Otto Preminger’s look at machinations in
the US Senate is full of tension and intrigue, as Charles Laughton’s crusty
southern senator seeks to sink the confirmation of Henry Fonda as Secretary of
State. Fonda’s character has been
nominated by the possibly dying president (Franchot Tone) and his friend, the
Senate Majority Leader (an excellent Walter Pidgeon), must work to get the
votes lined up. When the confirmation
moves to a subcommittee chaired by Utah Senator Brig Anderson (Don Murray),
Laughton finds a witness (Burgess Meredith) to testify that Fonda once belonged
to a communist discussion group.
Meanwhile, another Senator (George Grizzard) has his own axe to grind
when he isn’t made the subcommittee chair.
Peter Lawford, Lou Ayres, Will Geer, and Gene Tierney round out the starry
cast. To tell more would probably be
criminal – the screenplay based on Allen Drury’s novel has a lot of twists and
turns. Of course, there are clear links
to real US politics – particularly the red-baiting tactics of Joe McCarthy; to
that end, it is worth noting that Preminger selected Burgess Meredith and Will
Geer for the cast because they had been blacklisted themselves. As always, Preminger seeks to break some
taboos with his film – and again that particular plot twist is drawn from an
actual event in US politics. This was
Laughton’s last film and he goes out with a nicely observed caricature.
Released in 1964, but taking place in the
near future when a liberal US president (Fredric March) has just signed a
nuclear disarmament treaty with the Soviet Union. His approval ratings sink to 29% and he is
confronted by the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, General James Mattoon
Scott (Burt Lancaster), who believes that peace can only be attained through a
strong nuclear arsenal as a deterrent.
The US election is still close to two years away, but the fiery
Lancaster is giving populist/nationalist speeches and openly trashing the
President; conservative TV commentators and some senators support him. Kirk Douglas plays his loyal assistant,
Colonel Jiggs Casey, who begins to suspect that Gen. Scott plans a military
overthrow of the government – on the upcoming Sunday (only 4 or 5 days
away). Thus, begins a very tense
thriller with clues and evidence gradually uncovered by Casey and the President’s
team (played by Martin Balsam and Edmond O’Brien, among other recognisable
actors). Ava Gardner plays Scott’s
ex-girlfriend who may have dirt to dish.
Will the crisis be averted?
Director John Frankenheimer (in his follow-up to masterpiece The
Manchurian Candidate, 1962) keeps things moving and the actors work their
magic. An entertaining political
thriller (notwithstanding its inevitable reminders about the current unfortunate
state of American affairs).
This was Ingmar Bergman’s first big
international hit, primarily due to a nude scene by Harriet Andersson which led
to the film being recut and distributed as exploitation fare in the US. Although very tame by modern standards, the
story of teenagers who escape their dreary lives to an island in the Swedish
archipelago until she falls pregnant and they need to return to reality, was
something not seen on American screens due to earlier censorship rules. Bergman takes the simple plot and adds a lot
of sensuality, not just via Andersson but through inserted shots of nature and
the elements (credit due to cinematographer Gunnar Fischer). He offers just enough background to his
characters to allow a psychological reading of their personalities and
decisions. Monika (Andersson) is the
neglected eldest daughter to an alcoholic father and a mother who has a number
of little ones to look after and Harry (Lars Ekborg) is the only son to an
ailing father (his mother passed away long ago). As such, she is selfish and craves attention
whereas he is more controlled and overly responsible. She sparks the decision to flee the city to
the islands which leads him to abruptly quit his job (which was already being
affected by his being drawn into her orbit), but he is the one who knows when
it is time to return to find a career to support her and the child to
come. Of course, this is at the end of
the summer. Thus, the escape to the
island can be seen as a fantasy, an idyll quite separate from the otherwise
grim real world marked by poverty and hard work -- another “summer interlude”
(to reference the title of an earlier film). In the end, Monika herself may be
a fantasy for Harry, a specific memory to hold onto that will haunt him far
into the future. Bergman’s developing vision of life seems to involve darkness
punctuated by isolated and fleeting moments of happiness (which we allow to
linger with inevitable mixed feelings).
This film just gets better and better as
you age. Jean Gabin was 50 when he
played the world-weary gangster ready to retire after the big heist – retirement
might be a few years away for me but it isn’t hard to identify with Gabin
here. Director Jacques Becker (assistant
to Renoir in the ‘30s) defies the clichés to show us the gangsters in their
downtime, between the action sequences.
Max (Gabin) and his partner Riton (René Dary) are viewed like an old
married couple, overly familiar, aware of each other’s flaws, neglectful at
times but affectionate deep down. There’s
a funny scene where they hide out at a secret apartment that Max uses when the
heat is on (or in this case when rival gangster Angelo, played by Lina Ventura,
is looking to work them over to find the “grisbi” or loot); we see them eating,
brushing their teeth, getting ready for bed – it’s all quite domestic. Riton is being scolded for having told his
girl (a young Jeanne Moreau, playing a dancer) about the heist and thereby
letting Ventura (now her new beau) in on it.
Nevertheless, he can’t help himself from doing the wrong thing and
contacting her again – leading to even more trouble when he is captured. Gabin plays Max as stoically as you can (and
none of the tough guys here is expressive), but you can tell he is over it all –
he just wants to wrap up this last job and live the elegant good life. Instead, he is drawn back in, having to play
the role of fixer yet again – until it all turns to shit, as it always does in
this sort of film. Becker shoots the
Paris streets with a travelling camera and they look great in black and white –
but the overall feel is steady and measured, even in the penultimate action
scene (the one moment of violence in the film).
