100</span></span><br /> <br /> <span style="font-family: arial;">A DVD of this film had been available in the states, courtesy of New Yorker Video. The company is defunct, however, and this film is out of print until further notice. I own the Artificial Eye DVD from the UK, and though its not exactly a perfect transfer, it looks pretty darn good. There are some nice extras on this little disc, as well...an English language interview with the director, the director’s first film (a short entitled Koza; a surreal film where both Tarkovsky’s influence and Ceylan’s occupation as a photographer are far more noticable), and some behind-the-scenes footage. I hope that somebody is able to produce a higher quality edition of the film in the states; preferably Blu-ray and preferably Criterion, but for now the Artificial Eye disc is more than a worthy purchase, and can be had quite cheaply. Do it.</span>Amokhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10328999285363705056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1095388739251099463.post-76677954429305609872010-01-29T17:37:00.003-06:002010-01-29T17:41:10.795-06:00Ballad of Cable Hogue - Film Review<span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">directed by Sam Peckinpah, 1970</span></span><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv5fBBIBWOOPWgGkzytsGjaIneFNJ2dB0mqaO9FaTpclj3ndv29RFAJKS1_7V1eS7Q0Nv8qmJCZ-Am9J9CG6BNBwmXqQpp84CWHSmk5ju7G1so8D73YNRQD2Qc5MehMxIxxWVBaWaz6x4/s1600-h/Cable+Hogue.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv5fBBIBWOOPWgGkzytsGjaIneFNJ2dB0mqaO9FaTpclj3ndv29RFAJKS1_7V1eS7Q0Nv8qmJCZ-Am9J9CG6BNBwmXqQpp84CWHSmk5ju7G1so8D73YNRQD2Qc5MehMxIxxWVBaWaz6x4/s320/Cable+Hogue.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5432310585123071442" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> Considering what one usually thinks of in being ass</span><span style="font-family: arial;">ociated with Sam Peckinpah, Cable Hogue is perhaps the oddest film of his career. A director primarily known for violence; and with The Wild B</span><span style="font-family: arial;">unch still fresh on audience’s minds at the time, this film represents almost a complete 180 in tone from almost every other film he’s made, aiming for (to paraphrase that Monty Python sketch) the calmer, more lyrical waters of folklore...though with the ruggedness of the world and the mind remaining ever present. Just look at the way in which Peckinpah shows Hogue’s mind wandering between Hildy’s breasts and the business at hand; a moment of lust treated with such affection on their first encounter. It’s a far different use of Peckinpah’s signature montage than in prior films. Of course, Hildy is a prostitute, and equally “of course”, she is probably the strongest female character in the Peckinpah canon, probably the best lady performance in them, and just maybe the ladiest damn lady ever. </span><br /> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1wm7ndAxnzSp1S-Z8Sy-X8f6A5VKvQhnLYwu4114nLs6vI9y4AuJNCHHzRVAyUR481Lf4VdwCOt5tDIGAxeJmWkop5A2nfdEMayYMhZhzj5qQYfVTw-Vb2iwrxn6M72_EAmYrjPylVS4/s1600-h/Cable+Hogue+2.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 180px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1wm7ndAxnzSp1S-Z8Sy-X8f6A5VKvQhnLYwu4114nLs6vI9y4AuJNCHHzRVAyUR481Lf4VdwCOt5tDIGAxeJmWkop5A2nfdEMayYMhZhzj5qQYfVTw-Vb2iwrxn6M72_EAmYrjPylVS4/s320/Cable+Hogue+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5432310594666809010" border="0" /></a><br /> <span style="font-family: arial;">This is among many of the film’s great contrasts. Peckinpah’s films are loaded with ideas and characters whose components and attitudes; and audience expectations thereof, clash. This one is no different, but the result of Cable Hogue’s twists is a kind of alternative folktale; albeit a lighthearted one, which is really what makes the film so unique for Peckinpah. The film has the air of a tall tale to it, but the way so many of its characters wind up contradicting first impressions; and indeed grow, is special, and of course it’s the kind of folk tale meant for adults. It’s a western film for sure, but few of the usual ‘action’ pleasures we asociate with the genre are indulged in.</span><br /> <br /> <span style="font-family: arial;">The film’s ability to see Cable, Hildy and Joshua so fully, and love them regardless of their more obvious shortcomings (perhaps best expressed in each of their theme songs; songs which I feel perfectly capture their individual spirits and give the film a quality that is both dated yet ageless) that makes it such a strong film even to this day, despite ‘indulging’ in a lot of things that are particular to late 60s and early 70s popular films. Its a film of far greater passion and light pathos than most of its contemporaries, especially Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, a film I’ve always found grating. Your mileage may vary, of course, but I think its wonderful that the film gives such unconditional affection to Joshua, our itinerant rascal preacher, even as he seduces a grieving woman (Peckinpah probably never loved a psychotic rascal more than Joshua). </span><br /> <br /> <span style="font-family: arial;">And of course how it so lovingly hangs onto his lengthy and beautifully honest sermon at the end of the film. Its that honesty that really does it. There’s no glitz or glamour at all to the film, and the characters are constantly dirty and smelly, covered in dust, glugging down the same ochre liquor, sleeping in stained mattresses, watering their mules and eating rattlesnakes and jackrabbits; all of which is photographed with dirty splendor. The theme songs used for eah of the three characters; anachronistic as they are, perfectly . Hogue’s theme is first given over a wonderful four-split screen opening credits; and its nakedly, optimistic. , Joshua actually sings his tune at one point; a perfectly whistful ballad for the wanderer. Hogue joins Hildy in singing hers. All of them are so much made of elemental things...time, butterflies, sunflowers, and the sunrise. Frankly, Butterfly Mornings and Wildflower Afternoons is my favorite...it makes me think of pancakes.</span><br /> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQrPi1tfqWf7CHY8Ql7P0CEdwx1rJraUgaphYnUGt248v-8d7qT4ZaB3nQgoIZ2PS8OnNqkS9Ohb_Tb9laRb0QaTezPGHKdbgQuEmBjpl3Cv-F5Bgr1700EHgscakx-lMSOPPi5fh0hHY/s1600-h/Ballad+of+Cable+Hogue+Japan.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 298px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQrPi1tfqWf7CHY8Ql7P0CEdwx1rJraUgaphYnUGt248v-8d7qT4ZaB3nQgoIZ2PS8OnNqkS9Ohb_Tb9laRb0QaTezPGHKdbgQuEmBjpl3Cv-F5Bgr1700EHgscakx-lMSOPPi5fh0hHY/s320/Ballad+of+Cable+Hogue+Japan.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5432310590746039506" border="0" /></a><br /> <span style="font-family: arial;">The film’s performances certainly help this honesty...Jason Robards, in particular, embodies the desert sage of the film’s title so perfectly, that its hard to imagine him as anything else. David Warner’s performance as the Reverend Joshua Sloane is remarkable. One review mentioned this, and I can’t help but repeat it, but his Bible quoting love machine character relishes every spoken word of the good book like a Shakespearean actor. To say nothing of the rest of the cast. And then there’s Stellla Stevens...who I’ve already said a word or two about. The supporting cast is equally blessed...Slim Pickens is underused if anything; some of the film’s great belly laughs come from his various exchanges with passengers and Cable Hogue. And, of course, L..Q. Jones and Strother Martin as Hogue’s nemeses are wonderful and rich. Peckinpah obviously had a way with actors all his own.</span><br /> <br /> <span style="font-family: arial;">Like everything else in the film, its primary themes are handled so lightly that its hard to feel the weight of them...and its one of the few things that really seem to drag the film down a bit for me; only just a bit. I guess that the film’s primary theme would indeed be the encroachment of technology...though, if you’re so caught up in enjoying the film’s numerous pleasures, the introduction of this theme (nigh at the end) and the narrative disruption it offers, will likely catch you by surprise. To be completely honest, I still don’t know what I feel about this ending, though its implications are pretty obvious. And still, leave it to this film to have one of its most memorable and resonant moments in such a confounding, perhaps convoluted conclusion.</span><br /> <br /> <span style="font-family: arial;">Flaws aside (frankly, its hard to find any, and I can only say that I don’t consider it a masterpiece because I feel bad about tossing the term around), I have to say that this is, for me, that rarest of things: a wholly American fable that that dispenses sentimentality in favor of genuine sentiment (something nearly impossible to find after the 40s, let alone the early 70s), moralizing and “religion” in favor of genuine amity and, well, a more human kind of faith. It’s a wonderful ballad of saints, sinners, rascals and ladies, a film whose strengths more than make up for its discrepancies. I wouldn’t say this is one of Peckinpah’s masterpieces, but it’s the kind of movie you might love a little anyway. It was Peckinpah’s personal favorite.</span><br /> <br /> <span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-weight: bold;">88 / 100</span></span><br /> <br /> <span style="font-family: arial;">Like Ride the High Country, t</span><span style="font-family: arial;">his film is available individually, or as part of Warner’s Peckinpag Legendary Westerns collection. A fine transfer, and extras, though I haven’t bitten into them for ages.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span></span>Amokhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10328999285363705056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1095388739251099463.post-13338563304695470532010-01-29T13:12:00.004-06:002010-01-29T13:18:22.425-06:00The Citadel - Film Impressions<span style="font-style: italic;font-size:78%;" ><span style="font-family:arial;">directed by King Vidor, 1938</span></span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivHm0poJ7l0LL8Dw59H32KMho9PK3-fRiq9PKQz2PjB6-Iv_MR1pzf5UzKxEYgCpOzpSlF2nB-U6FO7CousjhX-6dMoE_zfcUr7w6UhXWumn79UBD02Ve8RpMq9FzAmJ6PWalP58din8U/s1600-h/Citadel.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 248px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivHm0poJ7l0LL8Dw59H32KMho9PK3-fRiq9PKQz2PjB6-Iv_MR1pzf5UzKxEYgCpOzpSlF2nB-U6FO7CousjhX-6dMoE_zfcUr7w6UhXWumn79UBD02Ve8RpMq9FzAmJ6PWalP58din8U/s320/Citadel.