Citizen Kane (1941)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Citizen Kane (1941) – O. Welles

A flop at the time, Citizen Kane has now been acknowledged as one of the greatest movies of all time.  Orson Welles was a young wunderkind given carte blanche by RKO to make whatever movie he wanted and he brought his Mercury Players from New York (where they had triumphed on Broadway and on the radio, with help from the WPA).  Although the script included extensive contributions from Herman J. Mankiewicz (as documented by Pauline Kael but disputed by others) and the deep-focus cinematographic wizardry came courtesy of Gregg Toland, there is no doubting Welles’ imprint as an auteur.  First, the theme of the egotistical power-hungry man who is also vulnerable, makes mistakes, and comes to a shoddy end appears more than once in his oeuvre (MacBeth, Mr. Arkadin, Touch of Evil), alongside the theme of nostalgia for days gone by, one’s youth and innocence, before those mistakes were made (The Magnificent Ambersons, Chimes at Midnight, also Touch of Evil).  “Rosebud” represents this latter theme well.  Second, Welles’ energy and enthusiasm devoted to the style of the picture are everywhere to be seen – in Kane we get thrilling montage after montage, beginning with the faux newsreel and extending to various ways that time is denoted as passing (those breakfast scenes with first wife Emily, the Opera sequences with second wife Susan).  The camerawork (with long tracking shots), the sets (with ceilings), the overlapping flashback structure, the ensemble acting (by Joseph Cotton, Everett Sloane, Dorothy Comingore, Ruth Warrick, Agnes Moorehead, Ray Collins, George Colouris, and of course, Welles himself in all sorts of makeup), the chiaroscuro lighting, the baroque excess of it all – these things make appearances in much of Welles’ future work.  He never stopped experimenting (as witnessed by his late essay films F for Fake and Filming Othello) but it all started here.  Even seen many times, it is still astonishing to see just how creative the filmmaking was and how much freedom Welles was granted to do whatever he wanted (freedom he never had again).  The rise and fall of Charles Foster Kane, American, although perhaps a lightly veiled swipe at media tycoon William Randolph Hearst at the time, still has parallels to larger-than-life business/politicians today (yes, Donald J. Trump).  Some lessons are never learned.  Fortunately, Welles’ own story was never conceived of as a tragic rise and fall by the man himself, who knew that artistic pleasures were to be gained through the process rather than necessarily in the end product alone.  However, with Kane, everything came together to produce an incredibly influential work of art that remains fresh 75 years later.   

Police, Adjective (2009)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Police, Adjective (2009) – C. Porumboiu

Was there a Romanian New Wave in the Oughties?  I’m only just catching up.  Puiu’s The Death of Mr. Lazarescu (2005) and Mungiu’s 4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days (2007) were both great ultra-realist tales showing the bleak state of life in Romania.  Corneliu Porumboiu’s 2009 film follows Puiu by taking a black comedic look at present day post-communist Romania, specifically the (role of the) police force.  Cristi (Dragos Bucur) is a moody undercover cop who is tailing a couple of high school students who are smoking hashish; one of them has informed on the other.  Cristi’s preference is not to bust the suspect because the jail sentence would be too steep and he doesn’t want to ruin the kid’s life (which otherwise seems normal and upper middle class).  His supervisor and the local prosecutor think otherwise.  But Cristi keeps stalling – the film shows us an endless stakeout, ridiculous leads being followed up, and, of course, the relentless bureaucratic nature of police work.  At home, Cristi and his school-teacher wife discuss grammar.  Suspense builds up because nothing is happening (this is again a hyper-realistic anti-thriller). And then, when Cristi is finally called into the supervisor’s office, the coup-de-grace is an amazing scene where the dictionary is consulted and read out to determine whether Cristi has the right to follow his “conscience” (but sneakily, and more importantly, we are led to contemplate whether “police” is a noun or an adjective).  In this one scene, my brain was tickled into considering Cristi’s actions and those of the supervisor in a different light and, without missing a beat, the film resolves as you didn’t think it would (or did you?).  At this point, you can cast your eye back across the film and decide that it was indeed a comedy. Or was it? Maybe not if you live in Romania.