I listened to critic Adrian Martin’s audio commentary this time and I
highly recommend it and (of course) the film.
Maj-Britt Nilsson stars as Marie, a star
ballet dancer, who receives a package that unsettles her on the eve of opening
night of a major performance. When a
power outage causes dress rehearsal to be called off, she takes the opportunity
to take a ferry to a nearby island where a flashback ensues. We see her younger and happier, beginning a
summer romance with Henrik (Birger Malmsten), a rather sullen young man whose
parents are divorced and who lives with an elderly and mean aunt. The cinematography here, by Gunnar Fischer,
is gorgeous and the feeling of summer (its radiance and peacefulness) shines
through. The young lovers spend an
idyllic couple of months on the island where he lives and she is staying with
her creepy lecherous Uncle Erland and sad neglected Aunt Elisabeth. As in other Ingmar Bergman films of this
period, the dialogue is fresh and frank, talking of sex but also about death,
god, relationships, culture, and the future.
As the summer ends, we learn why Marie has become lonely and bitter in
the future, despite her career success.
As we dip in and out of the flashback, Marie meets Uncle Erland on the
island, now both much older and we learn about the mysterious package and its
import. After she returns to Stockholm
(presumably), we see her with her new boyfriend, struggling to commit to him –
a legacy of those earlier days – but there may be hope for the future. Nilsson’s performance her is very strong –
her joy is infectious in the early days and her sadness later is palpable. Bergman’s investigation of memory as an
island that we visit that can haunt our present is a compelling metaphor. Recommended.
Three
Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri (2017) – M. McDonagh
Eccentric characters and an unusual
unpredictable storyline do elevate films; the predictable Hollywood film has
grown tiresome. In Martin McDonagh’s
Oscar-winning tragicomedy, we are treated to some very peculiar events in a
fictional Missouri town, populated by extreme people (played by superstar
actors). The tone is comic but the
content is dark, very dark – perhaps this allows us to face it more
easily? Frances McDormand plays a woman
whose daughter was raped and murdered and who seeks to push the police to solve
the case by putting up billboards to humiliate them. Woody Harrelson is the police chief who is
dying of cancer and stymied by the case.
Sam Rockwell is the not-too-bright but racist and hot-headed officer who
butts heads with McDormand. An
assortment of excellent supporting players fill out the cast. Each of the central figures follows an arc that
shows some personal growth – and we are asked to contemplate how grief (and
impending death) affect people.
McDormand and Rockwell show us some reactions. Wittily, Harrelson attempts to foresee how
others will react to his own death.
Although we may not get the ending that we hoped for (a good thing,
perhaps), the film as a whole is refreshingly blunt (led all the way by
McDormand’s brash portrayal) and a setting/cast that could easily spin-off a
quirky miniseries. We want to see more of this town and its denizens.
Adapted from a 19th century
Russian novel and not from Shakespeare (but definitely with overtones from that
tragedy), this is really a showcase for Florence Pugh who, at age 20, dominates
the proceedings. Pugh plays a young
woman who marries (or is purchased) into a wealthy family in the north of
England in the 1860s – she clearly has a wilful streak but her husband disdains
her and seeks to keep her locked up inside (when she would rather run free on
the moors). Her stern father-in-law runs
the house and both servants and family are treated with contempt. When these men are called away, Katherine
(Pugh) asserts herself, including beginning a passionate affair with a
groomsman (Cosmo Jarvis). As gossip
begins to spread, Katherine takes increasingly decisive actions to preserve the
illicit relationship. As directed by
William Oldroyd (in his first feature), this is a rather stately affair, with beautiful
period setting and furnishing – but punctuated with moments of passion and
violence (disturbingly so). At first,
Katherine appears to be a representation of the empowered woman – refusing to
yield to the heavy-handed authority of the patriarchy – but as the film
progresses and her actions become more ruthless, it is harder to sympathise
with her. Is there a political point
being made here? It is hard to know. (Inter-racial
relationships are also highlighted – so both race and gender are under the
microscope). Regardless of its sociological themes, the film is absorbing, a
bit Shakespearean, not too long, and Florence Pugh is great.
Having seen Wild Strawberries many times
before, I decided to watch the new blu-ray version with film critic Peter
Cowie’s audio commentary turned on. I don’t know that it offered many more
insights or facts beyond what I already knew – and it may have impacted on my
appreciation of the film this time (too distracting). That said, Wild Strawberries is still
undoubtedly a masterpiece from film titan Ingmar Bergman. His regular troupe of actors is here: Ingrid
Thulin, Bibi Andersson, Max von Sydow, Gunnar Björnstrand, Naima Wifstrand –
but the lead role goes to Victor Sjöström, then 79-years-old and a fabled film
director and star actor in his own right (known most famously for The Phantom
Carriage, 1921, He Who Gets Slapped, 1924, and The Wind, 1928). Sjöström plays Isak Borg (note the initials),
a retired professor of medicine who will travel from Stockholm to Lund over the
course of the film (a 14 hour car journey) in order to receive an honorary
degree. The journey becomes a psychic
exploration of Borg’s past and principally his relationships with women; it
seems that his has been a lonely existence, possibly due to his own cold
selfish nature, which may in turn be a result of his relations with his parents
(an autobiographical note from Bergman himself). This subtext is told primarily through dream
sequences that offer some glimpses of reality as it may have been and some
nightmarish eruptions of anxiety filled with symbolism (clocks with no hands)
and a foreboding sense of imminent death.