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5432242269255811698" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">This is</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> probably not the best place to start with King Vidor; but start here I did. Vidor is, hands down, recognized most as the director of two of the America</span><span style="font-family:arial;">n si</span><span style="font-family:arial;">lent screen’s most enduring classics: The Big Parade and The Crowd, among a host o</span><span style="font-family:arial;">f other silent and talking films, including an </span><span style="font-family:arial;">adaptation of War and Peace, an adaptation of Ayn Rand, and num</span><span style="font-family:arial;">erous Depression dramas. The Citadel isn’t one of his most obscure films, but it is far from one of his most recognizable masterworks. Nevertheless, if its any indication of his talents, I believe I can dig him.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I’m going to say one thing before I continue: Rosalind Russell looks so much like Setsuko Hara in this film. Its absolutely uncanny, and it took me a little while to get a grip on myself and get over this. That said, as for the film itself. The Citadel is a very straight British dramatic film, detailing the exploits of an idealistic young doctor named Andrew Manson as he, constantly battling prejudices, superstition, apathy and his own human shortcomings, as he moves from the coal minds of Wales, to London. Narratively speaking, its nothing one hasn’t seen before, is perfectly predictable, and for the most part well within the expectations one has of classic Hollywood.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">But the film excels, nonetheless, most assuredly due to two or three things: first of all, the production values are sterling. Though one usually thinks of MGM-produced films (which this is) in terms of glitz and glamor, whatever money was spent on the sets of The Citadel obviously went to making it look very convincing and authentic, and the production never calls attention to itself in either the direction of artifice or blandness. This extends beyond the sets; especially for a 1930s film, its extras, wardrobe and use of location work perfectly. Granted, for high level British productions of the time, this may well be the norm, but I have little experience with those. Anyway, the integrity of the film’s milieu is beyond question, and it never quite looks or feels ‘Hollywood’ the way, say, Keys to the Kingdom did; and that film was mostly set outdoors, while this one is set indoors.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">A good deal of that unique look must be attributed to Vidor, and the film’s single minded certainty reflects such a strong hand. No matter how predictable its plot, the story always rings true, and the performances are sublimely, suitably understated. One scene in particular had a very palpable weight to it: the scene where the good doctor, refusing to give up on the apparent failure of his first attempt at delivering a baby, returns to the assumed dead child and resuscitates it. It’s a harrowing, even grueling moment...probably the least ‘Hollywood’ shot in the film is a particularly unnerving (and frankly photographed) shot of the still child itself. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">This level of dramatic weight is upheld throughout the entire film, and a natural authenticity underlines its drama, which is exceedingly important if you’re telling a story that deals with issues that are very real. The Citadel attacks the nature of corruption in the medical profession, and ardently argues the importance of personal responsibility, altruism, and friendship in terms of great clarity and, unlike similar films (mainly Kurosawa’s Red Board; a film I still admire), never drags or resorts to senationalism. Its that rare thing for a film of the 1930s...a serious drama about serious things that never shifts to melodrama even in its darkest hours. Its an utterly, profoundly solid and unpretentious film, and like I said earlier, if this film is reflective of the rest of Vidor’s filmography, then I can’t see more of them soon enough.</span><br /><br /><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;">87 / 100</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">This is yet another film in Warners’ Archive series, unfortunately. I believe the transfer is progressive on this disc, and the print is in very good shape.</span>Amokhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10328999285363705056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1095388739251099463.post-77865627406593425762010-01-28T19:30:00.004-06:002010-01-28T19:38:19.451-06:00Three Comrades - Film Impressions<span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >directed by Frank Borzage, 1938</span></span><br /><br /><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-CGNMLs8bKnOOopweSVbqzwjJL8Dk3ZYap6uOOwUxkV8Na-Bj_uZDPYgdZPwwhVEtGE6K2vtgD7Kueoo210nXyBbRwIdEgWlBusTcR8zoo0D8uLnNTRcIxe46fLVQY8hRoPADpK_XNjQ/s1600-h/Three+Comrades+Title+Still.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-CGNMLs8bKnOOopweSVbqzwjJL8Dk3ZYap6uOOwUxkV8Na-Bj_uZDPYgdZPwwhVEtGE6K2vtgD7Kueoo210nXyBbRwIdEgWlBusTcR8zoo0D8uLnNTRcIxe46fLVQY8hRoPADpK_XNjQ/s320/Three+Comrades+Title+Still.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5431968331552031858" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">I absolutely adore the four silent films of Frank Borzage’s that I’ve seen: Lazybones, Seventh Heaven, Street Angel, and especially Lucky Star. Though I’m obviously missing *several* key films (Lonesome, The Wind, Greed, anything by Vidor or von Sternberg...so on), to me they represent a zenith of A</span><span style="font-family:arial;">merican silent film, and apart from that, the latter three are perhaps the greatest romantic ‘trilogy’ in film. I’ve only seen four, but I’ve been none too keen on Borzage’s sound films...Bad Girl and After Tomorrow were interesting, but no masterpieces. I’ve said my piece on They Had to See Paris in my Ruggles of Red Gap review, and Song O’ My Heart was even worse. So I had to say I entered this film with some trepidation. Ultimately, to be rewarded, though this film is not quite on their level still.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Three Comrades is a melodrama that takes place after the first World War, and in Germany...and though there are hints of it, this Germany is far from the romanticized countries of Italy or France presented in</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> Street Angel and Seventh Heaven, respectively. And the three comrades in question are German war vets; bosom buddies through and through, and bosom buddies seem to be a requirement for surviving with sanity before the rise of the Nazis. But the film doesn’t seem to be so much about these three buddies, as it does the burgeoning love between Erich (played by Robert Taylor) and Pat (Margaret Sullivan, in her second of three Borzage films)...both of which are the best thing to happen to the other. But can one really find happiness in the ruins of postwar Germany?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">The film is legendary for being one of the only screen credits of F. Scott Fitzgerald, and its also known that producer Joseph L. Mankiewicz tampered with the film...and while I can’t say much about Fitzgerald or Mankiewicz’s talents (being unfamiliar with them, personally), its obvious to me that the film defin</span><span style="font-family:arial;">itely suffers from a sort of schizophrenia. For one, Robert Taylor doesn’t really seem to work...in fact, of the three comrades, only Franchot Tone has any real chemistry with the story and Sullivan’s character; and he unfortunately isn’t the leading man. The film’s story constantly switches between its three comrades and the romantic element, and in the end I don’t feel the film was very successful</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> in coalescing these strands into a proper story. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">And to be fair, sometimes through its convoluted and unrequited themes, there is more than a semblance of their weight. The film is set in the early 1920s, but being released in 1938, the audience knew very clearly what awaited Germany in most of the next two decades, and the film only needs to briefly allude to the shadows of the future for poignant effect; and when its more than allusion, its at least obvious what the audience should be feeling. So, unlike Major Dundee, its at least coherant in this regard. It just doesn't quite follow through as much as it should.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">What makes this film ultimately so rewarding is the pairing of Borzage and Sullivan. Borzage excelled at elevating earthly love to divine heights, and the scenes between Taylor and Sullivan have much of that same “stuff” that made the sequences shared by Gaynor and Farrell in their trilogy so exquisite. As with </span><span style="font-family:arial;">those other films, there’s a deeply romantic, almost violent tenderness that punctuates the ups and downs of this star-crossed duo, and thankfully much of this passionate interplay between the two lovers bleeds into the film’s later scenes and neatly covers up many of the film’s more glaring flaws. And then there’s Sullivan...of all of the people we see on screen, she’s the one who shines. It’s a peculiar kind of radiance; one could compare it to that of the cold light of a dying star if one felt poetic. If one wants to be less poetic, one could say she more than makes up for anybody’s lack of chemistry with her.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">So, in conclusion, Three Comrades could be said to be a failure...but it’s the kind of failure that, in its own way, succeeds, and almost e</span><span style="font-family:arial;">ntirely due to the preoccupations of its director, and its leading lady’s strength. A very worthy film; never exactly unbearable, beyond watchable in its worst moments, and ravishing in its best. I give the film an <span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">83 / 100</span></span></span><br /><br /><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtDZGS-WE56mMw4sph0lH2J2O3rzFhpxivrjeB0MDmo01k7UBx2DVHqyB_MeAW1ahh7YqcG-noMmEP7iP74qMag2iXzBhU-xdFDnIGU-GDCuEsAnNe8i65YEPjc2UKz7bf-XZROLG1Zbc/s1600-h/Three+Comrades+Shadow.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 250px; height: 209px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtDZGS-WE56mMw4sph0lH2J2O3rzFhpxivrjeB0MDmo01k7UBx2DVHqyB_MeAW1ahh7YqcG-noMmEP7iP74qMag2iXzBhU-xdFDnIGU-GDCuEsAnNe8i65YEPjc2UKz7bf-XZROLG1Zbc/s320/Three+Comrades+Shadow.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5431968332890358050" border="0" /></a>Amokhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10328999285363705056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1095388739251099463.post-46205997278218967982010-01-28T13:10:00.004-06:002010-01-28T13:15:03.159-06:00Ruggles of Red Gap - Film Impression<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMEa0912eOdAarCfNXeLpV6UBKZrIDgN8ZSNSg0GbSzGGly6L9LIjgw_RkuVOSyBXGHhQLM916KF8iltui4EY3jTbe-LCAbHzrfv83L0I34UON0c4uUiEoMb9yGNp-CXwqanU3zy7sa-k/s1600-h/Ruggles+of+Red+Gap.