Everyone Else (2009)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Everyone Else (2009) – M. Ade

There’s an awkwardness and tension at a certain earlyish stage of relationships where things are not quite fully decided that director Maren Ade captures painfully here (with the help of brave performances from Birgit Minichmayr and Lars Eidinger). Although it doesn’t reach the outrageous heights that her subsequent film, Toni Erdmann (2016) did, the attention to relationship detail found there is also here.  I’ve read that many people find partners that are not perfectly suited to their own personalities, interests, or internalised norms and rules and, if that happens, it takes a lot of effort (and conflict) to make the relationship work.  Essentially two people need to adapt to each other, to decide where they will and will not compromise for their partner, and the result of this negotiation determines whether the relationship will persist or not.  This film shows that process unfolding during a holiday in Sardinia.  To make matters more tense, another couple appears and the social comparisons that are invited with this couple (who are seemingly more secure) cause further stresses between Chris and Gitti (Eidinger and Minichmayr).  A second look, however, suggests that the other “perfect” couple, although composed of two professionals (architect like Chris and fashion designer, unlike Gitti who does PR for a record company), has resolved their internal dynamic by letting the man completely dominate – he repeatedly belittles his partner (and patronises everyone else). Chris (undoubtedly insecure in the presence of his rival) tries this on (wanting to be like “everyone else”) but Gitti wants none of it.  To Ade’s credit, we in the audience never quite know where the relationship is headed – we endure the little crises (e.g., getting lost while hiking) and the major problems just as we have endured them in reality.  So, if your relationship isn’t quite at the right stage, this might not be a film for date night.  For everyone else, it’s uncomfortable but rewarding.

  

Le Deuxième Souffle (1966)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Le Deuxième Souffle (1966) – J.-P. Melville

Jean-Pierre Melville’s love of American film noir is well-known and Deuxieme Souffle (Second Breath) is an extended (150 minutes) look at a heist gone wrong.  He always said The Asphalt Jungle was one of his favourite films, although perhaps Le Cercle Rouge (1970) more closely approximates the focus on different gang members.  Here, we stick mostly with Lino Ventura, playing Gu Minda, who we see escaping from prison at the start of the film (in a silent scene reminiscent of Bresson’s A Man Condemned).  Melville carefully and methodically (everything about the film is methodical) sets the stage for us, showing us Ventura’s former friends, love, and accomplices and their milieu, before he arrives and they sequester him away in a safe house.  At the same time, we see another gang beginning to plan a big heist of platinum bars from an armoured truck.  As with many noirs, the plot is a little confusing at times (Jo Ricci, a gangster, is the true bad guy, but his brother Paul Ricci, who plans the heist, is a good bad guy – except his cronies are responsible for an attack on Gu’s friends).  Of course, everything comes down to honour with Melville and when the police inspector Blot (played cunningly by Paul Meurisse) entraps Gu into giving away his colleagues, he will do anything to restore his reputation.  In the end, the crooks and the police are shown to be little different, engaged in a game of wits and violence that always ends badly.  Nevertheless, honour must be (mostly) maintained by both.  If you love film noir, then you can’t look past Melville and his French take on it (almost better than the real thing).

  

Trouble in Paradise (1932)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ½

Trouble in Paradise (1932) – E. Lubitsch

Sophisticated (but often naughty) comedy from Ernst Lubitsch (yes, with the Lubitsch touch).  Herbert Marshall and Miriam Hopkins are two thieves (con-persons?) who fall in love and team up to swindle perfume magnate Kay Francis.  Of course, there are complications when Francis falls in love with Marshall (and vice versa?).  Lubitsch populates the film with well-known character actors of the period:  Charlie Ruggles and Edward Everett Horton play other suitors for Francis and C. Aubrey Smith is the Chairman of the Board of Directors for Francis’s company.  How everyone’s plans ravel and unravel is simply delicious and I wouldn’t want to spoil it here.  The three leads (and everyone else) generally underplay, letting the script do the work. And, as always, Lubitsch leaves a lot of innuendo hanging in the air to tickle your adult fancy (enough innuendo so that the film was effectively banned when the Hays Code was enforced beginning in 1934).  Of course, we get the ending that we deserve…

