Jimmy Stewart seems an odd match for
Marlene Dietrich (although apparently they had an affair in real life); the two
stars bring their well-known personas to the American West, contrasting
comically with the usual genre trappings.
He’s the new deputy sheriff, full of droll winking stories about people
he knows and their experiences that taught him lessons. She’s the tough saloon singer who is also
involved in a poker game swindle organized by town “boss” Brian Donlevy (who
would play similar roles in the noir context later). The film, under George Marshall’s even-handed
direction, bookends the action with both prologue and coda, showing the town of
Bottleneck before Stewart arrived and then after he’s cleaned it up (with his
pacifist law-abiding ways). Despite all
of its eccentricities (Mischa Auer as a Russian cowboy, Charles Winninger as
the bumbling banjo-playing sheriff) – or perhaps because of them –- the film
works. If you close one eye, it’s a
Dietrich picture; close the other and it’s Stewart’s.
After watching Andersson’s second
“modern” work, You, the Living (2007) about six years ago (on an airplane), I
wrote in my notes “pastel absurdity” and gave it 4.5 stars. As in that film, this earlier one is a tale
told by anecdote: Andersson sets up his frame as a painter would the canvas and
then allows the action to unfold in long shot within it, then he sets up the
next frame/scene in a different space, and so on. Extreme care and attention are paid to color
(more muted than pastel here, but with the occasional splash of orange or red),
lighting, and the balance of characters and objects in the space (some in
deeper focus). However, in Songs from
the Second Floor, there is a narrative of sorts, with recurring characters
encountering an array of tragicomic situations that document (more or less) the
frailty and vulnerability of we humans.
One character even utters the (translated from Swedish) phrase, “It’s
tough being human sometimes”. There are
some bloody scenes here (those splashes of red) as people encounter physical
peril, but a lot of the pain and suffering is emotional (as in life). However,
despite all the woe, Andersson’s film is darkly funny; someone made a reference
to The Far Side cartoons, and perhaps that’s not too far wrong. As with other “existential” films that
highlight our shared human concerns, seeing people deal with all this (and then
laughing?) somehow makes life feel more invigorating. I am excited to see Andersson’s newest
feature, A Pigeon Sat on a Branch Reflecting on Existence (2014).
☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ Night
has a Thousand Eyes (1948) – J. Farrow
Beer may have helped but I really
enjoyed this supernatural film noir from director John Farrow. Edward G. Robinson stars as Triton, a phony
psychic answering questions posed by members of the audience (aided by his
erstwhile assistants), who starts to have real visions of the future. Although he manages to warn people about (but
ultimately not prevent) a few tragedies and help his friends win big at the
races, Robinson’s visions alarm him and lead him to despair and the life of a
recluse. Only later, when he foresees
the death of his former partner and then the subsequent murder of that man’s
daughter, does he emerge from hiding.
The film then plays out according to his visions, despite police
detective William Demarest’s disbelief.
Creepy and weird and noir, just the way I like ‘em (although I’ll admit
that some of the supporting actors could be stronger).
☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ½ The
Best Years of Our Lives (1946) – W. Wyler
I usually tread carefully around
multiple award winners (seven Oscars for this one), just because they sometimes
err on the side of cloying sentimentality and populist opinion, losing some
edge in exchange. However, this is not
true of The Best Years of Our Lives, the story of three servicemen returning
from WWII to uncertain futures back in the US.
Indeed, the title itself is ironic. Under ex-Air Force officer Willy
Wyler’s direction and following Robert E. Sherwood's script, the film pulls no
punches in its uncompromising view of the difficulties facing those returning
from war, whether they be blue collar (Dana Andrews), middle class (Harold
Russell), or better off (Fredric March).
After falling in together on their way back to “Boone City” (a stand in for
Cincinnati, more or less) from points overseas, the three leads stick with each
other and we follow their intersecting paths.
Russell has lost both hands (true of the actor as well as the character)
and has trouble accepting his girl’s love thinking it only pity. March takes to
drinking and has a run in with his boss at the bank over small loans to
returning G.I.’s (but he has the support of his lovely wife Myrna Loy and
daughter Teresa Wright). Andrews
suffers from PTSD, discovers that his war bride is a party girl who wants no
part of him now that he is broke, and can’t even keep his old job as a soda
jerk at the drugstore (now taken over by a corporate chain – a sign of things
to come). Although the film follows
these men (and their families) long enough to see them start to adapt, I agree
with critic Kent Jones that there is plenty of evidence that things may not go
well for them in the future. And as
critic Jonathan Rosenbaum points out, the film offers an eye-opening vantage
point for the real lived experiences of that generation, quite different from
the burnished brass-plated nostalgia that often passes for reality. Moreover, I fear that society continues to
offer an insensitive cold shoulder to our returning vets and ever will it be
thus. This film could offer a useful corrective.