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 210px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMEa0912eOdAarCfNXeLpV6UBKZrIDgN8ZSNSg0GbSzGGly6L9LIjgw_RkuVOSyBXGHhQLM916KF8iltui4EY3jTbe-LCAbHzrfv83L0I34UON0c4uUiEoMb9yGNp-CXwqanU3zy7sa-k/s320/Ruggles+of+Red+Gap.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5431871005836916930" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">directed by Leo McCarrey, 1935</span></span><br /><br />The premise of this film is thus: an English Duke, during a drunken game of poker, bet the services of his tireless butler to the Americans, whom he was entertaining, while in Paris. He loses, and consequently, Marmaduke Ruggles (played by Charles Laughton) finds himself with what must be the two most obnoxious and confusing people he’s ever met, and the stuffy British butler is completely helpless in the services of his new master. Very much to my chagrin, it reminded me right away of They Had to See Paris: two Americans by the name of Floud (Floud!); an inept, shrill gold digger trying to get into “society”, and her well-to-do husband a layabout American hick with no fashion sense and poor manners, both of whom are vacationing in Paris, and later take him into their home back in rural Washington. I absolutely loathe the Borzage film; it was the most puerile piece of pro-working class guff you can imagine, with Will Rogers’ schtick paradoxically both propelling the film above pure mediocrity and making it even more unbearable (magically, John Ford would use the same actor to craft two of his best early sound films). Thankfully, this film either completely avoids or utterly transends all the pitfalls that made that film such a disaster.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Now, Ruggles of Red Gap is a classic comedy; one which scarcely fits into what one normally thinks of in the screwball genre which dominated the era, and is much more in line with Capra’s films like Mr. Deeds Goes to Town and You Can’t Take It With You. The differences, though, are obvious in so many levels. First of all, whereas Capra films tend to be more charming and warm than funny...Ruggles of Red Gap is funny, indeed, as comic creations go, it’s a masterpiece. The dialogue absolutely sparkles not just with ‘lines’ and ‘quips’, and there are numerous wonderful bits of that, but whole conversations sparkle. And so much of the film’s pleasure, especially in the initial scenes (but all throughout the film) is watching the always bewildered and confused Laughton (in a role, I might add, that is different from anything else I’d seen him in) reacting, ever so subtly but definitely, to his new masters, and later his reactions to their hometown...and their reaction to him. Most of these scenes would actually be rather funny even without Ruggles’s reactions; its not just one man’s show, but so much of the film’s humor is brought to life by his unmistakenly British presence.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I can almost guarantee that you’ll burst into laughter on at least one or two occasions. Still, most film makers would be content to play the comedy out; that of a stuffy British butler lost in a rural community of Washington, and just tack on a life affirming ending. I’m not sure how much of this is true of the original novel’s subtext, but McCarey and crew begin the tale as an amusing dialectic comedy of culture clash, and keep the focus therein. Marmaduke Ruggles is well aware of his heritage as a member of the service class in Britain; he extolls and cherishes it, but the sudden influx of the American values of freedom and equality being thrust upon him by the (perhaps idealized; though not as cloyingly as in most Capra films) jolly hicks of Red Gap, begin to rub off on him something fierce.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">The miracle of this film is just how subtly ‘America’ dawns on Ruggles, and how Laughton and McCarey observe this otherwise radical shift in the tone of his character without ever breaking it. Of course, the most famous scene in the film; and justly so, is the scene in which Ruggles, much to the surprise of the tenants at the bar he is currently occupying (who, upon being prompted to do so, all failed), recites the entirety of Abraham Lincoln’s Gettysburg address. In retrospect, it shows the marked change in his character as he has come to love the country; as his initial reaction to the idea of being brought to America was a fear of horseback gunslinging cowboys. On its own, it’s a magnificent and transforming scene that could easily be hokum; and I’m sure many would accuse it of such, but it has the same crippling effect as Chaplin’s speech at the end of The Great Dictator, or Stewart’s at the end of Mr. Smith Goes to Washington. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">The film may lack the perfect grace of The Awful Truth; another great McCarey film (and the one which established Cary Grant); indeed this is a very silly film...but it more than makes up for it with its sheer warmth, breadth of character, and sincerity, and the fact that its truly very funny. The movie is too positive; its sentiments too genuine, for me to dislike. I think I love it, myself. Jean Renoir once said that Leo McCarey understood people more than any other person in Hollywood. Maybe he was talking about Make Way For Tomorrow instead; film critics and scholars and the like tend to refer to it as *the* McCarey film, but I’m sure he had this film on his mind too. Indeed, there were numerous tiny moments that make me think of Renoir in the film; it definitely approaches him at a few points, as the humanity of the film isn’t just limited to Ruggles, and most of its cast is given ample opportunity to shine alongside him (especially Roland Young, who plays the exceedingly dry Earl of Burnstead). Having compared this film to Renoir...if that isn’t high praise for a Hollywood comedy, then I don’t know what is. This could become my favorite comedy of the era.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I give this film a very healthy<span style="font-size:130%;"> </span></span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" >93 / 100</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">This is another film in Universal’s “archive” series; a barebones disc and, unlike Remember the Night, a DVD-R. It looks good, though...not the worst transfer ever, and the print definitely looks restored. Between Warner and Universal, I wonder how many of their greatest owned properties are being dumped into these archives. </span>Amokhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10328999285363705056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1095388739251099463.post-1249808136946276112010-01-22T14:10:00.003-06:002010-01-22T14:18:44.843-06:00Gentleman Jim - Film Impressions<span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-style: italic;">directed by Raoul Walsh, 1942</span></span><br /> <br /> <span style="font-family: arial;">Raoul Walsh’s career is that of one diverse and prolific mofo...he made, like William Wellman and Henry King among others, films in virtually every genre of film, often times more </span><span style="font-family: arial;">than one film a </span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0-NIUyDNSwPVXjUAh1AuO7DumKESRbLW-9tqEM5fN_6JZPZUL9qKERbusXr3GhcRLyIBRB50SOU-1tj6Dqzels94AedEaucn2BXH8qTxkmczPYjraUgkyPu2GOEMWdSONT9-aJ58IzsM/s1600-h/gentleman_jim.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0-NIUyDNSwPVXjUAh1AuO7DumKESRbLW-9tqEM5fN_6JZPZUL9qKERbusXr3GhcRLyIBRB50SOU-1tj6Dqzels94AedEaucn2BXH8qTxkmczPYjraUgkyPu2GOEMWdSONT9-aJ58IzsM/s320/gentleman_jim.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5429660122521858930" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: arial;">year. And as with any Hollywood ‘auteur’, the more I see of </span><span style="font-family: arial;">Raoul Walsh’s work, the more I begin to notice and realize certain trends; but its not just one approach, its several. In most of his major films, the character you identify with is a male; and usually quite a masculine one. His heroes tend to be either tragic ones (Roaring Twenties, Uncertain Glory which I haven’t actually seen), romantic ones (The World In His Arms, Captain Horatio Hornblower, Thief of Bagdad), or an amalgamation or complete subversion of the two (They Died With Their Boots On, White Heat, in different ways), and that’s not considering films that defy this trend, like Sadie Thompson, or the freakish Band of Angels (both of which have female protaganists). Of course, this realization may change, but that's the way I see it now.</span><br /> <br /> <span style="font-family: arial;">That observation made, Gentleman Jim falls clearly into the second category if in any...Jim Corbett is an historical figure; a man who revolutionized the sport of boxing in the United States during the late 19th and early 20th centuries, and this film is essentially a biopic of his entry into the sport up until his taking of World Heavyweight Champion away from John L. Sullivan; and I’m absolutely sure most of it is baloney. Gentleman Jim Corbett is here portrayed by Errol Flynn, and he’s the signature Raoul Walsh hero: a braggart of a man with infinite pluck, who lives to fight and has balls of iron, yet he’s an infectuously lively and handsome devil; a regular Jim Dandy. It’s a perfect kind of role for Flynn; anyone whose seen The Adventures of Robin Hood knows that he excelled at playing roles like that, and getting the audience to like him. Not just his personality; his very physicality works. Flynn notedly trained hard in the fine art of boxing for this film’s making, and it shows. Its really a perfect match, and if anything, the film’s contribution to cinema should at least consist of Flynn</span><br /> <br /> <span style="font-family: arial;">One of Walsh’s greatest strengths is his ability to make time and place feel real. I am not a historian, so I cannot comment on the veracity thereof in this picture, but Walsh again imbues the late 19th century (this time, Sam Francisco) with an incredible *sense* of authenticity. Part of this, I’m sure, is due to the studio. Warner was no slouch, after all, and the movie’s production values are excellent wherever Corbett’s adventures take us; and Walsh furthermore takes every effort to show off these sets and the numerous extras; certainly reflecting his silent film origins. But what really makes the film feel real is Walsh’s handling of characters. I have to disagree somewhat with a point that Tag Gallagher (whom I otherwise feel like a mental midget by comparison) made regarding Walsh; or at least make an addendum Gallagher states that “there are few communities in his movies” and that “the men who follow the hero are rarely individuated”. One of the things which makes Walsh’s films so great, even though they are essentially about that main character, is just how much subtle nuance of character is given here, and how his ever forward-thrusting films nevertheless allow for them to breathe. All of the characters feel relatively real and three dimensional; even Jack Carson’s character; Corbett’s best friend and loyal minion, is given tiny stabs at depth that mean more to me than a lot of the “character” you’d see in some of Ford’s films (and I do love Ford). Walsh’s minor characters make small, almost missable gestures that nevertheless belong only to their characters. Of course, every single one of them loves to watch a good fight, even the preacher.