Winter Light (1963)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ½

Winter Light (1963) – I. Bergman

Stark in its presentation and wintry in its content, Ingmar Bergman’s second film in his “faith” trilogy shows us a clergyman, Tomas (Gunnar Björnstrand), who is paralysed by doubts over God’s existence.  Specifically, if God does exist, why does He (or She?) remain silent despite the tragedy and cruelty in the world? Or, alternately, given the presence of tragedy and cruelty and no sight of God, He must not exist (and therefore the presence of these horrors makes a lot more sense).  In his previous film (Through a Glass Darkly, 1961), Bergman offered the possibility that the presence of human love is evidence of God’s existence – but here he rejects that contention.  Or perhaps it is only Tomas, still grieving his wife’s death four years earlier, who personally rejects both love (from Ingrid Thulin as Märta, the local schoolteacher) and God. He certainly makes a mess of things when he is visited by a man, Mr. Persson (Max von Sydow), who is despondent over the possibility of nuclear destruction; Tomas confides his doubts about God and Persson promptly leaves and kills himself.  Having to face this (and the body by a wintry stream) paralyses Tomas further – though he persists with the routines of religious life. Is this because he still has hope…or faith? Or because his assistant has told a story about Jesus’s own worries about being forsaken?  We don’t know. Bergman and cinematographer Sven Nykvist present the simple settings (the church and Tomas’s office, primarily) plainly. A few scenes stand out:  1) Tomas outdoors “protecting” Persson’s body, shot from a distance, with the river drowning out all other sounds, adding a further sense of isolation to the proceedings; 2) Thulin’s long monologue to the camera, shot in a brave close-up, reading a heartbreaking and lacerating letter to Tomas.  In the end, we feel the angst of Tomas (and Bergman) palpably – but there is still no sign from (or of) God.   

Ghost World (2001)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Ghost World (2001) – T. Zwigoff

Back in 2001, Terry Zwigoff finally released another movie (after his doco Crumb, 1994), a live action version of Daniel Clowes’ graphic novel starring Thora Birch as a disaffected teenager and Scarlett Johansson as her best friend. At first, the film is all reaction shots – mostly Birch’s Enid rolling her eyes at the lame mainstream attitudes and behaviours of her peers.  She is definitely an alternative punk rock chick but Johansson’s Becky is less so, something which eventually become a point of difference between them.  Indeed, the film is pitch perfect in its grasp of the way that teens differ from adults, particularly in the way that adults “sell out” (or do not “sell out”) their original views.  Steve Buscemi plays Seymour, a self-acknowledged “dork” who collects old blues 78s and hasn’t had a girlfriend in four years.  His apartment is decked out in music and movie paraphernalia – it’s kitschy but cool.  Enid’s room is similar (but different) and you can see why the two are eventually drawn to each other – as friends (though the romantic tension is always there despite the big age difference).  Enid decides to find Seymour a girlfriend – and, inevitably, that girlfriend (Stacey Travis) is a lot more mainstream than he is.  And slowly, slowly, he begins to sell out, causing consternation for Enid, especially as Becky also begins to change, getting a job, seeking an apartment in a yuppie neighbourhood and wanting some yuppie stuff.  Enid is too defiant, too different, too unwilling to sell out -- it’s hard not to identify with her, particularly if you also felt different during your teens and twenties (i.e., felt a part of “alternative” culture).   And it’s hard not to feel those bittersweet pangs of acknowledgment as you look back on the many ways that you yourself have sold out those original ideals (as misdirected as they sometimes were) or perhaps we should say “compromised”?  Zwigoff’s film manages to have it both ways – standing up for the outsider but recognising that there are consequences of not fitting in and not compromising.  Should I add that it’s a comedy? A knowing one, a dark one.  Perhaps not everything has aged well (it feels somehow too materialistic) but it manages to burn a hole in your heart, if you’re of a certain age and inclination.   

The Ascent (1977)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ½

The Ascent (1977) -- L. Shepitko

During the German invasion of the U. S. S. R. during WWII (circa 1942), two Russian partisans leave their small stranded group (including women and children) to search for food at a nearby farm.  One (Sotnikov) is a soldier and former maths teacher with a terrible wheezing cough, the other (Rybak) is earthier and sturdier and leads the way.  Their path leads through snowy woods and fields (shot stunningly in high contrast B&W) and when they are accosted by a small band of Germans, their only escape is to roll through the snow (and Rybak must drag Sotnikov after he is shot in the leg).  Sotnikov does manage to shoot one German before their escape, which ends up being a problem for them when they are later captured.  Director Larissa Shepitko (who died only 2 years later in a car accident at 41) provides viewers with a raw and visceral experience laced with expressionistic almost hallucinatory touches (and experimental film-making), as we face death at nearly every turn with these characters and observe how they hauntingly try to come to terms with their mortality.  For Sotnikov, acceptance of death is easy but only because he knows that he has sacrificed for his principles and taken the moral high road (indeed, he becomes a Christ-like figure by the end of the film). For Rybak, death is something to be avoided and, by any means necessary, including betrayal (and he becomes a Judas-like figure as the film takes on the qualities of a parable as it nears its conclusion). In the end, for me, Shepitko’s film loses something as it becomes more transparently allegorical -- the existential intensity of the experiences and the difficulty of the moral decisions alone were enough to elicit a feverish spiritual transcendence without having to reference Christ on the cross so directly.  Of course, in the Soviet Union in the Seventies, such a move may have been brave and perhaps liberating in its defiance – or it may have been accepted as “nationalistic” partisan pride.  For film students, however, The Ascent can be enjoyed wholly as a masterclass in cinematic technique.   