The Prisoner of Zenda (1937)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

The Prisoner of Zenda (1937) – J. Cromwell

After a tough day at work fighting the evil legions of bureaucracy, there is nothing so replenishing as an old swashbuckler.  Here, the bad guys are wicked and the good guys love well and win – everything is in black and white, your heart is won over, and there is a final feeling of elevation!  Except, well, there’s a twist in this particular film.  In fact, Ronald Colman plays an English traveller who bears a remarkable resemblance to the about-to-be-crowned King of some Eastern European monarchy (also played by Colman) who becomes honour-bound to act secretly in the King’s stead when the latter is unfortunately kidnapped by his evil half-brother (Raymond Massey, who, of course, has designs on the throne).  So, while we root for English Colman, we worry that his time as “Acting” King might soon be over and so too his love for the King’s fiancée, played by Madeleine Carroll.   But, of course, it is only right and proper for English Colman to do the upstanding thing, despite his heart’s desires, and so, there is a wrinkle in our wish for clear-cut heroics and unsullied victories.  That said, the film is still a delicious fairy tale with excellent support from C. Aubrey Smith and David Niven (on the side of good) and dashing Douglas Fairbanks, Jr. (on the side of evil).  That wrinkle likely boosts the film into something different, less predictable than other swashbucklers – and it succeeds primarily because of the charismatic lead/dual performance by Colman. Huzzah!

  

The White Balloon (1995)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

The White Balloon (1995) – J. Panahi

Jafar Panahi’s first film (after serving as Assistant Director to Abbas Kiarostami, who is credited with this film’s script) is another one of the now long list of Iranian masterworks (from Panahi, Kiarostami, Farhadi, Makhmalbaf and others) -- a real New Wave, if it hadn’t been going on for decades now.  These films manage to interact directly with viewers’ subjectivity (our consciousness) even while seemingly portraying almost trivial events.  Knowing (or controlling) exactly what the audience is thinking allows the director to playfully tease us, to create suspense, to give pleasure by following or contravening the normal rules of a narrative.  Hitchcock also had this skill.  I’m not entirely sure how the effect is created – careful use of editing, but also sound design, subjective point-of-view shots, and scripts that narrow our scope to one or two characters carrying out actions, step by step with clear expectations or goals.  I don’t think there is anything specific about Iranian culture that leads to such a technique (I could be wrong), but for Westerners there is another layer to be enjoyed when one sees that culture in all of its day-to-day mundanity. Here, Panahi has us follow a 7-year-old girl in Tehran on New Year’s Eve who wishes to buy a goldfish (part of the celebration).  When she is given a 500 tomans note by her mother, more money than is needed, we feel nervous as she rushes off with the note shoved into the goldfish bowl.  Will it get lost? Yes, it does (but not until after some fun is had by the director showing two snake-charmers pilfer the money and tease the girl before returning it).  Most of the film is spent watching the girl try to get the money back after she subsequently loses it down a drain.  Since we don’t know what will or can happen, we are completely absorbed by the task and the people who get involved, trying to help.  The title of the film itself, doesn’t make any sense until the final minutes (out of only 85) – and even then, it feels more like a wink from Panahi than a meaningful symbol.  In the end, the film seems like nothing more than a light comedy about kids and their way of seeing the world – but through some mysterious alchemy, it turns out to be more.