</span><br /> <br /> <span style="font-family: arial;">The film is wickedly entertaining; just like The Strawberry Blonde, with alost every single scene sporting something that is worth a hearty chuckle. But this is a boxing movie, too, and Walsh’s skill as an action director is plain and clear...and considering he’d probably learn how to edit from Griffith himself in the mid teens (Walsh rather famously played John Wilkes Booth in you-know-what), he’d had as much training in the fine art of cutting to build tension as anyone. Not to mention the way he captures the peculiarities of 1890s boxing traditions. I’d say that, for pure entertainment value, this film has at least two of the meatiest and most genuinely exciting boxing sequences in the movies. My only real complaint is that the third, with John L. Sullivan himself (the fight the whole movie is about), seems very one sided in Corbett’s favor, and otherwise broken by an admittedly very good “press montage” as news of the fight circles the country by radio. But every single one is exciting and, despite taking up much screen time, never slow the movie down. Flynn’s character has a definite personality in the ring.</span><br /> <br /> <span style="font-family: arial;">The film has a lot of strong personalities besides Corbett, but among the strongest is perhaps John L. Sullivan, played by the great character actor Ward Bond, who doesn’t get quite as much screen time as you might hope. He, too, is a swaggering buffoon, but if Flynn doesn’t quite look like a heavyweight, Bond’s Sullivan fits the bill perfectly. The two have an amazing chemistry together; even if it is (in and out of the ring) always Flynn in favor. Sullivan is a great big blowhard; indeed its rather amusing to see how he parallels with Corbett in their brashness and swagger (though Sullivan is easily the more ‘vulgar’. The film has a tight rope to walk here...there’s a scene after the fight where Bond interrupts the celebration of Corbett’s win, and the two share a heartfelt moment; a good loser and a good winner respectively. But this moment, perhaps excessively sappy is effectively so, is utterly redeemed in a further aftermath, where Corbett monologues to Victoria his feelings on the former champ. Its one of those rare scenes which expresses something implied, yet its put so eloquently that the movie is all the richer for it. I’ll be damned if this doesn’t somehow manage to be both the manliest and the genuinely sweetest boxing movie ever made.</span><br /> <br /> <span style="font-family: arial;">But perhaps even more important than that is the chemistry between Flynn and his lead actress, Alexis Smith, herself a decent actress (if a far cry from Rita Hayworth and whose character, as with all of Walsh’s ladies, is treated with extraordinary dignity. In a way she’s a love interest, but Walsh has a difficult task ahead of him...its inevitable that the guy gets the girl, but he meets her early on and doesn’t get her till the end. Its handled masterfully; a subtly developed romance over the course of the entire film, that has its ups and downs (mostly downs; its more fun that way after all), and actually keeps the audience in a little bit of suspense as to whether or not they will be together in the end. Characteristically, and perhaps unrealistically (but still just a bit more fun), the arrogant Corbett wins the girl over by just being his annoying self.</span><br /> <br /> <span style="font-family: arial;">So what we have with this film is a remarkable example of how to make a movie. Gentleman Jim woudln’t win any awards for being particularly deep, or meaningful, or for being true to life. But just place it next to most of the other “B.S.” biopics being made in Hollywood, from Henry King’s Alexander’s Ragtime Band (a fictional character, mind you, so more B.S. than usual), Dieterle’s The Life of Emile Zola, and Anthony Mann’s The Glenn Miller Story, and you’re contrasting a competent and decent biographical film with a brilliantly entertaining piece of movie making that’s just as fun today as it was then; a movie that unashamedly and exquisitely gives the audience a damn good time. Chances are, if you can think of a better biopic of the era, its They Died With Their Boots On, Young Mr. Lincoln or My Darling Clementine, anyway, and they’re just as guilty of being bunk as this film is. One of those films is by Walsh, and the other two by Ford. I figure that’s good company. On this, my second viewing, I give this film a much better than solid </span><span style="font-family: arial;font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;">86</span></span><span style="font-family: arial;">.</span><br /> <br /> <span style="font-family: arial;">Available on DVD as part of Warner Bros.’ second Errol Flynn Signature Collection. It sports a fine transfer, and some supplements which are really unrelated to the feature, as part of Warners’ Night at the Movies. Bare as it is, I'm very glad to own it for myself, and the more I see of Walsh's films over the years, the more I think I'm in love with them.</span>Amokhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10328999285363705056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1095388739251099463.post-83128364908085125042010-01-21T12:43:00.004-06:002010-01-21T13:58:20.813-06:00The Flame of New Orleans - Film Impression<span style="font-style: italic;font-size:78%;" >directed by Rene Clair, 1941</span><br /><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhntA9sHJXT6hei2LYR4epMPEPMWVfvrTtR04nmvLlTyhD43v7tPIutCU71-j8g6-J4Op_WmBE2jHEocqvXHAMdibWAWOSri6mJSTRdfJEKs-qqyCy0laU-Z9j3JcYMlMLGmyWBnM3Xqbs/s1600-h/Flame+of+New+Orleans.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 250px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhntA9sHJXT6hei2LYR4epMPEPMWVfvrTtR04nmvLlTyhD43v7tPIutCU71-j8g6-J4Op_WmBE2jHEocqvXHAMdibWAWOSri6mJSTRdfJEKs-qqyCy0laU-Z9j3JcYMlMLGmyWBnM3Xqbs/s320/Flame+of+New+Orleans.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5429284854307956050" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;">I’ve never really been able to quite put a finger on what makes Marlene Dietrich so great...though in Blonde Venus and Touch of Evil; and especially The Scarlet Empress and The Devil Is a Woman, I can at least see that its there, and in those films there's not a moment where she's less than marvelous. Whatever it is that makes Dietrich such a fascinating star, isn’t really present in this film...nor, considering its director, is the craftsmanship that made Rene Clair’s films of the early 30s (in addition to later films, including some Hollywood films I understand) so vibrant. Both fantastic names, yet they really seem to be doing very little in this one, except for going through the motions.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">The Flame of New Orleans does posess a tiny handful of charms, the first of which is its fourth-wall breaking intro. But even that scene’s charms, in themselves, promise little more than a shallow and droll romantic comedy with a drop of fancy, and what’s what we get. Set in Louisianna, the film’s most commendable features are its production designs, and at times the film is actually kind of pleasant to look at, and reflect the scenery of New Orleans a good deal. Everything else is, at best, merely competent, and Andy Devine gets far too little screen time, which is unfortunate as he’s always one of the best things about any film he has a strong presence in. He’s just background, here, like most everything else in the film.<br /><br />The film's story is pretty much stock romantic drama: a gold digging woman manages to ensnare a very wealthy man, but she is quickly tangled up with feelings for another man; a sailor, and throughout the film she tries to throw the latter off for the former, but she inevitably winds up with her sailor boy in the end. Its quite uninspired all the way through, though worse love stories have certainly tainted the films of Laurel and Hardy or the Marx Bros, and there is little real chemistry between Dietrich's character and any of the other characters. This isn’t just the case of a film being ‘not for me’, its just a rather plain and flat film barely disguised by the presence of talents. My score - </span><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;">60</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Available as part of Universal’s Marlene Dietrich Glamour Collection, the final film on the double sided first disc and penultimate film in the whole set, and it possesses a rather luminous transfer. I think I'm going to take a little break from her and Bela Lugosi, and finish up the last films of these sets at a later date.<br /></span>Amokhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10328999285363705056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1095388739251099463.post-11374173074831810702010-01-21T06:40:00.000-06:002010-01-21T06:46:34.061-06:00Major Dundee - Film Impressions<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb83aWU5Qq2wRI0la0S940AMuOnul0rlSrHRMidX0u72IlWDaLCcAjwX2_AoTPOracGhjnQ6CJik7mivvJOPjIK4dH0xGGa3xMt9LIoLz3bbecL1O9HbnaxqRaqp3qFMAUrCUiuyPfMFw/s1600-h/Major+Dundee.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 233px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb83aWU5Qq2wRI0la0S940AMuOnul0rlSrHRMidX0u72IlWDaLCcAjwX2_AoTPOracGhjnQ6CJik7mivvJOPjIK4dH0xGGa3xMt9LIoLz3bbecL1O9HbnaxqRaqp3qFMAUrCUiuyPfMFw/s320/Major+Dundee.