We see fond reveries of his first crush, Sara (Bibi Andersson), in the
wild strawberry patch – and then we later see her in a frightening scene where
she holds a mirror up to Borg to show him his flaws (surely not something that
really happened). Sara is also mirrored
by her modern day doppelganger, a modern young Sara who Borg and his
daughter-in-law Marianne (Ingrid Thulin) pick up hitchhiking with two male
travelling companions on their way to Italy.
While Marianne gives Borg a piece of her mind (informing him how his own
son hates him for the way he has been treated), the new young Sara gives Borg a
chance to amend his ways, soften his personality, and reflect on his own behaviour.
Marianne and her estranged husband (Borg’s son; Gunnar Björnstrand) have fought
over whether to have children (he thinks that it is cruel to bring anyone into
this terrible world – an existential truism for Bergman, perhaps) but by the
end of the film, they will reconcile and Borg’s own anxieties will have
calmed. Yet overall, the film seems
ambivalent toward life and relationships – Bergman sees them as affording both
great torment and the opportunity for beautiful communion. Each generation passes along its successes
and failures to the next one – yet there is still hope that one can escape this
determinism, if perhaps only on our deathbeds!
A rich and provocative film that would reward closer study.
Director Wes Anderson’s latest film is a
stop-motion animated curiosity taking place in a miniature version of future
Japan (capital city, Megasaki). Taking
inspiration from the Rankin-Bass Christmas specials (e.g. Rudolph), this is a
fun (but grown-up) adventure, telling how a dog-hating mayor evicts all canines
to “Trash Island” where they are left to die, suffering from dog-flu and
snout-fever and all manner of other ailments.
It is Anderson’s renowned attention to whimsical detail that sees his
characters perpetually sneezing throughout the film – but of course, that’s
just one small example. Although the
dogs speak in English, most of the other characters speak in Japanese, only
occasionally translated (by a variety of interpreters or electronic translating
machines). The human hero of the tale, a
12-year-old boy named Atari (voiced by Koyu Rankin), flies a small junior
aircraft to Trash Island to find his former pet bodyguard, Spots (voiced by Liev
Schreiber). He is assisted by four former
pet dogs (voiced by Edward Norton, Bob Balaban, Jeff Goldblum, and Bill Murray)
and a stray (voiced by Bryan Cranston).
They have quite the adventure. A
teenaged human exchange student (voiced by Greta Gerwig) also helps by fighting
the corrupt government and exposing an evil conspiracy. Along the way, Anderson enjoys spoofing and/or
paying homage to Japanese culture. There
is probably too much to look at or to take in for just one sitting. The music
is less song based than in other Anderson features – for example, some of the
music is apparently drawn from Seven Samurai (1954) -- but there is also the
West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band’s “I Won’t Hurt You” (which certainly fits
with what we know of Anderson’s musical taste).
Harvey Keitel, Scarlett Johansson, Yoko Ono, and F. Murray Abraham also
lend their vocal talents, along with an array of Japanese actors. As with Anderson’s other output, you really
need to be on his wavelength to appreciate this – and I was (and have
been). So, if you have liked his other
films, you won’t be disappointed with this one.
I found it silly but highly enjoyable.
The Ingmar Bergman boxset from Criterion
is “curated” so that the films are presented not in chronological order but
thematically. Smiles of a Summer Night
(1955), Bergman’s first big success, was selected for “Opening Night” on the
first disc. Bergman himself provides a
brief introduction (circa 2003) and (afterward) there is a discussion of the
film by critic Peter Cowie and writer/Bergman friend Jörn Donner. I probably
watched the film 25 years ago and I did not remember it at all. At the start, I worried that I would be lost
as we are quickly introduced to a number of characters in Sweden circa
1901: Fredrik Egerman, a lawyer (played
by Gunnar Björnstrand, a regular member of Bergman’s troupe), his teenage
bride, Anne (Ulla Jacobsson), his teenage son, Henrik (Björn Bjelfvenstam, and their
saucy teenage maid Petra (Harriet Andersson).
Next, we are informed that Fredrik’s ex-lover Desiree Armfeldt (Eva
Dahlbeck) is starring in a local theatrical production and Fredrik and Anne
attend, instantly arousing Anne’s jealousy -- and we find out that Anne is
still a virgin when Fredrik solicits Desiree’s advice is helping him to secure
Anne’s interest in sex. Because, yes,
this is a sex comedy (in the French tradition?). Following this, we swiftly learn that Henrik
is interested in both Petra and Anne, Anne is probably interested in Henrik not
Fredrik, Desiree is still interested in Fredrik but is mistress to Count
Malcolm (Jarl Kulle) who is insanely jealous and violent. When
Desiree gets her aged mother to invite the entire cast to her country estate
for the weekend, she and Malcolm’s wife Charlotte (Margit Carlqvist) hatch a
plan to have every person end up with the right partner. Along the way, we see the king’s secret
moving bed, a game of Russian Roulette, and a romp in the hay by Petra and a
lusty groom. In fact, the film has both
darkness (suicide, Russian Roulette) and light (witty repartee, lusty antics)
which is fitting for the midsummer’s sunlit night in Scandinavia, when passions
run high and we learn of the three smiles of the title. As shot by Gunnar Fischer, Bergman’s main
cinematographer of this era, the film looks beautiful in B&W, with the final
dappled light of early morning at the film’s close signalling that all’s well
that ends well. A tour de force.