Intolerance (1916)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Intolerance (1916) -- D. W. Griffith

Some pretty amazing shots (and sets) here with Griffith's trademark cross-cutting across four stories (well, the modern and Babylon stories are the most fleshed out). (Makes me want to go back to Kenneth Anger's Hollywood Babylon again to see what was happening behind the scenes.) Remarkable. (2010 review)

Synecdoche New York (2008)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Synecdoche New York (2008) -- C. Kauffman
Generally speaking, I like my existentialism more hopeful and less anxious, although I concede that life may not really be like that. The movie creates, replicates, and regurgitates itself -- which is, in turns, an interesting, boring, and confusing experience (and back again). The parts here may represent more than their sum (or not). (2010 Review) 

Hana (2006)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Hana (2006) -- H. Kore-eda

As a fan of Koreeda's other films (particularly After Life), I was keen to see this at the Melbourne Int'l Film Festival and it did not disappoint (even though I was wary of the director's first foray into the jidai-geki). If one reads the film as Kore-eda's reaction to the events of Sept 11 2001 (or the subsequent US response), as has been reported as one of the intents, then it is an interesting take on the value of suppressing one's (righteous) anger in favor of responses that build community and diffuse the cycle of tit-for-tat animosity. That said, the film is full of broad humor and tender moments, Japanese-style. Worth seeing for the way it creates a small band of often hapless characters, though not without its confusing or undigested plot points (i.e, the actual revengers).  (2010 review)

The Firemen’s Ball (1967)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ½

The Firemen’s Ball (1967) – M. Forman

You don’t have to be an overly sensitive Communist official to grasp the gist of Milos Forman’s comedy or to see its body blows hit the target.  The leaders of the local fire brigade organise an annual ball that is a showcase for all the failings of Iron Curtain communism.  The committee running things can’t agree on anything. For example, they plan to present a gift to their aging former leader (portrayed as completely out-of-it) and to hold a beauty contest to find someone to award it to him, but every member of the committee has a different view.  The parents are shown as either sucking up to the committee or avoiding them completely. The girls themselves are vulnerable and exploited (one strips while the others flee to hide in the bathroom).  A table of raffle prizes is slowly depleted before the raffle is even held, with the committee at pains to argue that they themselves are not stealing, despite it being obvious that their family members are guilty.  In the end, even the present for the leader has gone missing.  When a real fire breaks out at a nearby house, of course, the firefighters are unable to stop it being completely demolished and they offer only verbal support to the victim who has lost his house.  Fifty years later, this could be seen as “merely” a ridiculous rollicking comedy (successful on its own merits) but just before the Prague Spring you can see how its acute not-very-veiled criticism is a prelude to the brutal crackdown by the Soviets (and Forman’s escape to the USA to ultimately direct One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest and other hits).  Brave and lacerating.

Matewan (1987)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Matewan (1987) – J. Sayles

Director John Sayles and his ensemble present a nuanced look at the union movement’s struggles in the 1920s, focusing specifically on a coal mining town in West Virginia.  Chris Cooper (in his first leading role) plays the organiser who arrives to support the miners who are being completely taken advantage of by the Company (they owe their souls to the company store).  The workers are divided and swiftly being replaced by scabs, drawn from the black and Italian communities – but Cooper is able to convince the entire group to strike together.  His main goal is a peaceful strike but the men are ready to fight back violently, particularly when the Company sends a few head breakers in.  Of course, this is exactly what the Company wants – to complete decimate the Union and frighten the men.  Moreover, a Company mole inside the movement threatens to destroy all that Cooper has worked for.  Will Oldham (Bonnie Prince Billy) and Mary McDonnell run the boarding house where Cooper first stays – before everyone is moved to a camp when the Company evicts them.  Sayles captures the feel of rural America in the 20s with its mix of evangelical religion, hillbillies, cultural divides, and poverty.  But most of all he shows us how the working rights we enjoy today were secured by the sacrifices of men and women who unionised.