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5429172655965513794" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Directed by Sam Peckinpah, 1965</span></span><br /><br /> <span style="font-family:arial;">The opening scenes of this, Peckinpah’s second major film, depict the aftermath of a bloody battle; a far cry from the almost gentle restraint we saw in the bloodiest moments of Ride the High Country, and making this bloodsoaked massacre even worse is the spirited struggles of the young boys being carted off by the Apache who done it, leaving the ignorant (me) to wonder what fate awaits them. It’s a promising start; promising all sorts of things as the film’s opening sequences go on. Heston’s character; the titular major of the Union, exudes a ferocity and menace; he has guts to spare, and his ambition and ego match that. Richard Harris, who plays his former friend (now a Confederate of high rank, and his prisoner), has his own menacing strength, whose hatred for his old friend is matched only by the love for his country and adherance to military standards. The relationship between both mn is one seething with a sense of betrayal and ideological conflict. There are scores of other characters; many of them introduced with careful attention to their characterizations, making for a promising ragtag group of scoundrels. </span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />That’s part of the problem with this film. I am far from the first to say this, but what’s so bothersome about this movie is how little of what makes the opening scenes so fantastic; the ambiguity of characterizations, the sheer number of them, and the many many promises of a truly epic exploration of their morality and the consequences of their behavior is actually, in the end, never really reconciled. To be perfectly honest, the film constantly seems to trail off into other directions than what you would think it has intended. Is it a war epic? Is it a grizzly film of anti-heroics? A character study of two great, flawed men who are constantly at battle with one another? A treatise on the folly of the Civil War? The film tries to make room for so much; tries to be all of these things, but never really lives up to it...characters go undeveloped, themes get forgotten, and in the end, the thing it most wholly is...would probably be an action movie, and its nowhere near as brilliantly crafted as The Wild Bunch, or as a nasty, grimy portrayal of the American civil war that predates and surpasses that of Leone’s in The Good, the Bad and the Ugly, or virtually any other movie about the Civil War for that matter.</span> <br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">As far as the performances of the actors go, they are almost irresponsibly magnificent. I say “irresponsibly” because performances of this caliber almost don’t belong in such a messy movie; messy movies like this are used to having great actors terribly miscast. I don’t really think this is quite the case...even Charleton Heston shines; I’d have to agree that this is probably his best performance, and the only false moments are the scenes which don’t really amount to much in the first place. My biggest complaint is probably Richard Harris. He’s a fantastic actor, and his performance a powerful and impressive piece of work...he just doesn’t seem like a Confederate soldier, which is important, because that is his lot. The supporting cast is without parallel...Ben Johnson, Warren Oates (of course; he has one of the film’s finest moments), Slim Pickens, L.Q. Jones and more...its an absolutely fantastic assembly, and at times they really do shine.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />Its difficult to say much about this film; especially when you’re more used to films that don’t set the bar high for themselves...this is a case of a film setting itself to be great, and just fails miserably, and has only a few fragments of what could have been a great movie. And I think I can be counted among those who think the film fails. Its redeeming values are too few, too far between, and without consummation. What good scenes it has makes it worth watching several times, and the film has moments where it is absolutely elecric in its power and passion, and you can’t help think just how good the film could have been if Peckinpah had all his ducks in a row. As it is, it’s a highly schizophrenic film...one that swaggers from incredible assurance and competence, to an incoherant, doddering stumble. I still think its very interesting, though, and I hope that a second viewing will shed light on anything I missed. I have to give this film a </span><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">75</span></span><span style="font-family:arial;">.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">If the film dissapointed me immensely; because I really had high hopes for it, the DVD doesn’t. The transfer is quite beyond criticism, and while the commentary isn’t very good marketting for the film, the usual Peckinpah roundtable discussion of Nick Redman, Paul Seydor, Garner Simmons and David Weddle is highly informative. We also get a segment from Mike Siegel’s documentary on Peckinpah, entitled Passion and Poetry: The Ballad of Sam Peckinpah, focusing exclusively on this film abd featuring interviews with cast and crew members. To summarize, an informative disc with excellent presentation that is well worth dipping into even if you’re not keen on the film.</span>Amokhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10328999285363705056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1095388739251099463.post-54745049568797573332010-01-20T17:43:00.000-06:002010-01-20T17:52:24.067-06:00Wichita - Film Impression<span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;font-size:78%;" >Directed by Jacques Tourneur, 1955</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMdIQCAko9_4rK4WhpzI-pLJY0x73nWdFgSyFKpdM-8yMYHbmPlUr3prfKfJ4Jte6S1uVJaOrIOvcb7ThakDTFpFdf8bOFhrLhMk1n1IUtJLLFqIReNrcxYER7rqasfUje-f5mH6T6oaY/s1600-h/Wichita.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 218px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMdIQCAko9_4rK4WhpzI-pLJY0x73nWdFgSyFKpdM-8yMYHbmPlUr3prfKfJ4Jte6S1uVJaOrIOvcb7ThakDTFpFdf8bOFhrLhMk1n1IUtJLLFqIReNrcxYER7rqasfUje-f5mH6T6oaY/s320/Wichita.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428972520993129378" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Wichita’s opening credits feature a spoiler-ridden song sung by Tex Ritter, and anyone could be fooled by this in thinking that this is an average Western potboiler. It certainly has the makings of one, and when you break it down in pure plot points and give it only a cursory look, that’s what you’ll get....the story of how Wyatt Earp comes to Wichita, Kansas, cleans up some rough-housing cowboys, and leaves with a new wife. But somehow, the film is anything but an average western. One of the first scenes in the film shows Earp (who we’ll soon see is played by Joel McCrea) riding in deep long shot in the cinemascope frame, and its one of the eeriest long shots I’ve ever seen. He seems to be coming out of nowhere.<br /><br />And once he gets up close, he’s no less s</span><span style="font-family:arial;">trange. The color of his clothes, the way the light falls on him, his comparatively wooden behavior, the almost ethereal way in which he defeats his two opponents...its all so subtly played, and yet once you see it and absorb it, you can’t unsee it. Wyatt Earp heads into town; Wichita a veritable hustle-and-bustle as the locals prepare for the coming of the cowboys (with whom Earp briefly clashes in the first scene), and even in the genial scenes where he gets to know the townspeople, McCrea’s purposefully wooden performance sets him far apart. His Wyatt Earp is a stubborn gentleman, cleanly and plainly stating his business and getting things done, the idiosyncracies of his behavior apparently beyond the comprehension of the other people.<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCcGUareq5kvm0tbh6JFjrgHNhuTbHdgee8hHEW6U6oSwJbhXK4Wc4zMnAjwKIKrw3v1U5KpycTpSOHzkSl_8HTwCY4M4RKOWSy0HrUz5UWrTJ131y7Kck8KuV07sufvMNfvhDTO99p0k/s1600-h/Wichita+Shot.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 131px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCcGUareq5kvm0tbh6JFjrgHNhuTbHdgee8hHEW6U6oSwJbhXK4Wc4zMnAjwKIKrw3v1U5KpycTpSOHzkSl_8HTwCY4M4RKOWSy0HrUz5UWrTJ131y7Kck8KuV07sufvMNfvhDTO99p0k/s320/Wichita+Shot.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428972885130006898" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">This is, if you haven’t realized it, a very strange film. There is hardly a scene in the film that feels anywhere near normal; even the ones without Earp seem haunted by the fact that he’s influenced them, and the social ramifications of the appearance of this angel of light begin to take form. Townspeople want him out, the businessmen try to kill him, a woman falls in love with him...and he seems more and more haunted; though he never falters, by his fate, which is inevitably to kill. Its almost like a metaphysical answer to the question of what happens when an umovable object meets an unstoppable force (or vice versa?), as he refuses to budge on his decisions, and the other mortals struggle to make sense of it. It also makes for an interesting comment on capitalism and guns; as Earp’s decision to disarm all the townspeople except lawmen naturally spoils their fun and makes the powers that be very upset.<br /><br />And in the film’s rigid simplicity, it also brings up the question of the complex nature of law enforcement (Earp’s simple answers aren’t entirely satisfactory, and even their successful implementation brings tragedy), and of good and evil. One of the most unusual scenes in the film is when two gunmen, with bad attitudes, invade the privacy of the saloon, seemingly hired to take on Wyatt Earp...and its only at the last minute that we, and the people in the saloon, realize that these black-clad men are Earp’s brothers. Very unnerving. The way the film is lit and shot only further serves the effective eeriness...Tourneur makes magnificent use of the wide cinemascope frame, capturing very few close-ups, instead showing us a magnificently full image in which McCrea typically dominates, despite usually being such a small part of it, and the film’s lush backgrounds seem to illuminate each scene. Anyway, long before we’re able to make full sense of this film’s strangeness, we have a happy ending with McCrea riding off into the unset with his bride; and by this time, even this image (itself beautifully composed) reeks of some otherworld. Somehow, it seems fitting that this strange film should conclude with such a normal looking ending. Its unnerving in itself.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />To be honest, this isn’t the first Tourneur film I’ve seen...Out of the Past, his Lewton films, and Curse/Night of the Demon I’ve also viewed, but alas, this was when I was too young and inexperienced with films; not thoughtful enough. But this feels like the first time a film of his clicked with me, though...and I plan to use this and see more of his films; and backtrack to old ones. And I really hope to see this one again some day, of course. For now, I think this film is a magnificent, weird, and wonderful work of art...a lot of people might disagree; they might not see anything in its weirdness except lazy film making and a bland performance by McCrea. I say bite me. I give this film a <span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">92</span></span>.