One of the first films by Yasujiro Ozu
that I saw and a key masterwork that contains some of his central themes,
favourite actors, and hallmark techniques.
Ozu often named his later films for the seasons, equating them to
periods in our lives – so late spring represents aging youth. It comes with a heightened sense that time is
passing and may be running out for those who need to move on to life’s next stage.
Indeed, the plot focuses on the relationship between adult daughter Noriko
(Setsuko Hara) and her widowed father (Chishû Ryû); she tends to him as a wife
would and feels that he couldn’t get along without her. A busybody aunt (Haruko
Sugimura) thinks it is time for Noriko to get married. Of course, the father, a kindly sort, might
actually be better off if Noriko didn’t marry but he too sees the wisdom in
helping her to start her own family. Although
there is a potential suitor, things don’t work out and Noriko is urged to
accept an arranged marriage – she only resists until she discovers that her
father, too, is being encouraged to remarry.
As in other Ozu films, the family relationships are witnessed and commented
upon by others; in this case, the father’s professor friend, recently
remarried, and Noriko’s high-school friend, recently divorced. They offer glimpses of what might be (the
trials of single women, the possibility of new older partnerships), encouraging
Noriko forward. Setsuko Hara’s acting is
exquisite – we feel (but do not actually see) her strong emotions as she
resists losing her strong connection to her dad. As always, Ozu punctuates the scenes in his
films with quiet moments, shots that contain no people (still lives), often an
empty room before someone enters but just as frequently a geometrically perfect
outdoor shot. In Late Spring, Ozu also
offers a glimpse of numerous Japanese traditions – a tea ceremony, several temples
of Kyoto, Noh drama. Critic David
Bordwell suggests that Ozu was intimating to the U.S. Occupation forces that
Japanese traditions can sit side-by-side a new liberal modernism that features
independent women and softspoken men– but a political reading of the film seems
less rewarding than a transcendental existential one. Observing the relationships here – and across
Ozu’s body of work, where the same themes reoccur with subtle variations –
cannot help but lead one to introspect about one’s own life and relationships,
even if the culture on display here is very different from one’s own. Ozu
succeeds by honing in on the socioemotional challenges we all face, heightened
all the more because his characters tend to suppress their feelings. If you
have never watched an Ozu film, this would be a perfect place to begin.
Eclectic blend of genres, primarily police
procedural and supernatural horror, from Korean director Hong-jin Na (whose The
Chaser, 2008, a serial killer procedural, I also enjoyed). This time, over the course of 156 minutes, Na
takes us from a near-comic look at a bumbling police detective (Do-won Kwak) in
a rural town who has to deal with a series of bizarre murders and some wild
zombie-like suspects to a full-on nod to The Exorcist (when his daughter
becomes possessed). A shaman is brought
in to battle the presumed demon (an elderly Japanese man played by Jun Kunimura)
and things get pretty bizarre (shades of Sammo Hung’s Encounters of the Spooky
Kind, 1980, though played straight(er)).
The tension and suspense remain pretty high throughout – you just don’t
know where the plot is going – and Ning manages to throw in enough familiar
elements to tickle any genre fan’s fancy.
Perhaps things do get rather confused toward the end – but that ending
is more-or-less crystal clear! Perhaps
it is not quite right to use a Japanese character as the villain in a Korean
film – this seems an easy way to exacerbate tensions between the uneasy rivals –
but it’s possible that Na meant no political ill will (or that he cynically
took the populist route). That said, The Wailing is pretty fun throughout (if
sometimes gory and freaky).
The
Ballad of Buster Scruggs (2018) – J. Coen & E. Coen
In their latest feature, available only
through Netflix (?), the Coen Brothers have put together six short stories set
in the (stereotypical, fabled) Old West.
The situations may be familiar but the Coens really seem to be working
to generate a particular emotion, one of those complex emotions that you can’t
quite put your finger on – is it wryness? There is some humour here (often
broad, violent, absurd) but there is also death. Deaths come unexpectedly, at the wrong
moments, ironically -- and when they are escaped, they still come. Each
story begins with its first page (in a book of stories) and also closes with a
look at the final page – and a quick reader can catch the trailing words that
help to fully capture that emotion. For example, “Mr Arthur didn’t know what he
was going to say to Billy Knapp” (or something similar) ends the fifth story
(about a wagon train) which contains the longest build until the “punchline”. In most of the stories, we are left to
imagine what happens next. This isn’t a
film to make you laugh aloud (although there were some funny bits, particularly
in the first story, about a singing gunslinger, that lends the film its title)
but it contains that typical offbeat humour, wordplay/turns of phrase,
eccentric character actors, and spot on art direction that makes the Coen Bros’
films fun. They also make good use of
Tom Waits (as an old prospector in a tale drawn from Jack London!) and also Zoe
Kazan, Liam Neeson, James Franco and Tyne Daly.
But it is the vein of darkness that the Coens stitch into these stories
that elevates them; it is the presence of death, life’s eternal partner, treated
absurdly but always accepted. Perhaps there are some philosophical (or even
political) points nested in these stories, but the casual viewer need not worry
about them. Instead, it is enough to
know that these master alchemists have done their best to conjure up a very
human feeling, okay let’s call it an “existential” feeling. And it feels alright.