Another puzzle film from Alain Resnais,
his third feature (after Hiroshima Mon Amour and Last Year at Marienbad). As in the earlier films, the trick is to try
to piece together the “facts” of the narrative from the behaviors shown and the
statements of the various characters.
However, as in real life, these “clues” may be subject to duplicity,
randomness, irrelevance, transience, and so on.
That is, our actions, statements, and, yes, thoughts and feelings may
hold little bearing for our true pasts, presents, or futures. To put this another way, we are all impacted
by real and faulty memories of our pasts, current perceptions (also accurate or
misbegotten) of the situations and relationships we find ourselves in, and
motivations and expectations for the future (realistic or unrealistic). So, trying to pinpoint the psychological
experience of another person from the outside seems an impossible task. Of course, this is exactly the task that
Resnais sets for us in Muriel. Unlike
other film directors, he refuses to “set the stage” and provide exposition that
tells viewers the facts of the story that they couldn’t otherwise know. True, some of our other better directors
(such as the Iranians Farhadi or Kiarostami) force us to figure out what is
happening and leave room for subjectivity in their equations, but no one
engages in as much wilful misdirection as Resnais, while somehow remaining true
to how people really experience their lives, in bursts of disconnected
cognitive and affective experiences.
Resnais’s editing style follows this logic, with an array of jump-cuts
and non-sequiturs thrown in amidst the more straightforward (but still
strangely detached) narrative sequences.
The plot, for what it is worth, revolves around Delphine Seyrig’s antique
dealer who summons an old lover from the past to visit her in Bologne. He has (apparently) spent 15 years in
Algeria, from where her stepson has just returned after a stint in the
military. Over the course of the film,
we and they try to reconcile their conflicting memories of their shared past,
to navigate their current interactions and living arrangements, and to
understand what is possible for their future together (or apart). Meanwhile,
the stepson has to cope with traumatic memories of the torture of a girl,
Muriel, that he witnessed during the war.
I suspect that I may be missing some of
the cultural nuances on which the plot of Ozu’s first sound picture
pivots. However, its broader strokes are
easy enough to read and their emotional effects are universally understood. Basically, a poor widow sacrifices everything
to ensure that her only son can get a good education. Later, when he is grown, she visits him in
Tokyo from her country village, discovering that he has a wife and child. Unhappy with his status in life (as a night
school teacher), the son hid these things from his mother so she wouldn’t visit
and discover this lack of success. As
with the later Ozu films we know so well, there are quiet moments interspersed
between scenes, showing “still life” shots or resting in the space after the
actors have departed – these serve to heighten the emotion just expressed or
allow us to reflect upon it. And there
is Chishu Ryu, much younger than you might remember him but with the same laugh
and easy manner, playing the son’s former teacher who has also encountered a
downward trajectory in his life. In
fact, Japan’s general trajectory may be downward in the 1930’s and this may be
one of Ozu’s points (a few references to Germany, though ambiguous, may also
represent editorial comments). In the
end, however, this is another story about parents and their adult children and
the fraught bonds that hold them together, for better or for worse, that Ozu
told so well.
The gripping and gritty and despairingly
realistic tale of Kolya, a poor mechanic in a small coastal town in northern
Russia, who is being screwed over by the local mayor. The mayor has pushed
through an order to have Kolya’s property acquired by the town for the purpose
of building a “communications center” -- but the price to be paid is
unfair. Kolya brings in an old army
friend, now a lawyer with connections to a higher-up communist party official,
and they decide to squeeze the mayor with dirt they’ve turned up on him (i.e.,
evidence of corruption). However, in Russia as everywhere else, fighting the
power seems destined to fail – things spiral out of control rapidly. Part of this is due to the copious amounts of
vodka everyone seems to be drinking, all the time. As further misfortune sets in on Kolya, the
film raises a number of plausible explanations (or villains) responsible for
his plight – but the real culprit sheds light on current affairs in Russia and
who really holds the most power.
Incredibly suspenseful with the threat of violence hanging in the air in
virtually every scene.
King Hu’s films from the late ‘60s/early
‘70s, including Come Drink with Me, A Touch of Zen, and Dragon Inn, are really
among the finest martial arts films I’ve seen.