  

Through A Glass Darkly (1961)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ½

Through A Glass Darkly (1961) – I. Bergman

At first glance, this appears to be a simple (sad) story, simply told, from Ingmar Bergman and his team:  A young woman (Harriet Andersson) slips back into psychosis after returning home from the mental hospital.  Andersson is truly impressive as her character Karin begins to lose her grip on reality and, in a lucid moment, declares that she must choose which world to live in -- but the only choice seems to be the world of voices where God (or a horrifying spider?) might open a door to grace us at any moment.  But the film is richer than just a straightforward detailing of a descent into madness – we also see the ramifications for her immediately family (husband Max von Sydow, father Gunnar Björnstrand, and brother Lars Passgård).  Her father is the Bergman surrogate, a writer who has been utilising his daughter’s trauma for his own work, feeling guilty about it, avoidant of the situation (but perhaps drained by having to confront similar issues with his late wife).  Bergman hints at his typical theme of the artist’s role in society (and their burdens) – but he may be ashamed of his own mining of his close relationships for film and theatre scripts.  The husband is portrayed as fatalistic and helpless, supportive but unable to cope – he offers one angry outburst at the father’s neglect and selfishness but otherwise accepts affairs as they are.  The brother is the most vulnerable, unable to escape his sister’s orbit, already full of self-loathing and shyness, and possibly harmed psychologically by his sister’s actions and his father’s absence and avoidance.  Sven Nykvist’s cinematography uses lots of natural light -- the outdoor scenes on Fårö can be beautiful, the indoor scenes occasionally surreal and haunting. The end result is horror, played out as a chamber piece, where the question hanging in the air is “why?” Why does God let this happen? Why do we continue with life in the face of such horror? The father’s suggestion that the existence of love is the reason for us to persist does not feel entirely convincing (or at least Bergman does not seem entirely convinced).  But perhaps it is genuinely true that we are sustained in this life by our friends, family, and loved ones, and thus we fight on.  But the darkness can be pretty dark.

Barton Fink (1991)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Barton Fink (1991) – J. Coen & E. Coen

The Coen Brothers fourth feature is certainly passing strange – but like much of their work, it also contains affectionate references to the past.  Here, we follow Barton Fink (John Turturro) who is a playwright in the late ‘30s/early ‘40s, focused on the “common man” but nevertheless enticed to Hollywood.  Once there, we meet well-known archetypes: the studio head (Michael Lerner channelling Louis B. Mayer) and the drunken novelist turned screenwriter (John Mahoney channelling William Faulkner).  Fink is asked to draft a script for the latest Wallace Beery wrestling picture but he immediately faces writer’s block.  His next-door neighbour in the flea-bitten hotel he’s chosen to call home, Charlie Meadows (John Goodman), an insurance salesman, tries to help out -- but Fink basically ignores his input (critic Jonathan Rosenbaum sees in this a sneering attitude toward the high brow artist by the Coens).  And then, and then, and then, we watch Barton suffer as he tries to write and things grow darker in his head (and around him).  Some believe that the events that transpire are symbolic (are they only in Baron’s head?) but it is just as easy to read this (black comedy) straight, if not a little bit ironic.  I hadn’t seen Barton Fink since the ‘90s and I recalled it only as “claustrophobic” but it is better than that description, with stellar acting (including from Judy Davis and Tony Shalhoub) and cool art direction (not to mention Turturro’s hair) that maintain one’s attention. 

  

Army of Shadows (1969)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ½

Army of Shadows (1969) – J.-P. Melville

It is interesting to ponder whether Melville’s memory of the French Resistance (he sometimes said “nostalgia”) helped him to design the expert gangster noirs he is famous for -- or whether his love of American film noir enabled him to make this classic Resistance film with protagonists who act like gangsters.  Surely, the undercover operatives of the Resistance share similarities to the denizens of the criminal underworld, having to avoid those in power who would otherwise imprison them or worse.  Interestingly, not much is shown of the actual work of the heroes in this film, which focuses instead on the ever-present possibility of betrayal (and what is done with the betrayers), the endless series of captures and occasional daring escapes.  Melville was criticized for briefly including a shot in the film of De Gaulle, leader of the Free French during the Occupation but reviled by the Left in 1968 and when the film was released (Melville’s own politics were decidedly right-wing which might have contributed to his authoritarian control on the set and conflict with actors as a result).  Yet there is not denying Melville’s style which involves an unblinking and compelling depiction of action(s) – simple actions such as passing a packet of cigarettes around a group of prisoners awaiting execution and more complicated actions involved in an escape from German headquarters.  In this way, Melville is very much like the Bresson (of A Man Escaped, particularly), as a feeling of transcendence can arise from the silence and extreme absorption in these moments.  The austere style of the images, often in half-light with studio sets painted in shades of grey, increases the effect.  The actors, Lino Ventura, Simone Signoret, Jean-Pierre Cassel, Paul Crauchet, Paul Meurisse, among others, are all stoic, hard-boiled, devoted to the cause above everything else, and ready to die either through torture when captured or at the hands of their comrades if they succumb to the torture and name names.  A tough unforgiving world, but one where honour prevails, and potentially a source of nostalgia in a modern world where things are not nearly as black and white.