You’ve got to expect a certain degree of
intensity from director Chan-wook Park (based on 2003’s Old Boy alone!) and so
the slow burn that makes up the first hour of The Handmaiden is something of a
surprise. Is this really just a stately
period piece, set in 1930s Korea (occupied by the Japanese at the time) in a
beautiful and exquisitely furnished mansion?
The plot description tells us that we will see a wealthy lady swindled
by a con man in league with a pickpocket (who takes on the job of the lady’s
handmaiden). The con is supposed to
result in the con man marrying the lady and then committing her to a mental
institution and escaping with her fortune (a portion of which will be given to
the handmaiden). But by the end of the
first hour (“Part 1”) this plot has run its course – and then things get much
wilder and more like what we might expect from Park. In fact, like all good con game movies, we
are soon treated to the same events played again with a different vantage point
(“Part 2”) and extending to a far different conclusion than would have been
anticipated. Min-hee Kim plays Lady Hideko with a chilly distance (but proves
far more knowing than she at first seems); Tae-ri Kim, as the handmaiden, may
be the opposite (proving less crafty than we thought). Park gives every set and sequence a sort of
heightened reality and this is never more realised than in the extended graphic
sex scenes which seem integrated into the plot (and the motivations of the
characters) rather than offered gratuitously for titillation. That said, Park is certainly playing to his
audience’s expectations by pushing the envelope – and then there is another
damned octopus!
Immediately after watching The Killing
Fields (1984), Hotel Rwanda made me feel overwhelmed. Too much genocide, too much sadness about
human nature. Again, we follow a
particular individual, Paul Rusesabagina (played by Don Cheadle), as a way of
gaining entrance and insight into what otherwise might be a horrific but
depersonalised tragedy, full of statistics about how many died but lacking a
hand to hold onto. To show us the
Rwandan conflict between Hutus and Tutsis, director Terry George follows
Ruesabagina, the manager of a Belgian hotel in the capital Kigali who takes in
Tutsi and other refugees, offering them asylum in the hotel (as armed forces
and youth gangs hover outside).
Ruesabagina is Hutu himself but his wife is Tutsi, making him a “traitor”
in the eyes of the Hutu coup leaders. He
is a wheeler-dealer of sorts, always keeping the power elite happy with gifts
and favours – but he finds that they are no longer there for him when war
breaks out. Nor are the Westerners who
soon flee the country and fail to send aid.
Nick Nolte’s UN colonel does his best in an impossible situation but it
is Rusesabagina’s quick thinking that keeps (some) people alive. Cheadle is good in the central role, as is Sophie
Okonedo who plays his wife (and a number of other actors in Rwandan parts are
also convincing, whether they be corrupt generals, warlords, or hotel
workers). In the end, however, the
enormity of the crisis, its woeful tragic effects on innocent people, tends to
dwarf the story of Paul and his (Herculean) efforts to save people. As a(nother) history lesson about what can
happen when the world isn’t watching (or caring), this is an important document. And as a demonstration of moral courage in
the face of evil, let’s hope we could all be so brave.
Roland Joffé’s film tells the story of New
York Times journalist Sydney Schanberg and his friend Cambodian journalist Dith
Pran as they experience the U. S. bombing of Cambodia, subsequent departure of
international forces, and then the bloody rule of Pol Pot and the Khmer Rouge
in the 1970s, which resulted in genocide.
As expected, it is horrific. But
focusing on the central friendship allows the filmmakers to treat the terrible
events as a sort of backdrop, letting viewers digest their awfulness while keeping
their attention on the more specific concerns of Schanberg (Sam Waterston) and
Pran (Haing S. Ngor), such as how to get Pran a forged passport. Of course, the film could also be charged
with the typical crime of giving American viewers a white protagonist to identify
with rather than simply telling the story of the Cambodians -- but, conversely,
Pran does dominate the film’s second half (in a work camp) and really becomes
the film’s emotional center (and Ngor rightly won the Best Supporting Actor
Oscar). The film doesn’t really pull any
punches either – there are brutal unjust killings throughout, plus the usual
aftermath of war (injured and dead children, dead bodies piled up or cast
aside), even as the cinematography can also be quite beautiful (showing sunsets
of Thailand, where the film was shot).
The tension remains high for most of the picture and you never quite
know who will survive. Waterston, John
Malkovich (playing an acerbic photog), Spalding Gray (who later developed his
monologue Swimming to Cambodia about making this film) and Craig T. Nelson are
some of the familiar faces who went on to further success after this film. Cambodia itself took a lot longer to recover
from the events portrayed here...which stand as a warning to the world and its
leaders. Powerful.
Finally completed in 2018 (after shooting
concluded in the 1970s) and long after Orson Welles’ death in 1985, due to the
considerable efforts of Peter Bogdanovich (star), Oja Kodar (star and
co-writer), Frank Marshall (producer), and Bob Murawski (new editor to complete
Welles’ work that he left unfinished), among many others, including the team
from Netflix who supplied the capital to get the project finally done. The result is intensely stylised in true
Welles fashion, although not immediately recognisable as his work, save for
some similarity to F for Fake (1973; perhaps due to the presence of
cinematographer Gary Graver and Kodar again).