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">As with The Strawberry Blonde, Wichita is available on Warner’s Archive series, in an absolutely pristine print, and it would look amazing on a pressed DVD or - god willing - Blu-ray. Its a gorgeous film, and definitely deserves it. Unfortunately, the transfer is far less stable than Strawberry Blonde’s, and at times the fluctuations in the picture are very noticable. </span>Amokhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10328999285363705056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1095388739251099463.post-54867542057404229622010-01-18T18:44:00.000-06:002010-01-19T18:06:23.468-06:00The Invisible Ray: Film Impression<span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;font-size:85%;" >Directed by Lambert Hillyer, 1936</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEXdT7eDunR53aitKOchdo1TlmXTfcCNtW6eVWwDTz6XlbLDRI3X-Q4nsXOO5vvxf6ZdgByVAbtP9F33Uaw7FITfSXGV9PNCr6O27JplEfODnl-pJtdDTsUHGdwz-sbjTHEdDEV_43ZTY/s1600-h/Invisible+Ray.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 207px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEXdT7eDunR53aitKOchdo1TlmXTfcCNtW6eVWwDTz6XlbLDRI3X-Q4nsXOO5vvxf6ZdgByVAbtP9F33Uaw7FITfSXGV9PNCr6O27JplEfODnl-pJtdDTsUHGdwz-sbjTHEdDEV_43ZTY/s320/Invisible+Ray.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428246317292061730" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">With the exception of The Black Cat; which is a masterpiece, I have had rather fair to middling reactions to the Bela Lugosi films I’ve seen. Sure, they’re all good fun...but something about them always seem a little half baked. So The Invisible Ray was an almost instant surprise, as it differs so greatly from those other films. It begins briskly enough; all of the other films moved at breakneck speed, and the atmosphere in the opening scenes even possess a haunting gothic atmosphere. Honestly? It’s a rather impressive set. But the film isn’t content to reflect the earlier films, and it quickly separates itself from them in several ways.<br /><br />For one; and this is something we quickly realize, the two stars (Lugosi and Karloff) qui</span><span style="font-family:arial;">ckly stray from their usual roles as horror characters. Karloff’s character, a brilliant and utterly devoted scientist named Janos Ruhk, isn’t the least bit frightening, even when he glows from super radiation poisoning, nor is he meant to be particularly scary, because that’s not quite the point. And Lugosi? Well, his Dr. Benet is another scientist, and much unlike The Raven, Dracula or Rue Morgue his character here is very much a good guy. It’s a testament to these two actors that they play their respective roles seamlessly, and the film’s greater emphasis on plot allows both performers to strut their acting talents in ways they’d rarely get to do again, while the film also moves at a pleasantly faster pace. The second thing we quickly notice is that this is not really a horror film, but a science fiction film in the tradition of films that...well, weren’t to come for many years, and much of it is well ahead of its time and still fascinating today. </span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />The film’s tone changes as its scenery changes...moving from Ruhk’s semi-gothic laboratory to the Nigerian veldt, in which the intrepid scientists hope to discover the radioactive element which Ruhk had found by harnessing the light of cosmic rays, briefly becoming an adventure film. What really makes the film stand apart from the other Universal horror films is the depth of Ruhk’s character, and the time it spends on setting his tragic figure up. As he discovers the element, which he calls Radium X, he realizes that the powerful element has poisoned him, and that without medication, he will not only die, but kill those he touches. What follows then is a descent into madness, as he takes his comrades’ independant research into the element he discovered to be a betrayal, and seeks his revenge, with surprisingly grim results.<br /><br />In the end, I have to admit...this is a surprisingly good movie. It’s a junky bit of science fiction, but its imaginative and fun, well performed and spritely paced, with special effects that could pass for a sci-fi effort of the 50s, and very amusing in certain parts (such as how the male love interest; in Universal tradition, proves to be a rather useless figure). I was particularly enamored with the way the titular laser weapon melted a huge stone (though unfortunately we never see it melt anything else, we only hear about it melting some statues). Its only real flaws would be that, aside from Ruhk and Benet, we don’t really wind up caring too much about the characters, even though it sets us up to invest some degree of emotional interest in Frances Drake’s character (still, better than previous films). Also, once you get past how unusually well crafted it is, there isn’t much point to it besides a mature sci-fi potboiler. But it holds up great, and sci fi geeks should run and not walk.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> On a 100 scale, I would give this film an <span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">82</span></span>.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />The DVD I have is part of Universal’s Bela Lugosi collection, alongside Murders in the Rue Morgue, The Black Cat, The Raven and Black Friday. As with all films in the set thus far, it is in pristine shape and has a crisp transfer. With only one more film to go; Black Friday, I still say that this set is a glorified special edition of The Black Cat; a masterpiece of gothic American cinema, but I think this film is likely the second best in the set, and well worth seeing.</span>Amokhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10328999285363705056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1095388739251099463.post-32204039479413366672010-01-18T13:18:00.000-06:002010-01-19T18:07:43.509-06:00Remember the Night: Film Impressions<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixGcnhuQogQ4gjWZOtlmYJCDJfAwkYnyjjcjUkxmffpTTdvtPoDv06OLs3wvbVaqKUIqp_jWK4mZAYZIw1MCA2DtiRspoOC9lirvKObZT5v_uztYoCn0LV2p3cbL4duCjjATPntQ2K2fg/s1600-h/Remember+The+Night.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixGcnhuQogQ4gjWZOtlmYJCDJfAwkYnyjjcjUkxmffpTTdvtPoDv06OLs3wvbVaqKUIqp_jWK4mZAYZIw1MCA2DtiRspoOC9lirvKObZT5v_uztYoCn0LV2p3cbL4duCjjATPntQ2K2fg/s320/Remember+The+Night.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428162386378403138" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;font-size:85%;" >Directed by Mitchell Leisen, 1940</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I’m not too terribly familiar with director Mitchell Leisen...I’ve seen two of h</span><span style="font-family:arial;">is most renowned films; Easy Living and Midnight, but I do know one or two things about his legacy. Today, he is simply largely forgotten, despite being </span><span style="font-family:arial;">a director of *international* renown in the 30s and 40s, directing some of the top stars of the day, and essentially being responsible for the careers of Preston Sturges and Billy Wilder, as they wrote many of his films. Therein lies part of the problem; Sturges and Wilder got to the cineastes first, and they hated Leisen notoriously, calling him “a stupid fairy” and “an interior decorator” irrespectively, loathing what he did to their scripts. Mark Rappaport said it best in his lengthy essay on Leisen, but I want to at least offer my defense of this film. Remember The Night here is my third Leisen film, and with the other two woefully in need of a second viewing, I’ll treat this as a first examination.<br /><br />The film is B</span><span style="font-family:arial;">arbara Stanwyck and Fred Macmurray’s first pairing; eventually leading them to Double Indemnity (indeed, by Billy Wilder), and since its release it has been relatively forgotten. The film begins simply enough, briskly and musically showing Stanwyck’s character, Lee Leander, lifting a bracelet from a jewelry store and getting caught quickly. One rather amusing court session later, her case has been put on hold until after Christmas, and a misunderstanding (resulting in him paying for her bond) has put her in the care of John Sargent, Macmurray’s character, for the holidays, even though he was her prosecutor.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />From this misunderstanding, we can all guess what happens...love will flower between these two. If this film is any indication of Leisen’s talent, I can already tell the difference between his approach and Wilder’s or Sturges’s. Both of these directors, to put it bluntly, had a sharpness and an edginess to their films, and its present in all of their work. Both talented and classy write</span><span style="font-family:arial;">rs, with peculiarly low brow tastes and big cajones (though Sturges was a strict comic; all of his films are comedies and outright works of screwball). Leisen’s approach, with this script by Sturges, contrasts sharply in that he imbues the characters with a deep understanding and sympathy that I rarely see in the work of the other two.<br /><br />Like so many romantic comedies, Remember the Night charts the course of a transformation of the characters. While neither character is as hard boiled as in Double Indemnity, they’re both tough cookies, and one initially could think it would turn into a ‘battle of the sexes’. But it doesn’t...as Sargent; with Macmurray providing a typically gentlemanly approach, and Stanwyck (with her usual charms, of course) quickly bond in the close quarters of Sargent’s car, as he makes his way to his family for a Christmas homecoming. Not only are these two treated with such understanding, though...when they make a stop to visit Leander’s mother; with whom he expects her to stay, she is given a very chilly reception by the morally stern old woman. We quickly realize that Leander suffered a childhood of very little love. And yet even this old bat is given the tiniest notes of sympathy...its made clear she’s a desperately unhappy person, and there’s a brief moment where we glance her; as Leander and Sargent talk, briefly and almost regretfully glancing out the window at them, before slinking into darkness. Its rare to see such humanity; even if its only a tiny hopeless twinkling of it, in a film like thi</span><span style="font-family:arial;">s, and the subtlety of the scene is remarkable, and its an eays moment to miss. The whole scene is treated with a stillness and quiet befitting such a moment.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />The tone of the film shifts effortlessly; as does much of it, when we arrive at Sargent’s home...switching from one of neglect, to one of incredible familial warmth. If her familial upbringing was one of an emotional have-not, then John Sargent’s is definitely a have; with Capraesque loving smalltown bungling, though I’d argue it feels so much more truthful here, making a great deal out of little moments, and filling even the minor characters with surprising depth and humanity. The scene could have been a disaster, but in my opinion, its better than even Capra</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGq8c47DfzvfUwv3XB_J6i2lsK-pk2tFxt-n6vN2BwhL0iIEGlL1C7xSsj7xlYKmMF_j7tT0QwX_OFUbG0xBBX3cUHi0eyasZlDMGziQ7SpDZqbCmbFRzCY3o0SKwMMVaTxhKgPrTUKwE/s1600-h/Remember+The+Night+2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 222px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGq8c47DfzvfUwv3XB_J6i2lsK-pk2tFxt-n6vN2BwhL0iIEGlL1C7xSsj7xlYKmMF_j7tT0QwX_OFUbG0xBBX3cUHi0eyasZlDMGziQ7SpDZqbCmbFRzCY3o0SKwMMVaTxhKgPrTUKwE/s320/Remember+The+Night+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428162681521993922" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;"> could manage. Its here that Leander seems to begin to understand Sargent, and in no time at all she realizes how much she loves him. Their attraction grows (one which is both emotional *and* physical for both of them; a healthy lust shines beautifully in Stanwyck’s eyes in particular).