Parasite (2019)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Parasite (2019) – J.-H. Bong

Like many Korean films (by Bong Joon-ha, Park Chan-wook, and their contemporaries), Parasite is somewhat unclassifiable – is it a thriller, a black comedy, or something more sui generis? Certainly, it is undeniably about social class, making it hugely relevant for this moment in time.  The Kim family (led by Bong regular Song Kang-ho) are down-and-out but pragmatic and scrappy, they make ends meet through a variety of part-time jobs and little scams, suffering various indignities as a result of their low status (customers from a nearby pub literally piss on their sub-basement flat).  However, things change when son Ki-woo (Choi Woo-sik) is recommended to be a tutor to a rich high school girl by his friend who is leaving the position to study abroad; although he hasn’t gone to university himself, he is quick-thinking enough to fake his way into the role. This is easier because the mother of the rich Park family (Jo Yeo-jeong) is fragile and gullible, easily convinced to make changes to her family’s situation to ward off various threats.  And, thus, rather comically, the entire Kim family is soon employed in a variety of positions by the Parks who do not know their “servants” are all related and conning them.  Or are they?  The Kims might actually be providing genuine services to the Parks, parasitic though they might be (a kinder word would be symbiotic).  Nevertheless, the Parks (particularly father Lee Sun-kyun) do look down on the Kims (making their position dependent on continually pleasing the rather capricious bosses); as a result, the Kims resent and take advantage of the Parks whenever they can.   Things get weirder when competition among the lower class erupts and the Kims need to fight to maintain their cushy position, living off the Parks’ largesse. If this sounds like reality, then Bong has done his job, although the final reel might need more analysis then I can commit without spoilers.  Parasite won the Palme D’or this year at Cannes but it isn’t always an easy or satisfying watch – but ultimately thought-provoking and pessimistic.  

The Conversation (1974)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

The Conversation (1974) – F. F. Coppola

Imagine how paranoid Harry Caul (Gene Hackman), a professional wiretapper/surveillance expert worried about his own personal information, would be these days!  Coppola’s film almost seems quaint with its Radio Shack version of technology – but we can all easily imagine the experts who know too much and spend their time making themselves invisible online (and everywhere else).  So, the film is still relevant, perhaps even more so, as we contemplate the minds of those who scrape social media for personal data (a la Cambridge Analytica) and sell it on for personal profit.  Do they ever ruminate about the damage they might cause in other people’s lives?  This is Harry’s predicament.  He’s on a job, recording a conversation between a couple who clearly seem to be having an affair.  He’s proud of his technique, capturing every word even though they are constantly on the move, walking through a crowded city square in San Francisco.  But he begins to suspect that his employers might have sinister plans for these two and he decides to keep the tapes from them, dwelling on them over and over and over.  Sound design and editing was by Walter Murch – I listened in headphones and was suitably impressed.  Was there a “cheat” at the end? Very probably so – but let’s take it as expressionistic (Harry now hears that sentence differently, after he knows more).  Similar to other thrillers of the Watergate era (The Parallax View, All the President’s Men), this could leave you seeing conspiracies everywhere.  But let’s just hope that no one cares enough to find us in the sea of information flowing everywhere…

Ida (2013)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Ida (2013) – P. Pawlikowski

I really enjoyed Pawel Pawlikowski’s Cold War (2018), so I thought I would go back and look at his previous film (also in black and white) to take a better measure of his skill.  And again, there is a gorgeous stylishness to this work – with shots that are so beautifully framed that they might stand alone as photographs.  The story is on a smaller scale, focused on a young woman (Agata Trzebuchowska) about to take her vows as a nun who is encouraged to meet her only living relative, an aunt (Agata Kulesza), before she commits to the sisterhood.  The aunt, Wanda, reveals that the young woman, Anna (but really Ida), is actually Jewish and that her parents were killed during the war.  They travel to find their graves in a rural town in Poland, discovering more than they asked for (although suspected or known by the aunt).  Agata Kulesza gives Wanda a lived-in feeling, portraying a character who has lived beyond her period of true moral engagement and now simply avoids the truth (and the pain).  As Anna, Agata Trzebuchowska is more subdued (repressed even) but much is revealed in the final moments of the film.  The film is brief (80 minutes) but it captures these people and this time (1962) and the choices they have made and must make.  But more than anything, the film looks beautiful.