But that other 70s’ work was an essay film (and there were a few others,
such as Filming Othello, 1978) but for all its charm and trickery and
ground-breaking form, it is nothing like the over-the-top madness of T.O.S.O.T.W. There are two central conceits that set the
groundwork for Orson’s stylistic fireworks.
First, director J. J. Hannaford (John Huston) has invited an array of
reporters, cineastes, etc. to a party at former star Zarah Valeska’s (Lilli
Palmer) house and they bring all manner of cameras and recording devices, thus
resulting in a dazzlingly-edited, multiply-mediated presentation (colour,
B&W, different film stocks and resolutions). Second, at the party (and also in an earlier
scene in a screening room), we are treated to Hannaford’s latest film which is
a work in progress; this one is in widescreen and colour and very possibly a
parody of Antonioni’s Zabriskie Point. In
other words, we are shown an older director’s attempt to make a hip film for
rebellious youth, full of nudity and sex (courtesy of Kodar, Welles’ lover at
the time) and some psychedelic rock (whereas the rest of the film has a
cocktail jazz score by Michel Legrand).
That film inside the film has some beautiful shots, especially in
contrast to the narrative about Hannaford’s troubles in financing the film, but
it is otherwise vapid and boring (decidedly on purpose). The rest of the film could likely be called
Fellini-esque, with an array of different faces and eccentric characters on
display and a plot that might echo 8 ½.
The dialogue whizzes by a bit too fast to process but undoubtedly there
are some snarky lines and cynical observations about Hollywood’s machinations –
from one who knew. So, in the end, not
Welles’ lost masterpiece (he has too many great films to top), but a worthwhile
addition to his oeuvre and a compelling example of his late outré style.
Classic noir romance from Otto Preminger
that finds police detective Mark McPherson (Dana Andrews) doing his best to
solve the murder of Laura Hunt (Gene Tierney) with a long list of suspects
including her gigolo-like fiancé (Vincent Price, yes, Vincent Price), his wannabe
sugar momma (Judith Anderson), and the bitchy older writer/radio personality
(Clifton Webb) who first introduced Laura to society and may feel romantically
toward her. Webb narrates a long
flashback sequence where we learn about Laura’s recent life up until the
murder. McPherson’s involvement in the
case seems to verge on obsession (and he actually makes a bid for a large
portrait of Laura from her estate). By
the end, we do find all the suspects gathered in one room so the detective can
make the pinch – but everything is not as it seems (and the rules of the B
mystery movie don’t really apply).
Director Otto Preminger handles everything beautifully but this is a
certain type of noir, the kind that is a little less dark (despite the central
murder), the kind that let’s viewers off the hook rather than implies a wider
human darkness. Later, Preminger would
take Andrews further into the darkness and Fritz Lang would also use the actor
to portray some flawed characters in some of his late noirs. Andrews makes more of an impact in these
later films. Here, Gene Tierney and
Clifton Webb dominate (and they would be re-paired in The Razor’s Edge two
years later); she isn’t quite the femme fatale (she seems nicer) and he is perfect
to provide the narration but isn’t the actual hero – in other words, noir conventions/cliches
are eschewed here or weren’t yet set. Adding
to the sense of mystery and allure, Laura’s musical theme was a big hit at the
time (though not as memorable as The Third Man’s zither). It goes without saying that this is required
viewing for noir aficionados.
Director Guillermo del Toro is really a
master craftsman and this film shows him to have reached something of a peak –
you can see the beauty onscreen. Yet it
is surprising that this won the Best Picture Oscar because it is still a “weird
tale” in keeping with del Toro’s oeuvre (which includes The Devil’s Backbone,
2001, and Pan’s Labyrinth, 2006, alongside other more overt genre fare). A bizarre mix of The Creature from the Black
Lagoon and an odd couple romance that harkens back to the creature double
features of the 1950s/60s while still including enough content that is strictly
adults only (nudity/sexual references, swearing, bloody violence, etc.). Sally Hawkins plays a mute cleaner at a high
security scientific facility at which a humanoid river monster has been locked
up; she shows him compassion and, being lonely herself, soon falls in love. Her only friends, played by Octavia Spencer
and Richard Jenkins, help her to rescue her “man” who is in danger of being
vivisected under orders of a tough security guy played by Michael Shannon. The Russians also have an interest in these
proceedings (since it is the Cold War era).
I tried to resist but the film gradually won me over; despite its heart-warming
romance, it stays weird, champions the outcasts, and has lots of little touches
done well. Del Toro and his team seem
not to have ignored any detail on screen, everything seems fondly chosen on
purpose to fit with a “vision” with very little attempt to cater to mainstream
tastes, save only for the high production values, beautiful art design, and
tasteful blend of CGI and costume/make-up/prosthesis. Certainly worth your
time.