Here in Dragon Inn, the magnificent vistas that provide a backdrop for
the action lend the film an epic quality that brings it close to the Western in
tone. Of course, no one fought with
swords or wore such brightly colored costumes in the Old West, so things are
much more over the top here. Admittedly,
there is a cast of thousands and it might be difficult to keep track of who is
who but the plot is straightforward: the
bad guys led by the Emperor’s Eunuch are out to kill a disgraced/executed
general’s kids but the kids are protected by a ragtag band of good guys. If you can hold onto this strand of plot,
then it is all leaping, fighting, poisoned wine, daggers thrown from a
distance, flaming arrows, flying on wires for a quick scratch to the face, and
then the final four-on-one battle which ends with a head lopped off. Marvelous.
I take it that this is no one’s
favourite Bresson film. However, I found
this return to his stylized world refreshing – there is no one quite like
Bresson. Perhaps the choice of film
content was so obvious that some reviewers felt he was going through the
motions? Bresson has always focused on issues of faith and how challenges that
a person faces might lead them to question their faith. So, Joan of Arc represents a person in such a
challenging position – although perchance it is we the audience or Joan’s
interrogators from the Church who are really being challenged, given that
Joan’s faith nary wavers a bit. Bresson
is also acknowledging Dreyer as one of his forebears, given the earlier
director’s transcendent version of this story, also based on the available
transcripts from the trial. However,
Bresson’s version is far different from Dreyer’s ecstatic take and instead
almost mechanical in its stoic and restrained approach. But the inhibited nature of the film (and
those typical shots of Joan’s hands and feet, often in shackles) somehow
elicits a heightened reaction from the viewer, as if the viewer must contribute
him or herself the emotion and spiritual force that have been omitted on
screen. Of course, modern viewers might
be led to wonder whether Joan of Arc might have been experiencing
schizophrenia, but the final shot of the stake after Joan has been burned
suggests that Bresson did not share similar doubts.
I thought I had seen
this before, but apparently not since my memories were in black and white and
this is in amazing color (lots of contrasting reds and greens). A bunch of
astronauts in the future land on a planet where a man and his daughter have
been castaways (think The Tempest). They are attacked by a mysterious force
(which is animated with assistance from Disney in one great scene). The
Freudian and Shakespearean undertones provide heft to an otherwise B-movie
set-up.
Real sideshow circus
performers took roles in this fiction film which treads a fine line between
exploitation and destigmatization (if you can call it that). Certainly, the
freaks are humanized by virtue of our seeing their behind-the-scenes daily
existence (fictionalized though it may be). However, their revenge on the evil
trapeze artist, warranted sure enough, does cast a pall over the chance to
reduce stereotypes. An unbelievable look at an era gone by.
The Criminal Life
of Archibaldo de la Cruz (1955) – L. Buñuel
There's certainly one
thing you can say about a Buñuel film and that is that it is very difficult to
predict what will happen from one moment to the next! This tale of a young boy
who develops an erotic fixation associated with death (presumably caused by a
music box, no less) and grows up to intend to be a serial killer is a black
black comedy. As with other more famous Buñuel films,the consummation of each
act is always blocked. That is, there are foreshadowings of Exterminating
Angel, Discreet Charm, and especially Tristana (that...mannequin...leg!).
Spanning from 1979 to 1990, Jia's film tackles the sociocultural changes in China that followed the Open Door policy of the 1980s by tracing the lives of a group of performers in a Cultural Troupe (from peasant songs to breakdance electronic). Although we stick with a few principals, the long shot long take method makes them less the focus than the surrounding context, thereby underscoring the larger theme of cultural change and its impact. Impressively, the effects wrought by time are not highlighted by the director but occur more subtly as outside influences on fashion, music, and lifestyle creep in.
I have fond memories of Basil Rathbone and Nigel Bruce as Holmes and Watson (respectively). Channel 38 (Boston) used to have a mystery movie every Saturday night (at 11:30 PM, I think) often featuring Sherlock Holmes (or Mr. Moto or Charlie Chan). I used to watch these with my Dad (who often fell asleep). The Scarlet Claw treads the same terrain as the Hound of the Baskervilles, with a spooky creature haunting the marshes of French Quebec (but really a revenge killer who is a master of disguise). As usual, Watson is a lovable buffoon but Holmes solves the case anyway.
Absorbing (and
unpredictable) tale that examines the aftermath of the assassination of the head
of the Nazi occupation ("the Hangman") in Czechoslovakia for both the
resistance and the occupiers. Our sympathies lie with Brian Donlevy (the
assassin) and the woman he accidentally drags into the fight (Anna Lee), whose
father (Walter Brennan, a university professor here) is already under suspicion
by the occupation. "Bert" Brecht contributed to the story/screenplay
and sued the producers when he didn't get the primary credit -- some traces of
his philosophy remain but this is a thriller in the Hollywood
mode of the time.