Lone Star (1996)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ½

Lone Star (1996) – J. Sayles

John Sayles would have likely made a good sociologist, if he weren’t a writer and director.  (Or perhaps a cultural anthropologist, given the range of different sub/cultures he has examined across his career).  His films recognise that reality is complicated and that different vantage points (culturally, historically) may result in different interpretations of the same events.  In Lone Star, for some people in the southern Texas town of Frontera, late Sheriff Buddy Deeds was a hero who managed the political complexities of the town’s ethnic mix well; but for others, Buddy was corrupt and self-serving and perhaps even a murderer.  At least that’s the suspicion of the current sheriff, his son Sam (Chris Cooper), when they unearth a skeleton that turns out to be the long missing and truly evil previous sheriff, Charlie Wade (Kris Kristofferson).  As Sam investigates the murder, he also investigates the history of the town and his own past, including his former relationship with now widowed Pilar Cruz (Elizabeth Peña).  A subplot sees black Colonel Del (Joe Morton) return to Frontera to face his own absentee father and to come to terms with how he has been treating his own adolescent son.  There is a lot more here too, as Sayles crams as much didactic knowledge and perspective as he can into one film.  We visit with local eyewitnesses who offer clues and inspire flashbacks (with Matthew McConaughey briefly as Buddy) that vividly provide more details than we would get verbally.  Across the top, we hear music of the region (steel guitar or Mexican pop). In the end, all the loose ends get tied together, surprisingly so, and I was satisfied with Sayles’ achievement, alchemically blending his (my) lefty political perspective with a mystery plot and (some) real character development. Highly recommended.   

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (2004)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (2004) – M. Gondry

A “high concept” movie about relationships and memory – and about life, really – but I guess it could be referred to as “sci-fi”.  Charlie Kaufman’s script posits a company that can erase certain people from your memory, such that you wake up and you have completely forgotten about them and the portion of your life that included them.  As directed by Michel Gondry, it is a surreal affair – particularly as most of the film consists of the overnight procedure in which the memories are erased (by a team of technicians: Mark Ruffalo, Toby Maguire, Kirsten Dunst, and boss Tom Wilkinson) and this means we both see the memory and see it coming apart.  The man who is erasing his girlfriend (Kate Winslet), who erased him first, is played by Jim Carrey.  Personally, I’ve never been a fan of his exaggerated broad comedy but thankfully he (mostly) keeps his over-acting to a minimum here.  Still, Winslet feels more real and natural.  That said, the film still manages to hit many emotional high points, reminding us as viewers of our own relationship beginnings and endings – and of the need to get past our petty insecurities and pet peeves in order to acknowledge another person’s humanity and forge a meaningful (ongoing) connection with them.  Yet, the film wouldn’t be nearly so good if it didn’t also raise some of the ethical issues associated with the procedure – making it clear that it is very likely that we humans would just find a new way to muck up the next (or same) relationship after we’ve paid to move on.

The Passion of Anna (1969)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

The Passion of Anna (1969) – I. Bergman

After a break, I’m back to working my way through the Criterion Blu-Ray box set (in the curated order, rather than chronologically).  Following Shame (1968) with The Passion makes sense because they both star Liv Ullmann and Max von Sydow as a couple under duress and also because a late scene in the latter seems to include outtakes from the former (a nightmare sequence, of course).  Both Anna (Ullmann) and Andreas (von Sydow) are people who are not coping well with their experiences.  She has survived a car accident that killed her husband and child.  He has a less clear past but is separated or divorced and has been in prison for forgery and punching a cop.  They live on a remote island (Bergman’s Faro is the set) that has been experiencing episodes of animal abuse; Andreas has befriended the suspect who is being hounded by the community.  They are also friends with another couple (Bibi Andersson and Erland Josephson) who also have a problematic relationship (he is cold and successful; she is fragile and emotionally unstable).  Bergman himself is likely the model for the male characters and their avoidant behaviour (or so we might want to assume).  The plot is anything but predictable and a certain degree of tension is built up by external events (and a reference to the Vietnam war) in addition to the internal dynamics of the couples.  Having the actors take turns talking about their interpretation of the characters was an interesting experimental addition. This was Bergman’s second film in colour (with Sven Nykvist behind the camera) and his close-ups are even more impactful (on blu-ray).  I did grow a little bit weary with the ruminating and self-absorption on display but I guess this is something you’ve got to expect with this director.
 

The Philadelphia Story (1940)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

The Philadelphia Story (1940) – G. Cukor

Not quite as screwball as I remembered (or would have hoped) but it is endlessly fascinating to watch the very different comedic work by Cary Grant (droll) and Jimmy Stewart (more exaggerated). Of course, this was the film that Katherine Hepburn used to overcome the label of “box office poison” that she had earned from earlier efforts – she plays an independent high society woman on the rebound from her divorce from socialite Cary Grant and about to marry a self-made businessman (John Howard).  However, Jimmy Stewart’s writer (slumming for a celebrity magazine) falls head over heels for her (despite his photographer girlfriend Ruth Hussey also being there) and she finds herself swooning.  A few suggestions from the menfolk in her life that she doesn’t have enough empathy for them helps to soften her attitude, particularly toward Grant. (This might not actually be politically acceptable these days, although Grant’s only sin was drinking, not cheating).  George Cukor directed and the final 10-15 minutes (and the last shot) bring all the emotions home.  Stewart won the Oscar as did screenwriter Donald Ogden Stewart.  Perhaps all of the stars did their best work elsewhere but this still has star power to spare.