Dead
of Night (1945) – A. Cavalcanti, C. Crichton, B. Dearden, & R. Hamer
My favourite of all horror anthologies and
from Ealing Studios no less (famous for their delightful comedies: The Lavender Hill Mob, The Ladykillers, Kind
Hearts & Coronets, among them). Four
directors cover five tales (and a further linking narrative) that manage to
capture that elusive spooky feeling that I remember so well from children’s
books, the kind of books that told of lonely young people meeting and
befriending new acquaintances in deserted locales (and of course, these new
friends always turn out to be ghosts, long dead). Perhaps Lafcadio Hearn’s spooky Japanese
folktales (retold in Kaidan/Kwaidan by Kobayashi) also capture this feeling –
is it what we call the “uncanny”? Dead
of Night manages to evoke this feeling in a number of different ways beginning
with the linking story that shows an architect arrive at a house full of
houseguests with the strong sense that he has been there before in a dream –
indeed, he ominously begins to predict what will happen next. This leads each guest to tell a spooky story
from their own past, including a race car driver who is given a mysterious warning
to avoid his own death, a young girl who meets a ghostly child when playing
hide-and-seek, a wife who accidentally gives her husband a haunted mirror, the
host telling a comic story of two golfers in love with same woman (featuring
Basil Radford & Naunton Wayne, from Hitchcock’s The Lady Vanishes), and
finally and most famously, a psychiatrist telling of his encounter with a
ventriloquist who has a strained relationship with his dummy. As anthologies go, this one is less uneven
than most (although the golfing episode was dropped for the US release) and the
four directors are equally strong (Cavalcanti, Crichton, Dearden, & Hamer). The
spooky feeling may stick with you for days!
A shocked response to the over-the-top
people and events in this film gradually gives way to a feeling that the director’s
main goal is to present an unfamiliar subculture, without judgment (or even
analysis), to a more mainstream audience.
The subculture is that of a group of Hollywood transgender prostitutes
who turn tricks, do drugs, fight with each other, fuss about their wigs and
make-up, and deal with problems in their relationships (including cheating) as
best they can. Director Sean Baker shot
the film using iPhones, but you can’t really tell (apart from a general
low-budget on-location feel), and the seedy streets of Los Angeles often look
stunning, bathed in the tangerine light that gives the film its title. Kitana Kiki Rodriguez and Mya Taylor play the
two central characters, both actually trans females who provide a strong degree
of authenticity to the film, and the way they maintain their friendship
throughout the “drama” is the main theme of the film. All around them seems to be unstable, even
chaos – but this may be the world to which those who are extremely stigmatised
may be relegated. Poverty, exclusion, and
violence seem commonplace but somehow these women maintain their optimism and
determination (even if sometimes misguided).
A subplot follows an Armenian taxi driver who patronises the girls
despite having a wife and family of his own (who are horrified to learn about
his extra-marital affairs); this provides another contrast between acceptance
and non-acceptance. It is hard to tell too whether they are being exploited or
loved by their pimp, Chester (James Ransone) whose cheating is the engine that
drives the plot. Eye-opening and
definitely not for the timid!
Andrei Tarkovsky’s take on science fiction
is more about memory and relationships than it is about space stations or
mysterious planets (although it is about those too). Using Stanislaw Lem’s novel as his canvas
(and I haven’t read the book to know how closely he hews to it), Tarkovsky
creates widescreen images of incredible beauty (often depicting the four
elements) with rich complex textures (the opening shot of weeds in a pond; the
swirling abstract surface of the planet Solaris). The pictorial display is surely as important
as the humanistic themes here – and, again showing us the importance of art and
artists for him (as in Andrei Rublev, 1966), Tarkovsky treats us to a close
inspection of “Hunters in the Snow” (1565) by Pieter Bruegel the Elder, which
he would revisit again in Mirror (1975).
However, this film really strikes its chord by producing a painful
nostalgic reverie in its protagonist and questioning its appropriateness as an
escape. Can we or should we dwell in the past?
Or is it impossible to avoid? Donatas
Banionis plays Kris Kelvin, a psychologist sent to a space station orbiting the
planet Solaris to investigate the problems faced by the researchers living
there who have been acting erratically.
As it turns out, the planet (or its immense sea) is able to generate
lifelike replicas of people from our memories, real physically incarnated
beings (made up of neutrinos) who appear to have a consciousness of their own
with some (but not all) of the memories that the real person would have. For Kelvin, the doppleganger is of his
ex-wife (Khari, played by Natalya Bondarchuk) who committed suicide ten years
earlier, after a series of arguments.
Her return is psychologically heavy on him (and it is implied that the
other scientists on the station have experienced similar visitations – with
similar impacts). Kelvin is faced with a
choice – return to Earth and the depressed existence he seems to have there or
stay on the station with this reincarnation of his loving wife who he
acknowledges as different from his original wife (just as we should acknowledge
that our memories are rarely accurate portrayals of the past). This is a choice we will never face ourselves
(at least I don’t think so) but the opportunity to be absorbed, swayed, delighted,
or destroyed by the past seems omnipresent, perhaps even more so as we age.
There’s nothing like a movie about the
Holocaust to put everything in perspective -- and Son of Saul is a very
visceral and intense move about the Holocaust that can’t help but
overwhelm. Part of this tension is created
by the strategy of keeping the hand-held camera close to the protagonist, Saul
(Géza Röhrig), a member of the Sonderkommando, a group of concentration camp
prisoners who are engaged in the dirty work of the camps, dealing with those
who are gassed to death before and after they die. This camera style means that often we see the
horrors of the camp only at the periphery of our vision – or suddenly in full
view, if the camera happens to look in a particular direction. In fact, as Saul
moves through the day and across different locations in the camp, it becomes
very clear that writer-director László Nemes’ real goal is to show us what
happened in the camp (Auschwitz, in particular) in all its confronting and
terrible detail. Sure, there is a
plot: Saul becomes obsessed with finding
a rabbi to say prayers over the body of a young boy who he comes to call his
“son” before he buries the boy. However,
the plot feels very much like a means to an end, a means to show us this
horror, although Saul’s sad and ill-fated, perhaps confused, obsession also
seems a likely reaction to his role, a way to assuage what must be terrible guilt
and sorrow. The sonderkommando as a
group are not well differentiated – they are angry tense men who eventually
stage a futile escape attempt (based on true events). The German soldiers are portrayed as cruel,
using distancing strategies to dehumanise their victims. It is the worst of human nature (an
understatement if ever there was one), recreated vividly onscreen. Forcing yourself to watch with your eyes open
seems an important reminder to be mindful of those who are unjustly stigmatised
among us. And all the little trials and
tribulations of your daily existence become small in comparison.