Moonlight (2016)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Moonlight (2016) – B. Jenkins

To be young, black, poor, and gay is a serious predicament in the USA.  Barry Jenkins’ film shows, in three acts with three actors, one man’s development, growing from a bullied young boy to an awkward uncertain youth, to a strong and silent man.  His crack-addicted mother (Naomie Harris) casts a huge shadow over everything, adding more difficulties, although for the context (Liberty City, Miami), this may reflect some sad sort of normal.  Even his caring and altruistic self-appointed mentor (played charismatically by Mahershala Ali) is also a drug-dealer.  So, although alienation is the order of the day, real human intervention has lasting effects; sensitive and caring moments, sensitively portrayed, help Little/Chiron/Black to navigate the troubled world, perhaps like beacons of light in the darkness.  The film itself looks beautiful (with black skin looking blue in the moonlight, a poetic phrase that is the source of the title) and there are numerous arthouse moves that reveal the film’s goals to be more aesthetic than your typical narrative feature.  Yes, there are autobiographical notes here for Jenkins (extending also from Tarell Alvin McCraney’s play) but this is not your usual Oscar-winning biopic – it is something deeper, more personal, touching and affecting, human and heartbreaking.

  

All the President’s Men (1976)

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The Return (2003)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

The Return (2003) – A. Zvyagintsev

Andrey Zvyagintsev’s very first feature shows him to already be a master of film craft, something which has since been reinforced by 2014’s Leviathan and this year’s Loveless (which I am still looking forward to watching).  Although I am not sure the Tarkovsky comparisons are fully warranted (except that he is Russian and shoots a great landscape), there is no denying that Zvyagintsev does know how to create suspense and tension through a well-executed script and careful attention to character development.  Here, two young brothers, aged 12 and 14 (perhaps), are shocked by the sudden return of their long absent father, whom the younger son can’t recall at all.  The father immediately takes them on an overnight fishing trip during which he acts increasingly menacing and harsh; soon the overnight trip extends to become a longer journey, full of rain and hardships.  A terrible sea voyage in a rowboat features prominently, ending on a secluded, perhaps deserted, island where the boys must confront their hostile father.  Thinking back to Tarkovsky, he was famous for including the four elements in his films, sometimes all in the same shot (see Stalker or The Mirror, for examples); perhaps Zvyagintsev may have also tried this here (there is a tremendous amount of wind and rain plus campfires and at least one ditch being dug).  Other reviewers suggest that The Return contains metaphysical and mythological themes or Freudian ones (in which the sons must overcome the father to, if not to obtain the mother, at least to become men); I didn’t pick this up but it would also suggest a Tarkovsky influence.  What I did see was a tremendously acted film, especially by Ivan Dobronravov (the stubborn younger son), and one that was almost unbearable in its sense of foreboding threat.  As a father of two sons, I may have observed the boys’ relationship more carefully (and felt more tense as a result!).  A sinister nail-biter, if you are in the mood, and a beautiful looking one to boot.

  

The Long Day Closes (1992)

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The Long Day Closes (1992) – T. Davies

Meticulously crafted with each sequence suffused with a distinctive kind of light, often muted or mediated through the rain; on the soundtrack, there are snippets of film dialogue or songs and unknown noises transposed over the more diegetic sounds.  This is director Terence Davies’ personal reverie, bespeaking of a lonely childhood, brightened occasionally by the cinema and by family bonds with preoccupied older siblings and a widowed mum.   The stillness of the moments is often broken by singing, sometimes low and distant and personal, and occasionally religious or from the heart, collectively, as in Davies’ previous film (Distant Voices, Still Lives; 1988).  But the overall feeling is cold, not warmly nostalgic, but chilly and apart -- the staged and constructed nature of the shots adds to this sense of detachment.  There is often pain and torment, from stern schoolmasters and schoolyard bullies – and friends who carelessly exclude. Yet, the film is still wondrous, a series of high-culture poetic moments with low-culture British tenement life as their ingredients (alongside audio from The Magnificent Ambersons, Great Expectations, Meet Me in St. Louis, and the Ealing Comedies as clues to decipher or totems to worship).   Almost too personal to share, if it weren’t for its deeper common humanity.