Goodfellas (1990)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ½

Goodfellas (1990) – M. Scorsese

Scorsese pulls out all the stops to dazzle viewers with his cinematic prowess (aided immensely by editor Thelma Schoonmaker and cinematographer Michael Ballhaus).  Tracking shots are everywhere, for example, following Henry (Ray Liotta) and Karen Hill (Lorraine Bracco) as they move through a restaurant or club, meeting wiseguys as they pass.  But it’s the period music, from fifties pop hits to seventies classic rock, that punctuates each scene which really lifts the film.  You know the story:  Hill is a local boy who grows up to be part of the mob, but always on the outside because he is only half Italian.  He falls in with another outsider, Irish Jimmy Conway (Robert De Niro) and hot-head Tommy DeVito (Joe Pesci), and they raise their status in the gang by robbing the airport for big money.  The script from Nicholas Pileggi’s book is based on a true story and we are lead through it (and the decades) via Liotta’s voiceover.  Paul Sorvino plays the local boss.  All of the characters are morally corrupt and dubious -- with stealing, killing, and treating women poorly staples of their repertoire – yet somehow Scorsese has us on their side, as he tells the story from their viewpoint (though he doesn’t seem to implicate us as Hitchcock would).  Even as Hill becomes addicted to the coke he starts dealing (and the voiceover seems to speed up and become paranoid), we are on his side hoping that things don’t come crashing down around him (but of course they do).  Throughout the film Jimmy and Tommy represent a rawer unpredictable force and the violence associated with their actions breaks up the otherwise groovy atmosphere that Scorsese creates.  Perhaps the film contains one subplot or scene too many and Liotta’s acting feels one rung down from that of the others, but these are minor quibbles in an otherwise superb piece of cinema.

My Own Private Idaho (1991)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ½

My Own Private Idaho (1991) – G. Van Sant

I did not know (but iMDB trivia tells me) that this film was pieced together from three separate scripts that writer-director Gus Van Sant had been working on.  For example, one was focused on transposing Shakespeare’s Henry IV (Parts I and II) and Henry V to the modern day world of street hustlers (using the same strategy that Orson Welles used to excerpt from the Bard to focus on Falstaff in Chimes at Midnight, 1965) – this explains the occasional but not complete use of poetic dialogue at certain moments in the film.  Van Sant also uses other stylistic innovations when and if he feels like it (such as having the gay magazine cover stars come to life and speak to the camera or interspersing Super-8 footage of Mike’s past) rather than consistently. Mike is a young hustler with narcolepsy and a long lost mother (and absent father), played by River Phoenix.  We follow his experiences on the street, on dates, and with the other hustlers, principally Scott, played by Keanu Reeves.  Scott is the son of the mayor, slumming it as Hal once did before he receives his inheritance and takes up his proper place in society.  Both are confederates of Bob, the Falstaff character, played by William Richert.  They love him but they tease him and Scott ultimately abandons him (as Hal does Falstaff).  Mike is along for the ride (as this is a kind of road movie), returning (one supposes) to the street after Bob and Scott depart, perhaps nursing his love for both.  So, there’s a good dramatic arc but also a lot of rawness (emotional and sexual), some comedy (courtesy of Udo Kier’s travelling salesman Hans), and some evocative landscapes in the great Northwest accompanied by steel guitar.  Van Sant’s career subsequently has had its ups and downs but this film is clearly a high water mark in any career.

The Matrix (1999)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ½

The Matrix (1999) – The Wachowskis

So, yes, at its heart The Matrix is an action movie – and the various scenes of kung fu fighting (including the climatic battle between Keanu Reeves and Hugo Weaving) are great fun, especially because the actors were really trained by Hong Kong veteran Woo-Ping Yuen and also because special effects allow them to defy the laws of gravity.  But just having a few great fight scenes wouldn’t be enough – the Matrix is special because of the mystical acid-trip it lays on the viewer (written by Lilly and Lana Wachowski, who also directed).  Keanu Reeves is a computer hacker who is contacted by a mysterious group led by Laurence Fishburne (as Morpheus) and Carrie-Anne Moss (as Trinity) who then reveal to him that our reality is not what it seems and that we are really slaves subjugated to heartless masters.  If only the scales could fall from our eyes!  Of course, viewers could easily be thinking about the 1% who control resources and the world and keep us down but The Matrix is much weirder than that – and if our success with AI holds up, perhaps prophetic.  For those who haven’t seen this film (anyone?), Keanu is Neo, a.k.a. the One foretold to be the saviour who rescues our species.  Of course, the world is trashed in this version of the future, so it’s hard to say whether we are worth saving and where we would live if we were (underground, I guess).  But the quasi-religious sci-fi dystopian overlay here is enough to keep the brain tickled until the next action set-piece rolls out.  Seen on blu-ray, the run-down green-tinged cityscapes and ruined/underwater futuristic vistas aren’t particularly beautiful but they are effective and the costumes are mighty stylish.  I watched the two sequels back in the day but I don’t feel the need to see them again now – with luck, the 4^th film now in production will remember to fill in the gaps.  If you’ve never seen this, the first time is probably the best (but remarkably it still holds up).

