Elena (2011)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Elena (2011) – A. Zvyagintsev

A study of the contrasts in modern Russia with Nadezhda Markina’s title character caught right in the middle.  She’s a late middle-aged former nurse recently married to a very rich older man who she previously took care of after a hospital stay.  Both have adult children from previous marriages.  Elena’s son is married with two kids but jobless and living in a run down apartment building covered in graffiti.  Elena’s husband does not approve and seeks to stop her from giving money to her son.  Clearly, he wields all the power in their relationship and he brusquely asks her to serve him.  Director Zvyagintsev (The Return, Leviathan, Loveless) takes a long time setting up the characters and their lives and the juxtaposition between their wealthy upper class existence and the son’s relative poverty (but also their earthiness against his ruthlessness).  Eventually, the plot turns into a sort of morality play when Elena needs to come to terms with her husband’s disdain for her family (and herself?).  Perhaps she takes a leaf from her husband’s estranged daughter’s book (played superbly by Elena Lyadova, tough but human).  Similarly to his other features, Zvyagintsev gives no hints as to where the plot might lead, which ultimately creates suspense.  The denouement, though puzzling, can be read in multiple ways – it feels deeply ambivalent.  The film also looks beautiful with a quality of natural light (often bright sunlight) that makes each image seem like an artwork all its own. 

  

Early Spring (1956)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ 

Early Spring (1956) – Y. Ozu

Yasujirô Ozu offers a negative view of the salaryman’s life in 1950s Tokyo, following a young man (Ryô Ikebe) who is stuck in a daily routine with little promise of change.  Even his mentors remark “I hate my job” (Chishû Ryû, whose character has been transferred to distant Lake Biwa) or quit to run a coffee shop instead (Sô Yamamura).  His peers mostly distract themselves with mah-jong in the evenings and outings on the weekends and gossip about each other.  Most are married, as is Ikebe’s character, but he seems to be going through the routine at home too.  His wife (Chikage Awashima) is unsatisfied too and spends most of her time confiding in her mother or best friend, who offer different responses.  When Ikebe is targeted romantically by a flirtatious woman in his circle, nicknamed Goldfish (Keiko Kishi), he gives in and then regrets it.  However, it is impossible to hide from his wife.  Then each character reflects on how this affects the marriage.  Although atypically glum for Ozu, who usually keeps a moderate level of existential awe in even his saddest features (e.g., Tokyo Story, 1953), the film remains as absorbing as all of his best work.  Somehow the characters draw you in with their complex feelings and predicaments – as usual, they speak directly to the camera while Ozu uses unusual shot-reverse shot configurations during conversations.  This might heighten our involvement psychologically. Or perhaps it is Ozu’s focus on family relationships and the predicaments of the lower and middle class (typical of the shomin-geki genre) that makes his films feel relevant. Finally, even if you don’t feel sympathy for the central protagonist, Ozu’s expertise is such that he makes you feel the humanity of the situation from every perspective and allows us hope for the future.

Silent Light (2007)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Silent Light (2007) – C. Reygadas

At first, I found the film almost unbearably slow.  Its depiction of a Mennonite farm family in Mexico (speaking an odd-sounding German hybrid) was strong on observational detail but rather weak on narrative tension.  Sure, the protagonist, Johan (nonprofessional lead actor Cornelio Wall), had let it be known that he was in love with someone other than his wife and that he had told his wife (but not his six or seven children), so this should have created some momentum.  But even when he makes contact with his mistress Marianne and the situation becomes more palpable, the acting is so low-key (despite the crying) that it barely creates a ripple.  However, slowly slowly, about an hour in, that feeling of transcendence so familiar from other slow movies, such as those by Carl Theodor Dreyer or Bela Tarr, started to kick in.  A long car ride with wife Esther across a beautiful cloudy Mexican landscape that suddenly turns to drenching rain is the opportunity for that subdued emotion to break free, although director Carlos Reygadas still keeps things relatively restrained (it is the contrast between the stillness of everything and the dramatic nature of the events that heightens the feelings evoked in the viewer).  Then, as if to acknowledge his influences and to remind us that we are focused on a religious community dealing with transgression, Reygadas explicitly references Dreyer’s Ordet (1955).  To say that he steals the epiphany from the earlier film might not be too far wrong but the context is so dissimilar as to make this more of a repurposing than a plagiarism.  Thinking back then, you can see how some of the camera moves and other technical details of the film also evoke the Danish master -- but you need to put in the effort in order to secure this pay-off.  And finally, we are left to ponder whether some sort of spiritual alchemy has taken place, some mea culpa that secures forgiveness and, yes, transcendence. 

    

Fort Apache (1948)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Fort Apache (1948) – J. Ford

Monument Valley looks great (in B&W) in the first film in John Ford’s so-called “Cavalry” trilogy.  Henry Fonda plays an arrogant Colonel who arrives to take command of the regiment at the titular Fort and rubs everyone in the good-natured community the wrong way.  He removes an old friend of his wife’s from a leadership role, pushes troop leader John Wayne around, and tries to prevent his daughter (19-year-old Shirley Temple!) from dating a young lieutenant (John Agar, Temple’s real-life husband), the son of non-commissioned war hero Ward Bond.  Ford intersperses scenes of the community (dinners, dances) with comic relief (from drunkard Sergeant Victor McLaughlin and his mates) and the tense scenes with Fonda (there are no relaxed scenes with him).  Ultimately, when the Apaches, led by Cochise and Geronimo, escape their reservation to Mexico (after being exploited by the government-operated trading store proprietor), Wayne and Fonda disagree about how to best deal with the situation.  Fonda refuses to listen to reason and we are treated to an epic battle scene.  For what it’s worth, the portrayal of Native Americans is relatively benign, although Fonda spouts a bunch of negative stereotypes; since he is the bad guy (and Wayne opposes him on this ground), the stereotypes are theoretically rejected as well.  This probably wasn’t forceful enough to have any effect on the cinema-going audience of the time, however.  I’ve spent a lot of time avoiding John Ford’s westerns but they do have a certain warmth and sense of place.