<br /><br />Finally, of course, comes the crisis of the film, but its different from the crisis we might expect. In, say, a Capra film, something would happen (and I thought it would for a moment) which would cause one character would lose faith in the other, and the final struggle would involve Syanwyk’s Leander trying to win his trust. But the struggle is not like that at all; its quite the opposite...their crisis is one of selflessness. Macmurray is the prosecutor for this girl, and a darn good prosecutor he is. For him to lose the case would compromise his future. This leads us to a court scene, of course..the results of which I won’t spoil. But the conflicted emotions, the selflessness of both characters, and a wonderful elusion make it, in the end, help to make it one of the most satisfying romantic films of the classic era, and one of the most satisfying in general. It deserves to be enshrined as one of the holiday classics.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;">I give this film a score of </span><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;">91</span></span><span style="font-family:arial;">. I expect it to grow.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />Universal, like Warner Bros., has woefully made the decision to start an “archive”, in which they put some of their catalog classics up for sale as burn-on-demand DVD-R’s, in order to satisfy the demand for more of these titles. Remember The Night, though still available only in a few venues, is thankfully *not* A DVD-R, and is indeed a pressed disc with a handful of supplements (not terribly revealing, but not exactly worthless), and a luminous transfer. Its kind of sad when when a disc like this; a good but not spectacular disc, is almost a cause for celebration, considering what it could have been.</span>Amokhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10328999285363705056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1095388739251099463.post-10641406257378901812010-01-18T05:18:00.000-06:002010-01-19T18:09:57.128-06:00Ride the High Country - Film Impressions<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb_OtEMPFmr7LduHwwkPPI_cAxzwN5aiaziS9X922P0F7vkumzZ1NM4ipqINp-amrl1yWIrGGT8S3CTV6BMX2d_oq3sBn1hVXFenDUj8Bcv_YBggaz0bOQDDcGje6ePsGut_6otw5QbDk/s1600-h/Ride+TheHigh+Country.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 224px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb_OtEMPFmr7LduHwwkPPI_cAxzwN5aiaziS9X922P0F7vkumzZ1NM4ipqINp-amrl1yWIrGGT8S3CTV6BMX2d_oq3sBn1hVXFenDUj8Bcv_YBggaz0bOQDDcGje6ePsGut_6otw5QbDk/s320/Ride+TheHigh+Country.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428058209411874578" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;font-size:85%;" >Directed by Sam Peckinpah, 1962</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I had seen this film about a week ago, but I'm re-posting my review here for posterity's sake, and so my blog feels more complete. Starting with this film; and excluding The Wild Bunch until the end, I will be watching eight films by Sam Peckinpah (two of them for the first time).<br /><br />Ride the High Country, it seems to me, as a moral mosaic for Peckinpah as a film maker, and seeing it again today (I believe it is my third viewing) I’m amazed at how effortlessly and modestly he put so much of his own person into the film. It’s a film about growing old in a changing world; the world here the old west, and growing old are two of our four protaganists, Steve Judd and Gil Wetsrum (played respectively by Joel McCrea and Randolph Scott; Scott in his final and most well known role, not too long after finishing the Ranown cycle which I feel terrible about not reviewing)...two old law men who today must take on odd jobs to pay their way.<br /><br />From the film’s start, Peckinpah separates these characters into seemingly simple types. Judd is a proud, sturdy old man; who doesn’t want the two old bankers (who are giving him his job) to see him pull out his reading glasses, but is nonetheless a very sharp guy who can tell a lot about a man. Gil, on the other hand, is introduced wearing fake facial fur and cheating people out of their money at a carnival game, and strikes us as none too strong a person. The other two protaganists are given similarly simple-seeming roles: Heck Longtree is the typical young rascal, eager to start a fight and prove his prowess (much to our amusement), and to strive for the affections of our fourth protaganist. She is Elsie, a rebellious young girl desperate to get away from her over-religious father (a complicated character burdening under a confused religious fervor, another Peckinpah theme) and marry her beloved in the town of Coarse Gold.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">What Peckinpah does with these characters, however, is to defeat such initial reactions against them as the story develops, and so effortlessly that his icoloclastic approach can be barly noticeable. The two old men are, no matter their strengths, imbued with a distinguished frailty (and, of course, mortality)...Judd’s glasses, of course, and the moment that most struck me of all in prior viewings, Gil Westrum’s proclamation that he “don’t sleep so good anymore” (among other telling signs that our two heroes are old men, and regard themselves as such). Heck Longtree, who is Gil’s current partner, is given a surprising amount of moral depth and potential; a sense that seems to take flower (it seems to have already been in root, somehow, just never properly watered) in Judd’s presence. This results in a truly remarkable rift between he and Gil; his partner and ‘teacher’, as he begins to realize how ineffectual Gil is by comparison; not to mention ethically unsatisfactory and less compassionate by comparison (‘compassion’ towards wayward youths is something Boetticher’s films suggested, ironically with Randolph Scott as the advocate).<br /><br />Elsie’s character, who tags along to Coarse Gold to marry Billy Hammond, is the catalyst of one of Peckinpah’s strongest trademarks (in addition to what becomes the film's central struggle of battle): the trashy baddies, embodied here by the Hammonds. Its all here; the baddies of Straw Dogs, Alfredo Garcia, and then even some of the good guys of The Wild Bunch and Cable Hogue, all hark back to the Hammonds, whose portrayals are among the most viscerally authentic and individually realized in the film, as well as its darkest and most entertaining figures. The entire town of Coarse Gold is a visceral kind of moral purgatory, where the younger characters get a strong taste of where their future lies if they choose the wrong path. The film giving us a good, hard look at the dregs of the west; a look which Robert Altman would surpass in McCabe and Mrs. Miller almost a decade later (also in the cold snow!), and which truly stands out for its evocative, Gomorrah-ish nastiness, considering that John Ford’s The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance would come out the same year. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">While its story may follow a predictable trajectory, its characters do not, and its in them that its heart lies. Peckinpah’s treatment of violence is also surprisingly subdued, considering it is sadly what he’s most well known for. But the heart and soul of his famous exploration of violence is here; epitomized perhaps by the slow death of one of the Hammonds’ pitiful deaths. What is then striking about the film is, amid the moral ambiguity and complexity of most of its characters (even Billy Hammond chides his older brother for trying to take on Judd and Westrum while their guard is down, indicating he has a sense of family honor that could be besmirched), is the absolute grace and moral clarity of Judd, who truly drives the film, both narratively and thematically, and could readily be called McCrea’s best performance. It’s a stunningly no-nonsense character, played to utter perfection. Thinking back, in addition to being a western, and an “old man film” in tradition of Ikiru and Wild Strawberries, the film could readily be called a morality play of sorts. Ride the High Country is so many things, and yet its so compacted within the film’s classical narrative structure; itself flawlessly and economically constructed, played and executed, that its easy to miss its depth on just the first and second viewings. I never much liked the film before this viewing, but it almost feels like a first viewing, because it suddenly just seemed to open up to me. A truly great film. On a 100 scale, I would give this film a </span><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;">90</span></span><span style="font-family:arial;">.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I have the DVD from Warner Bros. in the states, with a few special features, including a commentary, and a fine but not remarkable transfer. Its available separately, or as part of a DVD boxed set with Ballad of Cable Hogue, The Wild Bunch and Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid.</span>Amokhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10328999285363705056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1095388739251099463.post-57777764588101174372010-01-17T19:36:00.000-06:002010-01-19T18:10:53.411-06:00The Strawberry Blonde - Film Impression<span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;font-size:85%;" >Directed by Raoul Walsh, 1941</span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOaGStKn9I688M-LyfrCL-43jPq3tqnvlzZ-ZoplpngGs0YFEa1NtVICwmM9LUmQ9rkvtcZRcKLwqeD2BRdhUKGfo38aaf2iU24fuDi-FugJcr-bPpZioCECVlgyCd6qsRQsLDDk6kYu8/s1600-h/Strawberry+Blonde.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 253px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOaGStKn9I688M-LyfrCL-43jPq3tqnvlzZ-ZoplpngGs0YFEa1NtVICwmM9LUmQ9rkvtcZRcKLwqeD2BRdhUKGfo38aaf2iU24fuDi-FugJcr-bPpZioCECVlgyCd6qsRQsLDDk6kYu8/s320/Strawberry+Blonde.