I haven't been keeping
up with Inarritu's films but this way too intense look at a man dying of cancer
trying to wrap up his affairs, his very complicated and very depressing
affairs, seems to indicate that he has gone to another level. Or perhaps it is
Javier Bardem's acting that keeps this aloft? (Although the art direction,
filled with reds and greens, and cinematography thereof, is worth a look).
Sure, it could have done with some cuts to tighten things up, but Barcelona never looked
grimier (I bet) and this deserves the plaudits it has received.
After watching so many
of his older flicks, it is a bit stunning to see the young Jean Gabin here,
trapped in the Casbah with the police laying wait for him at every exit. But in
his seedy labyrinth (which is a decidedly racist view of things -- check Battle of Algiers
for an update), he remains an untouchable king. Remade as Algiers with Charles Boyer and Hedy Lamarr
the following year (and which I saw first) with few deviations from the plot,
although I don't quite remember the romantically doomed ending here. Some
excellent expressive camerawork and sets.
☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ Ride the Pink Horse (1947) – R. Montgomery
Set in a New Mexican nowhereland, Robert Montgomery's weird noir casts himself in the lead as an alienated GI hunting down a war profiteer (with strange hearing aid) who killed his friend. He is assisted by Thomas Gomez as Pancho, Wanda Hendrix as Pila, and Art Smith as Retz, who take a liking to him for no apparent reason, because he is not a nice guy (and does not have nice motives). Perhaps you could say he is rehabilitated through his stay in the small town and his contact with these kind souls and this reaffirmation of community is what is needed for the post-war period when people felt jaded and burnt.
Buñuel's first feature (after Un Chien Andalou) has the loose random feel of a surrealist classic but still manages to enclose a plot of sorts within its tangents (a couple desirous of sexual coupling is prevented by various civic religious and bourgeois leaders...although this might not be an exact fit with what transpires). More to the point, there are some amazing dirty jokes (or puns? allusions?) and some astonishing digs at organized religion (especially the abrupt ending). Gaston Modot is a real bastard...and our hero. A cow also sleeps in a bed.
Re-watching this on
Blu-Ray has forced me to revise fond childhood TV memories to incorporate a lot
more violence and scariness than I remembered. Willis O'Brien's stop motion
animation (of the big ape -- you know the story) is better than recalled. Plus
Fay Wray in pre-Hays code outfits really does seem that she could attract Kong.
Some of the acting is a bit flat but all told this is a ripping yarn.
Dreyer's Joan of Arc
really is something remarkable -- a fever dream of giant close-ups and
emotional displays that maintains a nearly unrelenting intensity throughout its
98 minutes. As critic Noel Burch points out, there are no establishing shots
here, we never see the context in full (as in your usual silent or Hollywood
production) and instead we must imagine the various settings (courtroom,
prison, torture chamber, the stake). This minimalism only serves to heighten
the film's power -- and it never flinches even as Joan (played amazingly by
Falconetti) is burnt at the stake.
I finally watched this
again with Herzog's commentary track on and although I'd heard all the stories
before (except for the fact that he says Les Blank's Burden of Dreams only
caught half of the crazy story), it is great to hear them from Herzog's
teutonic lips. If you haven't seen Klaus Kinski and a huge cast of native
Peruvian indians drag a steam-ship over a mountain between two rivers, then you
have not witnessed spiritual triumph -- the pyrrhic victory is icing on the
cake.
Ever since seeing this
in my 9th grade English class (thanks, Mrs. McAuliffe!), it has been a personal
favorite. David Lean's expressionistic direction and stunning B&W
photography makes this adventure-romance with its many twists and turns,
gripping from start to finish. I'd imagine this was incredible as a serial back
in Dickens' day.
Al-Mummia
(The Mummy/The Night of Counting the Years) (1969) – C. A. Salam
Hypnotic and eerie but true tale from
Egypt detailing how a remote tribe was caught plundering a hidden mountain tomb
where dozens of mummies (including those of important pharaohs) had been
secured 3000 years ago after their official tombs in the Valley of the Kings
had been desecrated. Taking place in the late 1880’s, the film also contains an
apparent conflict between the city people and the mountain people, the modern
versus the traditional culture. However, all is not what it seems, as the young
people of the mountain tribe show that they have more respect for their
ancestors than do their elders who have been beset by greed, aided by a
malevolent antiquities dealer. The day
is won by those who wish to preserve and safeguard the past. The actual
landscapes and relics of Egypt and some spooky electronic music give this a
quality of dreamlike otherworldliness.
