Lola Montés (1955)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Lola Montés (1955) – M. Ophuls

After the film flopped upon release, you can see why the producers wanted to cut up its flashback order to try to make it more chronological – which may have made it not unlike other widescreen colour (this time Eastmancolor) films of the 1950s.  But that would have removed some of director Max Ophuls’ clever/genius moves, as it is the contrast between the circus framing device (where she is on display toward the end of her short life, still selling herself to get by, ordered about by ringmaster Peter Ustinov) and the recalled memories of the flashbacks (more truthful or more self-deceptive is hard to say) that highlight the themes of the film.  Ophuls has used the real life story of “Lola Montez” (born Eliza Gilbert) who travelled the world as a dancer but became famous for her affairs with famous men (Franz Liszt and the King of Bavaria Ludwig I, both portrayed here, the latter by Anton Walbrook) and then played them up to commercial success (including a scandalous tour of Australia in the 1850s and a speaking tour of the US, neither in the movie, but not a circus). Her life allows Ophuls to consider his longstanding interest in sex and its social functions along with the power it grants women who otherwise had little in those days but to take this theme all the way to its final stop in degradation, shame, and humiliation (but who is really to blame?).  All of this is managed in the most glamourous of styles with expensive sets and art decoration (perhaps treating French sex symbol Martine Carol as Lola as just another prop) and Ophuls’ famous gliding camera.

 

Les Enfants du Paradis (1945)

 ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Les Enfants du Paradis (1945) – M. Carné

Filmed during the Nazi Occupation of France but released shortly after liberation, the movie became a symbol of French Resistance/Independence (this, even though some of its participants were later accused of collaboration). This is often called one of the greatest French films of all time and the masterpiece of the director-writer team of Marcel Carné and Jacque Prevert (who also made earlier poetic realist classics such as Le Jour Se Leve, 1939, with Jean Gabin, not featured here).  Due to Nazi-imposed regulations prohibiting films longer than 90 minutes, the film is divided into two separate halves, released separately but shown together. The first “The Boulevard of Crime” introduces us to the Parisian theatre district of 1828 and the many important characters:  Garance (played by Arletty), the much sought after beauty who has seen it all; Baptiste Debureau (Jean-Louis Barrault), the pantomime artist who falls for Garance; Frédérick Lemaître (Pierre Brasseur), the charismatic and flamboyant wannabe actor; and Pierre-François Lacenaire (Marcel Herrand), the philosopher-criminal resigned to his own fate. Late in this half we also meet Édouard comte de Montray (Louis Salou), another suitor for Garance (they all are, whether seriously or not), wealthy beyond reason. The melodramatic plot leaves us hanging as Garance is arrested as an accomplice for an attempted murder arranged by Lecenaire – but may have an out.  The second film, “The Man in White”, opens six years later.  The characters have all improved their lots, with Baptiste and Lemaître especially famous.  Life has moved on without Garance, who has disappeared.  When she does return to Paris, the plot mechanics move inexorably in a seemingly pre-ordained direction and end abruptly with the conclusions left for viewers to imagine. The film is justly famous, partly for its amazing sets (by Alexandre Trauner) and mise-en-scene, but also for its portrayal of the many varieties of theatrical performance, from base to lofty, that lend the film its main theme – the thin line between art and life, acting and reality.  There may or may not be metaphors here related to the plight of France in WWII but the film allows for many interpretations. In addition to the impressive acting on display, that’s another reason why it is great.   

A Tale of Two Cities (1935)

 ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

A Tale of Two Cities (1935) – J. Conway

Having not read the book for decades, the plot unfolded as if new for me, and although there is some spectacle (the storming of the Bastille, for example) and numerous character actors, the film was elevated primarily by Ronald Colman's performance as Sidney Carton whose moral action at the end of the film only slowly sunk in, a day or two after viewing. The Dickens novel must be much better but this remnant of the Golden Age of Hollywood might be as good as a pared down version of the book could be.

