Jour de Fete (1949/1964)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Jour de Fete (1949/1964) – J. Tati

Jacques Tati’s first feature doesn’t star M. Hulot – instead Tati plays a bumbling postman, delivering the mail by trusty bicycle through the quaint French countryside.  The film takes place on the day that the carnival arrives in the small village and before we meet our hero, we see the villagers getting ready for the big day and the carnies arriving and starting to set up.  An old woman with a goat introduces us to the central characters – but as with most Tati films, it matters not a whit what anybody says.  The actions are there for anyone to see and understand – often accentuated with ostentatious sound effects and charming French music.  The sound effects (which play a big role in all Tati’s work) are even funnier once the postman arrives on the scene, ready to engage in some acrobatic slapstick.  The day of the festival moves from feelings  of excited anticipation to the glamour and fun of the event itself (complete with carousel and carnival games) to some rather drunken antics as the evening stretches to night (and the kids are put to sleep).  A pivotal moment involves a short film about how the mail is delivered in America (with helicopters, airplanes, and maybe even bodybuilders), leading not only to shock but to a full next day’s attempt to deliver the mail “American-style” (i.e., as fast as humanly possible).  Of course, this leads to a heap of chuckles and even a belly-laugh or two (especially from Aito, aged 7).  The 1964 version of the film that we watched included some hand-tinted sequences (and Tati apparently added some extra new footage) but Jonathan Rosenbaum tells me that the restored 1994 version in full colour is well worth tracking down.  And I’m sure we will. 

Chimes at Midnight (1965)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Chimes at Midnight (1965) – O. Welles

The culmination of Orson Welles’ re-visioning of Shakespeare’s plays, after his filming of MacBeth (1948) and Othello (1951) and his many staged versions, including Julius Caesar and something called “Five Kings (Part One)” which was the forerunner for this production. Chimes at Midnight extracts bits and pieces from several of the Bard’s history plays (principally Henry IV, Parts One and Two) in order to focus on the relationship between Sir John Falstaff (played merrily by Welles himself) and Prince Hal (later to be crowned Henry V). And although he filmed in Europe on a low budget, the result is never less than magnificent, with beautiful black and white cinematography, perfect sets and costumes, and fine acting from Welles himself, Sir John Gielgud (Henry IV) and Keith Baxter (Hal) with Margaret Rutherford (Mistress Quickly), Jeanne Moreau (Doll Tearsheet), and Fernando Rey (Worcester) in support, along with a large number of quirky character actors.  If Welles cut-and-paste from footage shot in different times and places (and dubbed his own voice in for others) you can’t really tell (his magic works). As with Othello, existing locations were utilised (including for Henry IV’s stone castle) but a set was built to represent the Inn where Falstaff resides, idling away his time on “sack” (booze) and women and occasionally engaging in highway robbery.  This is where Prince Hal also slums it, to his father’s chagrin.  The centrepiece to the film is an astounding battle sequence, with men in suits of armour hacking away at each other (and Falstaff hiding on the fringes or playing dead).  This is the first glimpse we get of Hal taking on his royal role, as he assists his father to stave off a rebellion by Henry (Hotspur) Percy.  Of course, later, when Henry IV is dead and Hal ascends the throne, the relationship with Falstaff is necessarily quashed, making for a melancholy (but not unexpected) finale.  Welles is perfect in the role, perhaps his best; he hears the chimes indeed. 

Filming Othello (1978)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Filming Othello (1978) – O. Welles

Orson Welles’ final film to be released to the public (at least until the soon-to-be-completed The Other Side of the Wind) was a “conversation” about the making of his version of Shakespeare’s Othello, which he shot nearly 30 years earlier.  An essay film in the mould of his excellent F for Fake (1973), it mixes found footage with new material and a great deal of Welles speaking directly to the camera in front of his old moviola (presaging a heartfelt ode to the role of editing in the cinema).  Welles is a charismatic raconteur and a bit of a charlatan and his stories and anecdotes about the past production, itself a miracle of shoe-string budget magic and amazing visual design, held this viewer’s attention rapt.  (Indeed, I actually saw this on the big screen about 15 years ago and despite its central focus on talking heads, it was worth it).  The film breaks neatly into three parts:  1) Welles’ introduction to Othello and his stories about it (shot originally as a preface for a German TV showing of the film); 2) a recording of a luncheon with Michael MacLiammoir and Hilton Edwards, two stars of the film and Welles’ mentors at Dublin’s Gate Theatre, where they talk about the production; and 3) Welles’ vigorous readings of several of the key speeches from the play.  Sounds straightforward but Welles could not help but engage in a little of the trickery that enabled him to make Othello such a success despite being filmed across several years in disparate locations with and without actors and their costumes: apparently, he filmed his contributions to the luncheon with his friends a number of months later and inserted himself into the footage. Best shot:  when he breaks out the wine and they all drink a toast!

Othello (1951 version)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ½

Othello (1951 version) – O. Welles

Although Welles’ Othello puts forth a very serviceable reading of the Bard’s tragedy of jealousy, the real magic here lies in the circumstances of its production and the way that Welles welded together diverse elements (with string and bits of sealing wax) to create an alternate reality that never really existed except in the minds of the viewer.  Shot variously in Morocco, Venice, and other parts of Italy, it would be impossible to create a map that links the various locations together. Yet, miraculously, the film feels whole, in glorious black and white with Welles’ eye for the wondrous shot in fine form.  Of course, it is the editing that keeps the disparate parts together, with shots and counter-shots apparently filmed years apart in different locations, and sometimes the cutting is fast and furious (but never less than astounding).  The acting can be variable (Suzanne Cloutier seems a weak Desdemona – and, apparently, she was dubbed for the 1955 version, re-edited by Welles for the US release) but somehow Welles (as Othello) and Michael MacLiammoir (as Iago) pressed on, even when other members of the cast were absent (and shot with doubles from behind).  If all this sounds like it might distract one from Shakespeare’s words, well, yes and no – the tragedy is still terrible (with Iago cruelly convincing pitiful Othello that innocent Desdemona has cheated on him), even with Welles’ condensing, but the amazing spectacle of the production itself creates the most awe.