Down by Law (1986)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ½

Down by Law (1986) – J. Jarmusch

Jim Jarmusch follows Tom Waits, John Lurie, and Roberto Benigni from the streets of New Orleans into jail, then out of jail and into the bayou.  So, it’s a road movie of sorts, aided immensely by Robby Müller’s gorgeous black and white cinematography. The images range from extremely low-key high-contrast (New Orleans at night) to low contrast (shades of grey in prison and in the woods at the very end of the picture).  Just a delight to look at.  Of course, the script meanders in laid-back Jarmusch-style, allowing the actors to establish their characters and to emit often funny dialogue (probably improvised at times – though showing the director’s proclivities: the Italian loves Walt Whitman).  Tom Waits (“Zack”) is relatively restrained (given what we know of his verbal abilities) as a DJ framed for stealing a car (or worse) – but we do get some good patter from him and his acting is top notch.  John Lurie (“Jack”) is sullen as the pimp (also set up) who forms an adversarial friendship with Waits.  But Roberto Benigni (“Bob”) is riotous as the Italian tourist (in for murder with an eight-ball) who lets loose with absurd English expressions and also engineers their escape (and ultimately their way out of the swamp).  So, is it an homage to the prison films of the Thirties? That might be a stretch.  Is it something more existential about life and how to live it? Probably not.  Is it a chance for this team to stretch out and show their talents in a memorably funny (and sad and beautiful) picture? Definitely yes.

Open Your Eyes (1997)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Open Your Eyes (1997) – A. Amenábar

Watching this some 20 years later (and knowing the surprise twist in advance), perhaps some of its shock value and basic weirdness have been lost, leaving instead a very human story about selfishness and awkwardness in relationships.  (This is the film that was subsequently remade in the US as Vanilla Sky, which I haven’t seen). Eduardo Noriega plays a wealthy self-centered but handsome playboy who treats women (and his best friend, Pelayo) poorly. When he ditches his current fling for Sofia (Penelope Cruz), the other girl forces him to pay a heavy price by crashing the car they are driving in, leaving her dead and him disfigured.  Naturally, he struggles with his new identity and the film shows his pain and ostracism. Is it karma? Possibly.  But then, maybe, miracles do happen.  Or perhaps they don’t.  The film doesn’t shy away from the darkness and poses some metaphysical hypotheticals that methinks won’t ever become reality in our world.  But the sci-fi angle does elevate a story that might otherwise be pretty sombre (although human) and makes it unique.  If you haven’t seen it (and can bear some nineties Spanish soapiness), it is definitely worth seeing (the first time at least).

  

Do the Right Thing (1989)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Do the Right Thing (1989) – S. Lee

I’m sure it has been a couple of decades since I watched this last – and it really holds up.  Spike Lee’s loving look at the denizens of one Brooklyn street in Bed-Stuy over the course of one very hot day is also a careful analysis of a race riot.  Lee himself plays Mookie the pizza delivery man working for Sal (Danny Aiello) who runs his restaurant in an all black neighbourhood with his two sons, Pino (John Tuturro) and Vito (Richard Edson).  All seems friendly and community-like until Buggin Out (played by Giancarlo Esposito) notices that Sal’s “wall of fame” holds pictures only of Italian Americans.  This omission (a more passive form of racism than actual hostility) rankles him and he calls for a boycott of the restaurant.  Most of the (black) people on the street ignore him or actively dissuade him from the campaign (for example, Da Mayor Ossie Davis, a sweet old drunk), given their friendship with Sal.  But as the day gets hotter, everyone starts to get under each other’s skin and Pino’s explicit racism doesn’t help anyone.  Lee includes a great (non-naturalistic) bit where the central characters (including the Korean grocer across the street) hurl racist slang at each other (comic, though painful/real deep down).  Eventually, the easy-going day turns into a violent night – Lee’s script manages to engineer this change gradually and subtly; it’s possible no one is to blame or everyone is to blame – no one seems to have intended this outcome.  It might be better to say that society is to blame (racism is institutionalised), particularly as those with power wield it to very ill effect against those with no power.  Public Enemy on the soundtrack signals the call for change (Fight the Power!).  At the end, Lee leaves us with two quotes, one from Martin Luther King (advocating non-violent protest) and one from Malcolm X (advocating any means necessary).  To its credit, Do the Right Thing knows it’s complicated -- but we should all adhere to the title’s admonition if there is to be any justice in this world.