Gosford Park (2001)

 ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Gosford Park (2001) – R. Altman

I never watched Downton Abbey but perhaps I should have because I really enjoyed writer Julian Fellowes’ script for this late Robert Altman outing.  I suspect I first watched it because it was Altman but perhaps also because, like the Charlie Chan films it references, it was heralded to be a pretty good whodunit, taking place in the Upstairs-Downstairs world of British period drama (circa 1932).  And it is that, but, of course, Altman lets the plot meander all over the place, introducing characters who may not be entirely distinguishable who also talk over each other (a directorial trademark) making it difficult to determine exactly why they are there in the country estate owned by patriarch Michael Gambon and younger wife Kristin Scott-Thomas.  Suffice it to say that we hear enough to deduce that very nearly every character – at least those upstairs, if not also downstairs – has a motive for killing Gambon (which doesn’t actually happen until quite a long way into the film).  Only new ladies maid Kelly MacDonald (working for Dame Maggie Smith) and perhaps outsiders Bob Balaban (a Hollywood producer) and Ryan Philippe (his valet) are unlikely suspects (or are they?). The cast features an amazing array of British acting royalty, doing their thing expertly:  Helen Mirren, Alan Bates, Derek Jacobi, Emily Watson, Richard E. Grant, Clive Owen, Stephen Fry, Jeremy Northam, Eileen Atkins, and more.  Class differences are trotted out and the whole thing is gloriously gossipy. In the end, Altman and Fellowes drop enough hints to help viewers to figure out the culprit, even if detective Fry probably never will, but then again, there’s a twist that makes the watching even more worthwhile. 

 

Dark City (1998)

 ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Dark City (1998) – A. Proyas

Preface:  I found this blu-ray when cleaning out our laboratory which has now been refurnished as staff office space (students don’t attend class in person now, let alone show up for psychology experiments). I don’t think I can describe it without some spoilers (although I’m sure I watched it decades ago and didn’t remember a thing).  So be warned.

Written and directed by Alex Proyas (who had previously made The Crow, 1994, and subsequently made I, Robot, 2004, among other less successful films), this takes its cues from film noir, with Rufus Sewell waking up in a sordid room with a dead prostitute and no memory of who he is or how he got there.  The film seems to take place in the 1940s to boot, with wife Jennifer Connolly singing in a nightclub and detective William Hurt traversing the city at night looking for clues (and for Sewell who has fled the scene).  But all is really not what it seems, as Proyas melds science fiction onto the noir frame to create something much more unique (but which still plays like a crazy homage to cinema classics gone by). I suppose the film could be called “high concept” if you had time to dwell on whether our memories make us who we are or whether there is something more fundamental or innate than that.  But there is no time for that, what with Kiefer Sutherland’s mad psychiatrist running around with huge hypodermics at the beck and call of some bizarre alien creatures animating corpses from the nearest morgue (including children) to pump everyone full of other people’s data.  There, I’ve done it – but isn’t this a spoiler that just makes you want to see what kind of insane work this may be, a work that Roger Ebert called “a great visionary achievement”?  For the record, I watched the Director’s Cut.

Night of the Living Dead (1968)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Night of the Living Dead (1968) – G. Romero

The first thing that Romero’s original low-budget zombie flick has going for it is that you feel that it could really be happening – the characters do the things you expect them to do, if facing this (otherwise implausible) scenario. The second thing is that Romero manages to sneak some social commentary (chiefly about race relations) into what would have been expected to be just grindhouse fare. The third thing is Pittsburgh – it just feels like a place where a zombie manifestation could happen.  Dawn of the Dead, the first sequel, may be even better, although the franchise loses steam after that.  If you’ve only seen its more recent descendents (or remakes), you really owe it to yourself to check out the opening salvo.

Le Samourai (1967)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Le Samourai (1967) – J.-P. Melville

Jean-Pierre Melville is one of my favourite directors – his films typically combine elements of film noir (gangsters, heists) with the technique of Robert Bresson (an existential focus on process) and an obsessive commitment to particular colour palettes. I have seen Le Samourai, starring Alain Delon as a lone wolf hitman, countless times, having once owned it on VHS.  However, only last night (after watching it again and reading an interview with Melville), did I think that the movie had another more mystical reading than the standard surface understanding. More specifically, I had never thought that the pianiste, Cathy Rosier, who witnesses Jef Costello (Delon) executing his contract (a club owner) might actually be Death herself.  One remembers that Melville worked with Cocteau early on (Les Enfants Terrible, 1950) and was perhaps influenced by the latter’s Orpheus (also 1950) in which Death is also personified. In any event, to reconceptualize Jef as infatuated with his own death rather than the piano player is almost to see a different film (and one where the ending is somewhat even more satisfying). Of course, the straightforward reading of the film still works too, with Jef compromised when he is seen by witnesses and confused when his no-longer-airtight alibi still holds up (his pursuit of Cathy to understand why she didn’t dob him in and their subsequent triste is the alternate explanation for his final act).  As with most Melville films, there is great pleasure here in following Jef’s methodical actions as he comes to terms with his situation, fleeing the police (led by crafty Commissaire François Périer) and contending with his double-crossing employers. Delon remains cool throughout.  A masterpiece.