Berberian Sound Studio (2012)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Berberian Sound Studio (2012) -- P. Strickland

It is probably best to view Peter Strickland's loving homage to the Italian giallo movies of the 1970s as an experimental film rather than a narrative one.  Coming at it knowing that you will be exposed to a playful, wicked, masterful and extreme use of sound -- and that this is the central point -- will remove all the tension or frustration that might otherwise be experienced as the plot simply dissipates (as often happened in giallos themselves, come to think of it).  Toby Jones plays a meek sound man who arrives in Italy not knowing that he'll be working on a gruesome horror film (focused on the brutal interrogation by the Church of those accused of being witches, but also perhaps on the reincarnation of those witches in a modern girls academy -- a clear nod to Argento).  We never see the film -- we only hear it.  Instead, we see the foley artists (slashing watermelons and destroying other vegetables) and the dubbing process -- everything is analog.  Gradually our sound man goes rather insane and the sound and images of the film follow suit.  I saw this on the big screen with the audio cranked -- probably the only thing better than headphones.  The soundtrack is by Brit band Broadcast, whose singer sadly died from pneumonia in the middle of the project, and it fits right into the genre-love.

My Man Godfrey (1936)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

My Man Godfrey (1936) -- G. La Cava

More droll than riotous, methinks, but My Man Godfrey scores in its use of William Powell as the "forgotten man" turned butler who attempts to tell the idle rich how to live life with dignity.  Carole Lombard is adorably ditzy and Gail Patrick coolly bitchy while Eugene Pallette and Mischa Auer bring their usual eccentricities to bear as Gregory La Cava's film tears down these haves (for a likely audience of have nots) at the end of the Great Depression.  If this were remade today, would the gluttony and folly of the 1% be equally exposed? The "solution" to the problem offered by Powell is no solution at all -- is there any way to right the wrongs that have led to so much inequity in society? After all is said and done, My Man Godfrey is a comedy with a darker lining.

Koyaanisqatsi (1982)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Koyaanisqatsi (1982) -- G. Reggio

First watched as part of a cultural studies class at William and Mary (Swem Library) in 1988 or 1989.  Now, 30 years plus after it was filmed, Koyaanisqatsi still has the power to arrest one's attention with its plot-less onslaught of images set to music by Philip Glass.  However, some of the images of technology (creating a "life out of balance") are so dated that, for me, they conjure up images of childhood rather than the intended vision of insane mass production and too many cars, too many people, too much, too fast.  Glass's score is so hypnotic, so trippy, so filled with majestic monks intoning "koyaanisqatsi",  that it is easy to get lost in the flow of the film and the flow of one's own thoughts.

Los Angeles Plays Itself (2003)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Los Angeles Plays Itself (2003) -- T. Anderson

I love the essay film.  Here, Thom Anderson stitches together three hours of film clips (and some footage he shot himself) to show how Los Angeles has been presented in Hollywood films.  Moving from the various views of L. A. in the background, often masquerading as other cities or just providing an anonymous urban (or suburban) context for action, to a more direct focus on the city as a milieu of interest on its own terms, the film, guided by voice-over narration (by deadpan Encke King), takes a meandering route through a variety of topics.  Anderson argues successfully that the portrayal of Los Angeles has tended toward cliches and a myopic vision of white upper middle class America rather than revealing the vibrant multicultural zones in which people walk rather than drive, shown in only a few independent films.  My only beef with the film, fun as it is, is that it relies too heavily on some unknown 1990s films to make its points (but of course, Chinatown, L. A. Confidential, and Killer of Sheep also get their due). 

Thelonious Monk: Straight, No Chaser (1988)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Thelonious Monk: Straight, No Chaser (1988) -- C. Zwerin

Largely lets the music speak for itself...and what complicated music it is!  The film briefly charts Thelonious Monk's rise from Coleman Hawkins sideman to leader in his own right and lavishly offers us concert footage from the late 1960s.  A few talking heads tell us about his probable mental illness (sounds like bipolar) but we do not get to know the man through his own words, as he seems mysterious and not interested in talking for the camera.  If you haven't checked Monk out, you really should.

Pulse (Kairo) (2001)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Pulse (Kairo) (2001) -- K. Kurosawa

J-Horror film from Kiyoshi Kurosawa that moves from ghost in the machine to forbidden rooms to something quite like the apocalypse.  The pervasive mood evoked is less one of dread than of loneliness, but this is eventually countered with a warmth that arises from partnership and trust in the face of extreme challenge.  Sure, there are ellipses in the plot (this is still J-Horror) but, for me, these only add to the creepiness and sense of detachment and alienation.  The thrills and chills are there, but Kurosawa has something deeper to say.

Rashomon (1950)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Rashomon (1950) -- A. Kurosawa

The film that brought Kurosawa (and Japanese film more generally) attention in the West (despite a long tradition and some other good Kurosawa films like Stray Dog) really is all that it is cracked up to be.  The cinematography is beautiful, with dappled light on the forest floor or streaming through the leaves above.  Mifune chews the scenery (and inspires all subsequent caricatures) but this raving bandit stands in contrast to his earlier more sober parts (thus showing this to be a measured choice in acting style, not an inflexible mode). The famous story of the rape and murder in the woods is told in flashback from at least four points of view (but in fact recounted by only 1 or 2 characters sheltering under the Rashomon gate from a rainstorm).  The central theme here is the subjectivity of human experience (since all 4 versions vary in their details) and the way that we bend our perception for selfish ends. This may typically be a result of self-deception or motivated bias but, in Kurosawa's film, someone is obviously lying as well.  Otherwise things don't add up.  It is a measure of Kurosawa's genius (or a happy accident) that he allows this final ambiguity, even as he puts in a plug for the basic goodness of humanity in the face of evil.