Another movie depicting a teenager coming
of age, but with a distinct difference.
In particular, this film is told from the female point-of-view, written
and directed by Greta Gerwig (star of Frances Ha, 2012) and starring Saoirse
Ronan (who has real talent and carries the film). There are some elements that are familiar
(American high school situations, such as the drama club, prom, applying to
college) but they seem an authentic part of life rather than set-pieces for
comedy or pathos. The central characters feel well-rounded and less stereotypic
than in other films of this type; even small parts feel genuine, such as the
older priest and nun who are portrayed humanely and with warmth (and yes,
comedy and pathos). Lady Bird (Saoirse’s
character) is clearly having identity issues, as most teenagers do, rebelling
against parents (particularly the tough mom played intensely by Laurie Metcalf)
or teachers, ditching the nerdy friends of the past for the cool crowd, falling
in love with the wrong boys, and dreaming of leaving her hometown (Sacramento)
for a cooler place. Many small moments
are nicely observed and it is difficult not to recall similar experiences from
one’s own life – except the setting for the film is 2002-2003 (when Gerwig
graduated from high school) and not 1984-1985.
But perhaps some human needs, feelings, mistakes, complexities, and
resolutions don’t change too rapidly and whether this is Gerwig’s own story or not,
the truths in the telling transcend the specificity of time and place. A funny loving ode to youth (and not
forgetting your roots).
True
Detective (Series 1 --2014) – N. Pizzolatto & C. J. Fukunaga
I
have limited myself almost entirely to feature films in recent years even as it
became obvious that the long-form TV serial was attracting bigger stars,
budgets, and acclaim.Perhaps David
Lynch’s Twin Peaks third series was the turning point, although it still seems
easier to pick up the DVD set to watch a series than to try to set my clock to
catch it each week.In this case, the
2014 series of True Detective was available at the local library – I
binge-watched the 8 episodes across three nights.Why? Because indeed it was gripping enough to
compel me to continue watching.And if
you want to get the same enjoyment of the series, then I suggest you stop
reading now so as not to learn too much (i.e., there may be spoilers
below).The plot is pure pulp, a serial
killer detective thriller not unlike The Silence of the Lambs (1991) or Seven
(1995).In fact, the main events at the
start of the series do take place in 1995 in Louisiana – but they are recounted
by the two detectives, Marty Hart (Woody Harrelson) and Rust Cohle (Matthew
McConaughey), from a future vantage point in 2012.The first few episodes are part standard
detective work and part revelations about the personal lives of both men – Hart
is married (to Michelle Monaghan) with two small daughters and Cohle is single
with a mysterious past.Both have their
flaws (Hart is cheating on his wife, Cohle takes a seriously pessimistic view
of human nature) but I think audience identification would have to be with Cohle,
even though the 2012 version we see of him is pretty burned out.As the men tell their stories, we start to
wonder whether they are both telling the truth or whether (in Rashomon-like
fashion) what we are learning is biased to suit their own self-interest.At a certain point, the events on the screen
do not reflect the stories being told by Hart and Cohle to, it turns out, the two
police detectives interviewing them.And
just like that, in 1995, the case seems solved and there is a bit of focus on
Hart’s personal life until we fast-forward to 2002, when things fall apart in
the relationship between the two men and the story stops for ten years.This is where the ability to have 400 minutes
(or more) to play with helps to give the story greater weight and depth then
might be possible in a two-hour film.In
particular, across six or so episodes, there is a growing sense that the real
killer had never been caught and that Cohle is now a prime suspect.We don’t know for sure whether the burned out
Cohle really could be warped enough by the events of his past (which are
revealed to be quite harsh) to lead him to a copycat crime (or perhaps he even had
some involvement in the original crimes). Returning completely to 2012 and
picking up events when the men (who have been interviewed separately) meet up
to discuss their encounters with the police (both long since off the force), the
final episodes offer an exciting return to detective work with a renewed
fervour -- and then we are back to the straightforward narrative of the
thriller, in the mode of the first few episodes, expertly edited and directed
(by Cory Joji Fukunaga) with great aerial shots of Louisiana and perfect
attention to creepy mise-en-scene.To be
honest, however, this felt a bit of a let-down because, no matter how much
mystical or philosophical shit Cohle spouts, it can’t help being a genre film
in the end rather than something that looked as though it might transcend the
genre.That said, it was a gripping and
fascinating ride, extremely well-acted by McConaughey, Harrelson, and Monaghan –
and all the unique actors in small parts.Being on HBO meant sex, drugs, violence, and each episode ended with a
well-chosen moody song.If the detective
thriller is your cup of (strong) tea, then this series is highly
recommended.