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428057634550278066" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">This film had such a spell over me from the first few minutes, and I was at pains to figure out what it was. The first thing that struck me about it was just how crisply the period (late 19th century) was rendered, in a way that made Meet Me In St. Louis almost seem tacky and anachronistic (a film I like; and funnily enough, some young girls sing that very song early in the film). Walsh directed a lot of ‘period’ films, but none of the ones I’ve seen are as rich in detail as this one. The little things wh</span><span style="font-family:arial;">ich show up; the clothing, a handlebar moustache, coy winks of innuendo, the curious exploration of a new dish from Italy (spaghetti!), or the film’s delicate use of period music...I’m not an expert in the nineties, but they feel so alive in this film; all the more enlivened by the film’s breezy tone. Come to think of it, what the film really seems to capture so well about that time or place is the sense of social mores and behavior...implicit in the reaction of Biff Grimes (played by James Cagney) when Amy (played by Olivia de Havilland) reveals her socially liberal thoughts, and the similar shock in her reaction when an upset Cagney tries to live up to them, among other things. Maybe the ‘period detail’ is all in my mind. But something else struck me, very shortly into the movie, and I can’t quite put my finger on it...but I was so utterly moved within the first five minutes. I was laughing out loud too; it’s a wonderfully funny movie, but I felt I might as well be choking up too.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I think ‘charm’ is a key word that could be used to describe this film. But its not the kind of charm that calls attention to itself, yet it’s the kind that’s alive and well in every frame of the film, to the extent that you could swear an old gentleman was telling you the story through a shanty-sounding old song; a song full of brutishness and ‘dirty humor’ but so full of tenderness and pain. Its an incredibly relaxed and gentle film, visually lush and delicate, playful and naughty; quick to suggest a fist fight (and the fact that Biff Grimes always loses), but beautifully eliding each one until the end and having some of the most whole-heartedly sweet scenes of romance put to film. This breeziness and lightness that permeates the film naturally charges many of its jokes and humorous gestures; little bits of business that would be laughable in most other films, and yet in this film they work, and feels just right. There isn’t a ‘joke’ in the film which falls flat. There’s never a dull moment in the film, and its endless stream of humor (I caught myself laughing outloud many times) comes so smoothly that you’d think it was improvised on the spot by the characters (in other words, comic perfection).<br /><br />The film’s comedy is both gentle and full of bluster. Each and every one of the characters in the movie feels incredibly vibrant and alive, that its easy to forget that you’re watching a movie. Biff Grimes is portrayed in such an utterly memorable fashion. Cagney has always exuded a roguish charm, but people are used to seeing him as a gangster due to The Roaring Twenties, Public Enemy and White Heat...and then there’s Yankee Doodle Dandy, which most people see as an aberration (I don’t like it, myself, but that’s another story). In this film, its almost hard to see why...he captures the scruffiness, harshness, and eventually the tenderness of Biff Grimes with such magnetic Irish guff and vitality that you actually forget you’re watching a performance; Cagney seems so utterly at home in the role. Rita Hayworth and Olivia de Havilland (who, by the way, is still alive, o em gee), too, are are utterly graceful to watch, and their characterizations equally real, and astoundingly deep.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Walsh knew how to photograph his performers; actresses especially, and I don’t think he did a better job than here in this film, nor perhaps did cameraman James Wong Howe (who also had a very impressive career, dating from the silent era, and up to the late 60s). Every shot with de Havilland and Hayworth; both of whom play women any man would want, is bathed with such a genuinely loving light...combined with their rich characterizations, the result is a portrayal of women that is both deeply respectful and wholly admiring. And Walsh knew how to edit; almost every time Cagney and either of the two women speak or look at eachother, its a story told in complicitly quiet montage. The visual interplay between Cagney’s and de Havvilland’s faces in each of their meetings is piercing and astoundingly so, putting us right in the room; right in their gaze. Indeed, as Tag Gallagher notes in his Senses of Cinema essay on Walsh (an essay I’m beginning to understand more and more), the effect is something like Ozu.<br /><br />This is especially true in their reunion scene; perhaps the most moving ‘lovers’ reunion’ I’ve yet seen. But few of the reviews I’ve come upon (none of which were terribly indepth, except in way of plot synopsis) mentioned those lovely scenes in which the characters go courting at night in the park; scenes which are lit in a way that the darkness almost forms an iris...can’t get much more 1890s than that. Of course, what makes Walsh a true master is that these techniques are invisible, and always at the service to the story...a romantic comedy that flows seamlessly from tough-guy antics, to romantic comedy, to polically tinged tragedy (the social implications of which Walsh never gives thought to, thankfully) and back again, and yet every moment of it is a sensual love story. Its easy; in this film more than almost any other I’ve seen, to get caught up in what is happening; what is on screen, and glance away from the screen, and be surprised for a split second that you aren’t in that world.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">This is classic Hollywood at its absolute best; at its most sublime and loving. It’s a film about a song, or a feeling, or a memory of a girl once known in a time and place you remember vividly and yet so vaguely. In the movie itself, the song is And the Band Played On (something you’ll never forget after seeing it), the time and place is New York at the turn iof the century, and the girl is...well, you’ll be surprised. But it suggests something more universal than just that song, and just that girl, and that time and place. Its not so much a sentimental and nostalgic movie, as much a movie about sentiment and nostalgia, and for all the right things. I can’t help but think this is Walsh’s most personal film...perhaps part love letter to his parents, as he was born in the late 1880s when the film takes place, and I’m sure his childhood memories have fragments of the time and place. Its almost certainly his best film. Expect me to re-watch a few of Walsh’s films; as well as seeing new ones, in the future.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">On a scale of 100, I give The Strawberry Blonde a </span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" >99</span>.<span style="font-family:arial;"> To me, a near incomparable masterpiece, that seems to do with great subtlety what Wong Kar Wai's films make explicit (and vice versa).</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Available as part of Warner’s Archive series, which are DVD-R's. It looks okay; the print certainly looks good, and it’s a shame this wonderful masterpiece can’t get a real DVD. You can rent it from Classicflix; that's where I got mine.</span>Amokhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10328999285363705056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1095388739251099463.post-54824720337670974152010-01-17T17:29:00.000-06:002010-01-17T18:12:46.400-06:00An IntroductionBefore I begin this blog, I guess I should introduce myself. You may just call me Amok. I am, at this time, twenty seven and one half years old, and for the past eight years I have been watching movies. That isn't to say I only started doing so then! I'd watched movies since I was very little, and there are still several from my childhood that I still love to this day. But the beginning of the year 2002 is when I truly began to fall in love with cinema, and it grew from being a hobby to replace my recently (at the time) loss of interest in video games; a need to fill a vacuum in other words, to a love and an obsession that knows few boundaries and whose limits I am constantly stretching and breaking. In this blog; this journal of mine, I will be posting my thoughts...quite often...on the movies I watch, usually in the form of reviews.<br /><br />I have a high school education only; with a mostly forgotten and rather unpleasant first year of college, so there should be no question of my reviews being of professional quality. Jonathan Rosenbaum I ain't. But I can guarantee a few things, in so far as quality...firstly, that the films I see do not follow many patterns. Sometimes, I will go through a period of watching a certain actor (usually in the case of comedians, like Will Hay or Bela Lugosi) or director's work, but I try to space this out over several weeks, rather than watch all of these films in a row, to give me time to reflect, or just watch something else. Secondly, I'm almost always watching something different, so feel free to be surprised if I watch Venom and Eternity, The Golden Earrings, and Oh, Mr. Porter! in the same week. Seeing how I live in the sticks in the United States, a good theater is far away, and there are even fewer opportunities to see the movies that interest me on large screens...so, alas, most of my movie watching activities are done at home, on DVD and, as of May of this year, Blu-ray. In my reviews, I will also comment briefly on the quality of the video edition I am watching.<br /><br />I also try to put a degree of thought into my reviews, though I can definitely ramble, and I am partial to having emotional reactions to movies and struggling to express those feelings satisfactorily. Also, and this is perhaps the most unfortunate thing (but something I'm not about to dispose of), I have a system of scoring; one which is (for now) on a 100 scale...with a score of 100 being about the highest I will give; and films of 97 and up being very nearly that level of perfection. Don't expect many of those. Films in the range of 91 to 96 are what I would call 'masterpieces' to various degrees, with films of 86 to 90 being 'truly great films', 81 to 85 being 'very good', and 75 to 80 being 'good'. When it gets below 75, its varying degrees of above average, average and bad, and my scores will be in increments of 10, because its kind of dull to do much thinking about a score for a film about which you don't have much positive to say.<br /><br />One particular quirk of mine is that I have trouble watching movies when I'm not watching them alone; so if I mention that I saw Julie and Julia with my mother, and noted that it was a very good movie, don't be too disappointed. And, of course, if I feel absolutely wretched, I may just skip reviewing a film entirely. With that said, I hope you enjoy reading my journal.Amokhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10328999285363705056noreply@blogger.com0