Revisited this last
night and was impressed by Joan Fontaine's fragility, Olivier's distraction,
George Sanders' biting evil, and Hitchcock's masterful control over the gothic
romance.
Edmond O'Brien goes undercover, first in prison, and then in the gang,
to try to nab psychotic mother-fixated Jimmy Cagney. Raoul Walsh keeps this
gangster flick humming along with fairly non-stop action and a good dose of
psychological tension.
Archetypal John Ford
western. Looks great and never a dull moment with Wyatt Earp, Doc Holliday, et
al. at the OK Corral. Is civilization coming to Tombstone?
The 17 minute ballet
sequence is amazingly surreal and full of way out art-direction (as one would
expect from Powell & Pressburger). The rest of the story speaks to the
trade-off between committing to one's artform and having a normal life. In my
book, Black Narcissus is the better Archers' film but Anton Walbrook does give
an impressive performance here.
After writing a
successful book about his experiences teaching in a French high school, the
teacher Francois B. gets a chance to star in a movie, scripted through
workshops with students from the school and acted by all of these
non-professionals. The result is nothing less than gripping and spotlights
Francois's direct relationship with his students and its costs and benefits. An
interesting experiment.
The Story of the Weeping Camel (2004) – B. Davaa/L. Falorni
Fly on the wall drama
about camels in Mongolia
and the humans who love them. Eschewing voiceover narration to let spectators
absorb events as they unfold, this documentary (which may have scripted
elements) captures a different way of life (and pace of life) than most of us
would be used to. Awesome too that music plays a pivotal role in reconciling
our heroes.
A day in the life of a
pizza delivery driver in Tehran
which gives us (and him) a glimpse of the serious social inequity in the
culture. Despite his blank passivity, these class differences affect him
deeply. The movie drifts humidly from situation to situation becoming
increasingly surreal (at least in the way it must feel to the protagonist). And
then we are back at the moment that started the film, only slightly more
capable of understanding it.
After an audacious
start (placing human nature in its biological context), Resnais presents three
interwoven case studies of bourgeois lives, filled with alternating success and
frustration. Then, just as audaciously, a psychologist begins to comment (using
a sort of evolutionary behaviorism), linking the action to a theory about
"need for dominance" and the likelihood of depression (or aggression)
when dominance is foiled. Lab rats demonstrate. Outmoded but intriguing.
Ophuls tackles three
Maupassant stories with his usual gliding camera, fantabulous costumes and
sets, and wry wit. All very Gay Nineties, focused on the pros and cons of
seeking pleasure.
Another blue-hued film
from Melville about the mechanics of plotting. However, this time the team is
not plotting a heist but instead are leaders of the French Resistance during
WWII, engaged in numerous heroic and tragic escapades (told in sequential anecdotes).
Lino Ventura's
efficient bureaucrat is a sympathetic standout among the charismatic cast.
Eisenstein's first
film is a dynamic story of a failed workers' strike told with panache and, yes,
some crazy montage action (not to mention superimposition and other camera tricks
of the time). The Kuleshov effect shots (you see someone's face, then you see
what they are looking at, then back to the person) can be somewhat jarring. Too
bad the fat cat capitalists win (this time).
This history of the
multinational corporation (or, alternatively, this expose of corporate crime)
is by turns, eye-opening, thought-provoking, and profoundly depressing. Six
years later, the inspirational bit at the end still (sadly) rings hollow. But
if this is seen by those who don't already know about the wicked things that
greed (and institutionalized greed) can lead to, it could shake them up (if not
shake things up).
I waited until my 40s
to watch Chaplin, perhaps because I'm afraid of too much sentimentality. But I
liked City Lights in spite of myself -- there are some truly funny moments.
Perhaps too the perverse lens granted by virtue of having seen Monsieur Verdoux
first casts the tramp (and his infatuation with the blind girl) in an entirely
different light. I must admit however that Chaplin displays a gift for
emotional nuance, even while engaged in the broadest slapstick, that must be
the secret to his star-power.
Epic, in
its depiction of the political changes in Italy
in the 1860s, but personal, in its characterization of the Prince of Salina (Burt Lancaster), a
man who sees his place in the world fading away. Sumptuous in design, with lots
of deep focus and traveling shots, and opulent sets and costumes.
No, I hadn't really
watched Annie Hall before. Yes, it's Woody Allen and maybe that's all you need
to know to know what the movie is about (OK, it's his take on relationships).
It is exactly what you expect, but funnier and more human than anything Woody's
done lately. Diane Keaton is a revelation.
